#(not from her from my own brain. but still)

[myblogystuff]

Dark feather and purple…

I froze in shock. The raven I’ve been feeding for weeks didn’t just talk to me, did it?

I scanned my surroundings. No one else was there. I look back at it.

“Speak,” I say firmly.

“My lord,” the one I named Eddie, said with something human-like in his eyes. He had a scar where his beak met his skin, I always wondered what could be the origin of such a scar.

“A neighbor plots against you. The wealthy man and his shiny spouse–”

“Still feeding the birdies I see !” yelled my next door neighbor suddenly. His loudness startled my feathered friends, making them fly away towards the old tree in my backyard.

His name was Gabriel, he was the humblest of them. I wouldn’t go as far as to say he was my favorite neighbor, but at least he doesn’t bother me with : “your house doesn’t match the local aesthetic” or “It’s your fault we lost title of the most beautiful neighborhood.”

“These creatures are smarter than you might think, Gabe.” I say.

“Are they now ?” he answers, smiling.

“Oh yes ! You’d be surprised.”

“Right then, just remember to interact with humans too,” he shouts while walking away waving.

“Now, where’s the fun in that,” I say, half joking, half serious. It made him laugh anyway.

I turn my head toward the imposing tree, but my feathered friends are nowhere to be seen. 

“They’ll return to me tomorrow,” I whisper to myself.

My attempt at an ordinary day was a failure. Questions swirling in my head : why did he call me “My Lord” ? Why would they warn me ? Who are they talking about ? “His shiny spouse ?” Was the bird talking about Mrs. Christopher Peck, Brenda, or Mrs. Disco Ball as Martine used to call her.

My mind spirals as I think about these people, they are so superficial, so fake, and so condescending…. I felt myself get more and more irritated as I pictured them plotting to get rid of me while sitting in their newly renovated kitchen, with their designer furniture in their newly refurbished home that has shiny green lawns adorned with flowers imported from who knows where?!

My heart fills with hate as I remember clearly that they never liked us, Martine and I. We weren’t like them.

Bold of them to plot against me. Rage is pumping through my veins as I realize that, since the… since Martine, all I did was mind my own business, go to work and feed the ravens. I never asked anything from anyone. And yet they find the audacity to come to me, and speak ill of OUR house, the one I built with my beloved. Why ? Just so they can get a piece of paper and A PLASTIC TROPHY ?!

But now, it’s gone too far, I won’t let them get their way, I will strike first and hard. But first I need to get more details from my friends, tomorrow.

My digital clock reads 2:40 am. I cannot sleep. I cannot wait until tomorrow. I get out of my bed and look through my window. All the lights are out, this week, more aesthetic lampposts are being installed. How convenient, I think.

As if possessed, I walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. My vision gets hazy, my head is spinning.

When the dizziness stops, I find myself near the front door, my hand gripping the large purple kitchen knife that Martine got when we moved in. It has always been her favorite color. I smile, remembering her telling me how she wanted the kitchenware to be different shades of purple. 

“Kill ‘em all, Rocky,” whispers a voice. It cannot be her…

My head turns towards the living room. My hands start shaking, my heart is pounding in my ears. She's here, sitting in her favorite armchair, smiling at me. Martine, light of my life. Anything for you, Queen of my heart.

Her image leaves my mind as the dizziness comes back, only a bit stronger this time. 

When I open my eyes, I am outside. Eddie and his friends are perched on my picket fence, the moonlight reflecting in their dark eyes. The sound of their wings fluttering, as they fly away, pierces through my brain and gives me a splitting headache. 

I open the door to our house, my heart light as a raven’s feather. My hand still gripping Martine’s purple kitchen knife, although this time it feels…slippery. My face too is wet, so is my shirt. As I look down, I understand: it is blood, not mine… I did it.

 I ignore the feeling as I rush to the living room to see my beloved.

“I did it, my love,” I yell. “I slit Mrs. Discoball’s throat open, Martine,” I add, laughing hysterically. 

“And her husband, I STABBED HIM ! AGAIN, AND AGAIN…” I kept repeating, out of breath, stabbing the air, as his lifeless face appears again between my eyes.

I turn to see Martine’s reaction, expecting her to congratulate me, but I am met with emptiness and silence. My eyes land on a purple cremation urn. Reality hits like a train and I fall to the ground.

Everything is black. I hear an echo, a voice that gets closer.

“He’s alive, he’s waking up !” 

I try to open my eyes, vision foggy. The voice speaks again.

“Don’t move ! Hands behind your head !”

“I… I…who…” I stutter as the surrounding silhouettes become clearer. Police officers !? What are they doing here ? Why are they handcuffing me ? 

“You are under arrest for the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Peck,” declares one of them.

“Murder?… no… it’s not…” I blink a few times, looking around me. My shirt is stained with blood. On my right is an officer putting Martine’s purple kitchen knife in an evidence bag. “No! Don’t take that ! She needs it,” I hear myself say. 

As they drag me out of our house, it all comes back: the ravens, the warning, the plotting, Martine. 

“I didn’t murder anyone, it was self-defense.” The officer holding my arm stopped walking. “Those rats were plotting my demise,” I add looking him in the eyes before explaining, “the ravens told me, they heard them speak and warned me.”

He looked at me as if I was speaking in tongues. A second man grabbed my other arm, and they started walking again.

I can’t let them take me away from her. I try to break free, but they are way stronger than me, so I decide to convince them.

“If you don’t believe me, ask them,” I plead, pointing my head toward the ravens feeding from yesterday’s crumbs. Their eyes were empty. “Speak ! Your lord commands it !”

Startled, they flew to the old tree. 

The officers push me inside the car, and it drives off. My eyes glued to our window, where she used to wave at me every morning when I left for work.

Epilogue

“What happened here ?!” Gabriel asked Mrs. Shirley.

He was on his way back from a night shift when he saw a police car leaving his neighbor's home. 

Looking around the neighborhood, he noticed the police tape surrounding the peck house.

Mrs. Shirley decided to stay safely tucked behind her picket fence. Eyes glued to the Peck residence, she was holding her newspaper as if her life depended on it.

With a voice laced in sadness, she explained: “I guess he finally snapped, the police said he infiltrated the pecks' home during the night and that he….” she gripped the newspaper even tighter. “Oh lord, If you'd seen the way he screamed at those damn ravens.”

“Why the pecks?” said Gabriel, more to himself than to Mrs. Shirley. Still she answers.

“No idea. Poor guys, they'd even collected money to help him renovate his house.” Turning to the nurse, she explained that: “when I was over last week for a coffee, Brenda confided in me that what they truly wanted was to get him out of the isolation he's inflicted on himself since Martine.”

“I truly believed he could’ve gotten better. But I guess you never know what’s on a person’s mind.”

You always got strange looks whenever you fed the neighborhood ravens. “I give them food, they give me company,” you’d say. One day, a raven excitedly comes up to you and whispers, “A neighbor plots against you, my lord.”

[wosospacegirl]

loved the latest alexia fic haha

i had an idea for us stem girlies (not wanting to study virology btw, so fkn real)

i was thinking a kika fic where readers a bio/stem student & is trying to teach kika something & likewise kika (and the rest of the younger barça girls) tries to teach r football

Summary: Y/N’s been buried in virus replication pathways for hours. Kika’s had enough.

A/N: for the STEM girls who haven’t seen the sun in 3 business days and need a footballer girlfriend to drag them outside - Everything written here was taken from my own notes...I hope they are right, or else it means I failed my own exam.

..

Y/n had been studying for what felt like seven years straight. 

Realistically, it had only been four hours, but time blurred somewhere between drawing replication cycles and muttering the difference between RNA-dependent RNA polymerase and reverse transcriptase.

Kika had been patient. She really had. She brought her water, kissed her temple, and even sat silently nearby, scrolling through TikTok while Y/n ranted about capsids and envelope proteins. 

But now it was too much.

“...and that’s why enveloped viruses are more susceptible to disinfectants,” Y/n concluded, still scribbling away. “You would’ve thought that the envelope would make them more resistant, right?”

There was a beat of silence.

“You realise we were just talking about lunch?” Kika said.

Y/n blinked. “Were we?”

“You brought up protein bars, and then somehow transitioned into protein coats. Again. That’s like the third time.”

“Okay, but it’s actually a really–”

“No.”

Kika stood up with the kind of quiet menace only a very tired girlfriend could summon.

“You need to get out of this apartment.”

“I’m busy! I have an exam, Francisca.”

“You need to touch some grass.”

Y/n gasped, clutching her notes to her chest. 

“You sound like my mom.. Are you okay? Did a neurodegenerative virus get to your brain?” Y/n  squinted her eyes, talking in a very mysterious and suspicious voice. “It could be rabies.”

Kika raised an eyebrow. “Por favor, put on some gym clothes.”

“No.”

“You’re coming with me to the training ground.”

“I’m not playing football.”

“You are, just a bit. You’re going to run, breathe some fresh air. Maybe learn how to use your legs again.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “I feel like you want to sabotage my academic life.”

Kika deadpanned, “I just want to have a normal conversation with my girlfriend again.”

Half an hour later, Y/n was in mismatched gym clothes, standing awkwardly on the sidelines of the Barça training pitch while Kika passed her a ball.

“Okay,” Kika said. “Basics. Pass it back.”

Y/n kicked it directly into Kika’s shin.

Kika didn’t even flinch. “Right. That was bad.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/n muttered. “I use my brain, not my feet.”

“You used your foot just now,” Kika deadpanned. “You’re just not good at keeping control of it.”

Before Y/n could come up with a scathing reply involving cortical motor neurons, a trio of voices interrupted from behind her.

“Hi amiga,” Jana grinned, jogged up with Pina and Vicky flanking her. “That pass was criminal.”

“Terrible,” Vicky added.

Pina nodded solemnly. “You’re bad, bad.”

Y/n crossed her arms. “Wow, thank you. So much support.”

Kika smirked from the sidelines.

“She made me come here,” Y/n gestured vaguely toward her girlfriend, “because apparently I’m ‘studying too much’ and need to ‘go outside like a normal person.’”

The girls blinked.

“What are you studying?” Jana asked.

Y/n brightened instantly, like a switch flipped. 

“Oh! I'm doing an exam on virus replication pathways, and it’s super interesting because…wait–okay, so you know HIV, right?”

All three nodded slowly, unsure where this was going.

“Well, it’s a retrovirus, which means it uses reverse transcriptase to turn its RNA into DNA inside the host cell. And that DNA actually integrates into the host’s genome and–wait, let me draw it.”

Somehow, within ten minutes, they’d migrated off the pitch and into the tactical analysis centre. 

A whiteboard was pulled over. Y/n commandeered a marker, drawing the double-stranded DNA meticulously.

“This is the viral envelope, this is the capsid, oh, and DpRd-RT is like–the main enzyme you have to remember, alright? So now we have a full DNA–”

Pina was blinking rapidly.

Vicky was furrowing her brows like she was trying to understand it, really trying.

Jana had started taking notes on her phone.

Kika walked in fifteen minutes later, looking for her girlfriend.

“Amor,” Kika said slowly, “why is my team being held hostage by you and– ai meu Deus…is that a virus?”

Y/n turned around, completely unfazed. “I’m teaching them how HIV uses the host's RNA polymerase II to transcribe proviral DNA.”

Kika stared. “...This started with a bad pass.”

“And now it’s a public health seminar!” Y/n grinned. “Honestly? You're welcome.”

[fadedpiink]

he holds you like treasure, you keep his in your pocket

luffy x gn!reader

synopsis: cute headcanons for luffy i had

contains: est relationship, skin-ship, comfort, bf!luffy

late night clinginess

luffy’s the type who doesn’t start the night cuddling, but always ends it that way. you’ll fall asleep thinking you’ve got room, and then wake up with his arms looped around your waist, face buried somewhere against your neck, legs tangled up in yours like he’s anchoring you in place.

if you shift even a little, he just makes this low, half-asleep sound and tightens his hold like: nope. mine. stay.

sometimes he talks in his sleep too, mumbling stuff like “don’t go yet...” all soft and slurred against your skin, like his brain’s still sailing around with you even when he’s unconscious.

he never lets go until the sun’s too high and the crew starts knocking.

for you

luffy will come back from wandering with the dumbest little trinkets and hand them to you like they’re priceless treasure. a stick shaped like a lightning bolt, a pebble that’s slightly heart-shaped, one time he straight up handed you a rusty old key and said:

“dunno what it opens, but it’s cool. it’s for you.”

and you keep all of them. every single one. tucked in your pockets, on your nightstand, in a little box nami rolled her eyes about when she caught you organizing it.

the next time you take something out and wear it — a random shell he found strung on a cord — he notices immediately. grins so wide his whole face lights up, like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“looks good on you.”

"brushies" randomly thought about this one while brushing my teeth haha

luffy starts brushing his teeth with you every night like it's sacred. he's not subtle either — shows up while you're mid-swipe, foam already in his mouth, grinning in the mirror. copies your movements exactly. you rinse? he rinses. you spit? he spits louder. sometimes he hums. sometimes he narrates. “look at us. brushing. bonding. besties.” the crew is disturbed. zoro walks by like, “why are they synchronized.” sanji threatens to leave the kitchen every time luffy calls it “our little mouth spa.” you secretly love it. he leans into you at the end like, “clean teeth kisses?” (you always say yes.)

best bite

you’ll never understand it. luffy never shares. ever. but when you sit beside him, he’s already holding out the best bite. “open.” “i have my own food.” “but this one’s perfect.” and he’s right — it always is. the crew watches like it’s a horror movie. sanji swears under his breath. nami stares. usopp’s like, “he didn’t even let me sniff it.” :c you? you take the bite, every time. because it’s not about hunger. it’s about the way he watches you chew like he’s proud. like he saved that one just for you. (because he did.)

masterlist hope you enjoyed! please like + reblog to show support, and feel free to leave feedback and comments through rb tags, anon messages, or dms!

[britcision]

Okay no one asked for this but you activated my brain and now we all suffer for it (I love you OP you’re so right yesyesyes)

Because for a lot of fairy tales, this is 10000% correct and a very interesting take and lots of fun

However… “fairy tale” is an extremely widely spanning genre, and tends to involve pretty much all of what I tend to call “Stories To Children”

Note: not “children’s stories”. There’s a lot of children’s stories for all sorts of reasons

But “Stories To Children” are the ones that get told to specifically instil cultural values, like obedience, kindness to others, respect for authority

Or they’re the gentle warnings to scare children away from dangerous spaces - don’t go into the woods alone, or the big bad wolf will eat you up

And the fairy tales OP is talking about are usually the cultural values ones, because they’re right - the whole point is that Even Unremarkable You Can Do Great Things If You Behave Well

They’re about people without very special talents who succeed because they practice their cultural values, like listening to their elders instead of forging ahead to do their own thing, or being kind when there is no obvious benefit

And the really interesting thing there is that the various people that help them on their way and do most of the work are often barely mentioned in the story! Despite being so much more potentially interesting!

The magic fish that grants three wishes to the fisherman who throws it back; how did it get that power? How often is this fish being scooped?

They rarely even get names within the story… and this is especially true of archetypes like The Handsome Prince. We call them Prince Charming, because none of them usually have an actual name

They’re very clearly barely relevant to the story at all, and are essentially there to do a deus ex machina and tidy things up neatly for our main characters at the end

We see a LOT of modern media where a female character is reduced to little more than a reward for our male protagonist at the end; enough to be sick of it

But that’s exactly what Prince Charming is. He’s not the hero of the story, even if the hero also doesn’t have a name

(Stories following the Third Son trope, or that are about the prince themself, are usually not Handsome Prince archetypes: they have at least a little personality)

Prince Charming is the hero’s reward for being an ideal woman (usually); she gets the “good ending”, being taken away by a respected and powerful man to become his beloved queen and live a (presumed) life of luxury

That is how the story appreciates her good qualities - she gets a husband who respects her deeply and often verbally admires her, because single women have historically not been considered successful

(“Who will take care of you when you are old” is another solid refrain)

BUT. Here’s the thing. You can usually look at the protagonist to determine what children are the intended audience

Stories about the handsome prince are to teach little boys how to behave. Stories about the beautiful princess are to teach little girls how to behave

And sure, everyone can learn from every story, and in quite a lot of them the gender of the protagonist is as irrelevant as their name (most of them don’t have names in older versions)

But the stories people tend to target for these kinds of feminist retellings do tend to have the same cultural message for good behaviour that a woman should fall into:

1) be kind (usually standard)

2) be pretty

3) be unconscious/trapped

Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, etc. all follow the model; our titular characters are indisputably the heroes. The story is about them. Does the prince even have a name?

And we can all agree, those last two messages ain’t shit

(No one ever seems to do the “feminist retelling” for stories like the Seven Dancing Princesses, where the youngest princess saves the day with her cunning and quick wits, despite the ending still being “and they all got married and lived happily ever after”)

So if you wanted to do a feminist retelling, but keep to the structure of the fairy tale, the thing to change isn’t the prince! It isn’t even to just flip it so that the princess rescues him

The thing to change is our assumed values for a good woman

Sleeping Beauty can still fall under the curse from a spinning wheel! But maybe instead of her father hiding all spinning wheels in the kingdom, he and her mother tell her the prophecy

And then we can go interesting places like “what does the bad fairy do when she feels her curse is being thwarted?”

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is wise and has her parents seek out a potential “saviour” early on; perhaps the love of a sibling will count as a true love, and a younger or older sibling is sent to another land so they won’t be caught in the curse and can save the day

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is prudent, and realizes that the bad fairy’s wrath is too dangerous for her future subjects to face, and instead asks to be sequestered away where her “whole kingdom” is a clearing in the woods, and her curse will not harm them (and they can come save her right away)

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is mischievous, and sneaks into the bad fairy’s lair so that when she pricks her finger, the bad fairy also falls asleep

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is cunning, and runs away to live with the bad fairy and work for her, because “what you wanted was for my parents to be sad about losing me, so this seems more sensible”

Perhaps Sleeping Beauty is kind, and goes to warn each and every creature and person in her land of the danger, and asks if they know a way to protect themselves (not her) from such a curse

Perhaps at the end of her journey she meets a lonely and crabby old hermit in the woods, who is impressed that she has no fear for herself; her only concern is what effects the curse will have on those around her

Perhaps that crabby old hermit is the bad fairy in disguise, perhaps another powerful being, who can help to mitigate the curse

Perhaps the kiss that wakes her comes not from a lover, or a sibling, but from a foster parent, a bad fairy that has realized their folly in cursing an innocent child they have come to know, and sincerely regret having cursed at all

And, y’know, we drop the obligatory marriage bit at the end, but if you want a love story you can still have one! From a true love who admires her bravery, her wisdom, her compassion, not her pretty face

Sleeping Beauty can still be put to sleep (because the story is about Sometimes Bad Things Happen Beyond Our Control And If You Worry Too Much It Only Gets Worse)

But when she wakes up, she is woken because of who she is and the actions she took that persuaded others to help her and care for her

Because she is loved by someone, or by many someones, who don’t want to marry her

Because she put others first, because she was kind, because she was wise, because she was cunning

She doesn’t need to save herself to be worth saving

Those "modern fairy tales where the princess saves herself" types of books not only misrepresent the gender roles in fairy tales (there are tons of stories where girls get to save the day), but they fundamentally misunderstand the entire genre.

Fairy tales aren't about saving yourself.

These aren't epic myths or heroic legends about the great warriors who slay every monster in their path because they're so awesome. Fairy tales are almost always about ordinary, even incompetent, people who get thrown into strange situations where they only succeed because of the help of others.

It's not a gendered thing. The boy who goes off to seek his fortune is usually the dim-witted third son whose older brothers are the strong, smart ones. The third son succeeds because he is kind to the magical helpers who then complete the tasks for him--and the exact same thing happens when a girl is the main character.

The characters in a fairy tale rarely succeed because they embrace their own strength and take their own path. Much more often, they are told step-by-step what to do, and they succeed because they obey--respecting the wisdom of others.

The core virtue of a fairy tale is not pride, but humility. It's not a story about the strong, but those who are weak, small, helpless. The people who can't do it all on their own, but can recognize the worth and wisdom of others.

Turning this story into a "girl power" (or even a "boy power") story warps it into something that is fundamentally the opposite of a fairy tale, and it has nothing to do with the gender of the main character.

[prettypynklemonade]

No lie, I'm happy this Roman Reigns situation died down a bit because I was about to start cussing ppl out.

I'm not even a part of the fandom and some of y'all were taking things wayyyy too far.

Talking about how writers need to "kys" for having stories about him, how his black wife obviously hates her race, bringing up shit about his kids... Absolutely despicable.

First and foremost, some writers have poured years into their stories about that man and to say that they should delete their work or never complete them simply because HE fucked up is honestly so weird. I don't blame the people who have made the choice to do so, but expecting everyone to make the same choice sounds immature and selfish as fuck.

Second, y'all have absolutely no right to speak on his wife and kids. You would think y'all learned from everything that happened with Chadwick's wife, but y'all still don't know the meaning of boundaries or when you've crossed them. Seek therapy. Or an exorcism.

Third, if y'all ever have the nerve to tell @trippinsorrows to commit s**cide again, I will come for you. That bitch is my best friend in real life. I don't play about her. She takes time out her day providing therapy to people and supporting her family to give you stories that y'all hoes BEGGED for. You ever put her name in your mouth again and I'll trace your IP address and sign your email up for so many spams that you won't be able to log in without thinking of me.

Fourth and finally

ROMAN REIGNS/JOE ANOA'I doesn't give a damn about ppl on Tumblr not supporting him anymore. Y'all need to take the hatred you've been spewing towards writers and wrestling fans and give it to the man that is the actual problem. If you don't have the brain cells or wherewithal to do that, then you have no right to tell people who they should write for. You're simply a hater and you were obviously waiting for the opportunity to turn on the ppl in your own community.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Which one do YOU want?

Remember this guy? You might've seen him from your car, flagging down customers on the highway. Or maybe it was at my auction last year. It's been awhile since I used Tumblr to sell these brainless sacks of meat, but I figured I'd show off my operation's growth.

James has clearly grown too. I've been extra generous with his allotment of slop each night, pouring about twice as much down his throat as the rest. He used to have abs, back when he sold cars. Now he's got an extra layer of blubber to hardy him up for the elements.

He holds that sign through winds, rain, and snow. It's his only purpose, and any good sign post needs some weight to stay grounded. That fat gut sure gets the job done.

I priced James a bit high. I like keeping the guy around as my signpost, but I've got plenty more hypnotized men to choose from...

Shawn, here, is a construction worker I picked up downtown. He was a wild boy and had quite a mouth on him, swearing and hollering with the rest of his crew until I got a hold of him. A little chat with me and he was as dumb as a rock. The fucker still is!

I've been using him as cheap labor, expanding my house with a new kitchen and sunroom. It's been nice using up his fresh young body on my house. It's been months since he quit construction and came here permanently, and I'm not sure he's stopped building since.

Still, the brute is a mess. I keep my guys clean, but he's been difficult to keep hosing off. I gave up a few weeks ago, so he reeks pretty bad of dirt and sweat. He's been tracking mud everywhere and literally cannot stop drooling all over the place! At this point the boy makes more mess than he's worth, so I'm happy to sell him off to anyone that wants to work him.

This serious-looking bear is Daryl. He's an office monkey that stopped in on his way home from work. He actually thought I sold cars! He found out pretty quick what I was actually in the business of, and has been standing on my lot ever since.

The guy's a bit ugly so he hasn't been bought yet. I took his dress shirt off to make him look a bit more enticing. Not sure if it did anything though...

I can't imagine what his wife saw in him. That's right, this corporate ape was married! She came looking for him awhile back but I hypnotized her to forget about the man and focus on raising the kids herself. Anyway, let me know if your interested in a white-collar daddy. I'm happy to cut a deal!

I imagine this stud will sell quick. That's why I upcharged him to $25. I hypnotized him at a bar on my night off last weekend. Talk about work life balance. Anyways, Jordan was cocky and rude and insulting. I could only take so much of his howling at his own jokes before I whipped out my pendulum.

I think he was trying to pick up some girls that night, but he came home with me.

I stripped him down and programmed him to be my submissive and breedable bitch. His mind was mind to mold, and I made sure it craved my pleasure and my pleasure only.

Anyways, his brain and holes are washed clean now. If you throw in a few extra bucks, I can add some hypnotic triggers for you yourself to play around with too.

Of course, I get my fair share of pigs around here. Usually, they aren't as young and fresh-faced as this Trooper right here. He pulled me over for speeding on the highway. I couldn't believe a baby cop like him was trying to write up a man like me. Needless to say, I had Officer McCabe eating out of my hand in no time.

He was easier to talk under than most! Proves our finest aren't our smartest.

I always enjoy having a cop like McCabe on the sales floor. It gives me something to slap and jerk as I wander by. I like to leave the crotch of his uniform open so I have easy access as I pass. Policemen are a hot item! He'll be sold in no time, but I'm only selling this Trooper to a man that's willing to let me watch one more punch in his uniformed nuts.

Oh boy. Where do I start with this one? I'm embarrassed to admit I don't really remember where I got this stud. I got blacked out drinking one night and woke up with this mind fucked jock slobbering all over me! I must've hypnotized some random guy at the bar!

Just another hazard of the business I suppose.

He'd already been brainwashed to forget who he was and where he'd came from when I found him in my bed. Apparently, I do a very thorough hypnosis act while drunk because he couldn't use his mouth for anything other than my carnal worship. Part of me feels guilty, but what can you do?

I've kept him long enough, but I really don't need a clingy slave like that. He's obsessed with having a master to serve, so if you want him, he's yours! Free of charge! I hosed him down, so just show up with a truck or something and pick him up. I'll tell him you're his new master and he'll be ready to worship you day and night!

He really is the most loyal thing you could get!

Well, that'll do it for today's auction! Let me know which one you want, or come on down to my dealership if you want to take one on a test drive.

There's no need to be nervous...unless you're a handsome young man yourself. I just might have to show you my pendulum...

[thornypucks]

name and number | caitlin clark | 22

synopsis she wears your favorite name and number

warnings cheating on co**er I guess but I think that's it

words 1048

notes part of my '22' shorts-series (aka I love too many women that wear the number 22)

The red jersey was your favorite - the way it contrasted with Caitlin's skin and hair, her name and number in bold white letters on the bright material. But the best part was seeing it on the floor next to your clothes. It was early in the morning; your alarm showed the numbers 5 and 43, and you groaned, annoyed, before you noticed the jersey on the ground. It covered your bra and part of the jeans you had worn yesterday.

She wasn't supposed to take the jersey anywhere, but she had basically dragged you out of the stadium the second the buzzer had gone off, establishing their win. Now her clothes were on your floor, and she was in your bed - not in her boyfriend's, in yours. She shifted behind you, and you could feel her warm, naked body press against yours. One of her big hands made its way over your abdomen, settling on your right ribcage, right beneath your naked chest. Her fingers started caressing the spot you knew was bruised without even looking at it. You pushed your back into her, enjoying the warmth while it lasted.

You must have fallen asleep again because when you woke up for the second time, the warmth had disappeared, and the sun had just made its way over the horizon, coloring the sky and your room in a familiar bright orange. The missing warmth was like a punch in the gut, the sting only lessened by the fact that the red jersey was still on your floor. You could clearly read the name and the number on it. Only then did the sounds coming from your kitchen register in your brain.

You thought about putting on the jersey for a second but changed your mind and put on a shirt and a pair of panties of your own before making your way to the kitchen. Your naked feet slapped against the wooden floor, and Caitlin turned around. The sight made you stop in your tracks. You don't think she had ever been in your kitchen, much less making eggs while also only wearing panties and one of your shirts. It was a little smaller on her than it was on you, but you knew it was one of her favorites. You had bought it at the Eras Tour while she had stood two feet behind you holding your drinks. And now she was wearing it in your kitchen while making eggs with a spatula in her hand.

Her smile turned shy as she took in your figure. You could basically feel her eyes wandering over your body. You don't really know what to do with yourself, so you stay where you are, awkwardly standing in the middle of your kitchen while one of the most successful basketball players in the world eyes you up from the other side of the room. Not weird at all.

Caitlin's smile goes from shy to amused as she puts down the spatula next to the stove. She crosses the room with four long strides and wraps her arm around your waist. "Good morning," she mumbles out quickly before burying her head in the crook of your neck, pressing a kiss onto the sensitive skin there. You're frozen for a few seconds before you slowly reciprocate the gesture, wrapping your arms around her broader shoulders.

"I'm confused," is apparently the first solid sentence your brain can form, making Caitlin chuckle against your skin before lifting her head so she can look at you. Mischief dances in her brown eyes, but there is something else today - something more serious, more solid.

"I didn't mean to confuse you with my pancakes," she answers honestly. "Quite the opposite actually." She takes one of your hands that had dropped down to her collar and pulls you into the kitchen.

"That doesn't make me any less confused, Cait. Quite the opposite actually," you quietly mock her words, half hoping she hears them, half hoping she doesn't. The look she gives you tells you that she did indeed hear your words, and that she's not very impressed by them. Before you can say anything else, Caitlin lifts you up in one fluid motion and sets you down on the kitchen counter, establishing her place between your legs. Her hands land on your thighs while her hips press into you.

"See, I wanted to make this romantic breakfast for you. And I wanted us to have a good time. And then I wanted to get all serious and get out my best apologetic look for being a bitch the past few months. And then I would have told you that I finally broke up with my boyfriend... well, ex-boyfriend, and that I've been waiting to be back in town for weeks. But you just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

Caitlin's smile is crooked, her hands are warm, and her eyes are more serious but at the same time softer than they have ever been. Your heart feels like it's going to jump out of your chest, right into her waiting hands. You slowly raise your hands to her neck, playing with the short pieces of hair that didn't quite make it into her ponytail. Cait's smile deepens as she recognizes one of your nervous habits.

"What does that mean?" You swallow the 'for us' - uncertain, insecure, scared. Before, rejection had been about her boyfriend. It had hurt, but it had been a reason that had nothing to do with you. It wasn't because you weren't enough. But it was like Caitlin could see, like she could see you coming apart at the seams. She wrapped her arm around you, holding you so no more pieces could shift out of place. She looked you in the eyes when she whispered, "It means I want you." Your heart soared. "It means I need you. Here, in my home, at my games, everywhere I go." She pressed a kiss right to the spot where your pulse was pushing too fast against your neck before whispering into the skin, "It means I want you wearing my name and number on your back."

[hyukascampfire]

let me put my clothes back on and fix my makeup the way this fic just fucked me. on a srs note, first of all, hyukascampfire nation go read this!! right now!! it has been a long time since i’ve found a fic series that i’ve latched on to. there’s something about having a fic that you dedicate to a time in your life, and i fear that it is going to be this one.

beomgyu especially is going to stick with me. his character is raw and brutal, and there’s no way he couldn’t. he tears a spot in your mind so easy that it’s honestly DISGUSTING. i quite literally don’t think i’ll be seeing beomgyu the same for months cause now it’s just cc beomgyu living in my mind and i NEEEEED it. i seriously cannot fucking wait for the rest of this series. not only am i blessed to have serene as a best friend, but to have the author of this fic as a best friend casually is actuLly insane and i lowkey forget how crazy that is what the fuck >.<!!

he’s constantly sort of described as a drug/addictive substance himself. you know that, inherently, he is bad for you. you take him anyway, because the hit you get from it is euphoric. he is euphoric in the dark, dirty sense that only a drug could be. what a brilliant way to characterize a character like him. i honestly could wax poetic about how you write beomgyu and how it’s going to honestly stick with me for a long time for literally forever. are you joking? personifying him as a drug himself?? “He refused to leave your system, no matter how many times you tried to get clean.” and he exactly did. it’s just fucking insane how this fic reads as a hellish battle with a drug addiction and all the highs and lows it drags you through the muck and dirt. it’s poetic in a way that literslly makes me want to take my eyeballs out of my head and throw them like bouncy balls cause WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? i’m literally fucking mad at myself that this isn’t my fic like jealousy is CONSUMING ME i need to own your brain. :333

it’s like, MC is constantly doing things that id consider stupid, but i wouldn’t call her a dumb character. she recognizes when she’s doing dumb shit in the same way any addict knows that they’re destroying themselves in their hunt for an ‘eternal high’ that will never come. beomgyu will never be permanent, never be what she wants him to be, but of course she’s still going to chase him. she’s dependent on it. i for real would consider the fact that he still shakes her in the present just a side effect of withdrawals, or even the threat of relapse. OH GOD, seeing him in that interrogation is literally a battle against relapse as she quite literally has to remind herself of what he’s done. no, she is not stupid at all. she’s just fighting a battle that was genuinely never meant for her to win. beomgyu knows that.

He constantly makes me wonder if he’s keeping her at arm’s length to protect her, or if he’s doing it because he doesn’t actually care about her enough to bring her any closer than arm’s length. which is perfect, because that’s exactly the effect that choi beomgyu has. it’s exactly how MC feels. I CANNOT EXPLAIN TO U HOW WELL YOU’VE PUT US IN THEHER SHOES. i literally feel like i’m in the same boat as her. he gives her just enough to make her wonder, and then he recedes, and what are you supposed to think of that? obviously, from the outside looking in, it’s easy to assume that somebody who does that is only toying with you in a purposefully manipulative way. and i do think that if him. but i’m also right in the MC’s head when he offers those fleeting moments that you forget about the frames of the rose-tinted glasses he’s placing on your face, and instead all you can see is the pretty pink shade of everything. these are those ‘highs’ he offers, and that MC is constantly chasing. the idea that things could be good. but isn’t it all the more sour that he could be good and yet isn’t, rather than that he is all bad? it’s all so bittersweet and tragic. beomgyu is a bit slimy, awful, and red flag incarnate. a yet again, in this subtle and nuanced way that i even find hard to describe, he isn’t like the others he surrounds himself with. i mean, he is, but he isn’t. LMAO SEE?? i feel you MC. i really do. i’d let choi beomgyu walk me like a dog too, tho!

AND YOU ARE SO INCREDIBLE AT PORTRAYING AN UNRELIABLE, BIASED NARRATOR. “Maybe Kayla had been wrong about him, after all she didn’t know him, not like you did” this is so real and visceral. such a real thing that those that have been thoroughly manipulated tell themselves. she keeps moving the goalposts, making excuses for things that do not deserve excuses. this is exactly how somebody with that type of seized mindset would behave. not that it’s the correct mindset, because goodness she’s being walked all over, but it is entirely real, and that is the beauty of this fic. it doesn’t pull punches to make it a cute love story. it doesn’t claim to be one. i cannot explain to you how much i appreciate that as another author. am i making a little voodoo doll of you and doing dark magic so that i can steal your thoughts and talent in little increments so that you won’t notice? no… don’t worry abt it…

AND ANOTHER THING! (no dont drag me away to the padded white room yet pls i have more to say) The scene where the gross drunk guy comes up on MC?? i feel like it makes it even less clear whether or not Beomgyu actually cares for her, or to tell whether or not there actually is a better side to him. did he save her just because the dude insinuates that he can have what beomgyu considers his? because he called her a doll, and that’s beomgyu’s name for her? is it a pride/ownership thing, or did he swoop in because he genuinely was worried for her safety? if he was, why would he be bringing her around the slummy types of places that he thrives in, seems to own, knowing what could happen to her? and then eating her out afterward because he got jealous? so he’s actually the king of mixed signals and it is SICK. i’d be as twisted up as MC i swear to god, because what? i literally could not tell you if it’s a ‘don’t touch her because she’s mine, and how dare you think you can touch what is mine’ sort of thing, or a ‘don’t touch her because i won’t let you hurt her’ kinda thing. which i mean, it could be both IDFK??? everything he does is so convoluted and it’s so incredibly stifling. it’s to the point that even finding out which it is becomes intoxicating. like the mystery of it is almost the most addictive part.

and godd, it’s so frustrating when he just knows inherently that, like when he asks if Kai was her boyfriend, it couldn’t be true. cause he knows exactly what he does to her (in the worst way possible). like i just hate when a man KNOWS it’s INSUFFERABLE UGH. it should be that she has the power over him—the detective with sway over the case in which he is being questioned over MURDER. not even to mention the fact that it’s alluded to the idea that she already is completely aware that he has committed murder before. in front of her eyes, nonetheless. she should hold all the power. but being who he is, he maintains the upper hand inherently. it’s frustrating to see, and even more frustrating to experience. to have all that and still know that he owns the space between you. literally what are you supposed to do about that? cuz the moment a man ESPECIALLY one like beomgyu knows that he can walk u like a dog it’s over for you. sorry, you’re cooked. why couldn’t kai be her boyfriend? because beomgyu knows he’s not. THATS SO FUCKING INFURIATING BECAUSE HE’S RIGHT AND HE KNOWS FOR A FACT HE IS.

IM NOT DONE YET! you defy the logical conclusion that because he is the love interest in this fic, he couldn’t have been the murderer. there’s a lot of points where i inherently want to assume that obviously he couldn’t have done something like that, because he is the main love interest in a fanfic. and in most fanfics, that would seem starkly true. it just doesn’t really happen. usually, even if it was proposed that a major character that the whole story is centered around was possibly the murderer, it would be made clear later on that ‘no! they weren’t! they would never, because they were framed!’ or whatever. and then i’m reminded brutally by beomgyu’s own behavior that he quite literally couldve, and that’s who he is. somebody who will draw you in and turn on your initial blinders when you see what kind of man he is, all the way until you’re saying ‘no, he couldn’t.’ but he really, really could. i literslly can not tell if he did it or not, and that’s the effect of him. it’s just substantial and honestly not something i’ve seen and it’s SOOO YUM.

even just the fact that he is so absolutely sure that after all these year’s he’s still got her on a leash is just unbelievable. “Just how deep does your loyalty still run?” And you know what? he isn’t even wrong. STILL! he’s not asking, ‘are you still loyal?’ no. he’s asking, ‘how deep does your loyalty still run?’ because he just fucking knows what effect he has, and how thoroughly he has fucked her up to the point that him saying this is truthfully cruel. how could he love her, if he knows he brings her to these lows, brings her down to his level? but then again, doesn’t it seem like he really does sometimes? it’s not fair. he knows he has her at his beck and call like a pet. strings her along fully intentionally, knows that she longs for something more emotional, and still he does. it’s mean. and i can recognize that, and even then i don’t think i can completely cast him away. like, fully aware that maybe he doesn’t really love her, but still hang on to every second of their conversation and interactions, beyond the sex. it’s completely ironic and is exactly what MC struggles with.

i also noticed that, when beomgyu appears, shes always pretending that he’s not there for at least a little bit. staring straight ahead, forcing him to speak or acknowledge her first. it seems like a subconscious thing she does to at least try and gain some semblance of power of him. as if he’s coming to her, and not her to him, even if she knows that’s not the truth at all in reality. cue ‘why’d you only call me when you’re high?’ by the arctic monkeys, thank you!!! because he only calls on her when he desires it it, when he deigns her worthy of his time. and she’ll come almost every time, unless she’s doing this. trying in small, inconsequential ways to try and reclaim any sense of power that she can scramble together, even if it’s completely fabricated and to not effect on somebody as floaty as Beomgyu. how could it hurt him when he literslly doesn’t give a shit already? making a point by intentionally not seeing him for two weeks does not dent him. making him speak first does not dent him. i understand her need to try, though. i’d feel like i was losing my mind if i was dealing with him, too.

throughout this i was just like… visualizing him so viscerally. like, if i could describe him, itd be smoke. dark, toxic to breathe, fleeting but potent, and impossible not to breathe when you’re caught in the middle of the fire. and just the imagery portrayed, the smoke kisses and all that i feel just solidifies it. unfortunately, it is completely sexy and hot and i hate it! “If I was available right now?” He holds out the cigarette for you to take. Eyeing it with disdain for a moment, you decline by shaking your head, “I don’t smoke.” — Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, “You’d be the first to decline.” He studies you for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching into a faint smirk. “But you’re the first of many things, dollface”, he says as he brings the cigarette to his lips. one of my fav passages. LIKE? he’s insane, first of all him smoking is just SEXY i’m sorry it’s fucking HOT and i’d take that right from his lips but ANYWAY, this scene is absolutely a lot more than a quick exchange, and it’s clear that it’s supposed to be more. it almost seems to sum up their entire relationship in a way, but let me stretch before i reach. it just feels so monumental. if i could sum up the fic with one passage, it would be THIS one. the speaking, but really they’re saying something else, the nuance, the symbolism of the smoking and him offering her something that could harm her much in the same way he does with a plethora of other things, and him making little comments and doing little soft things that make her wonder if maybe she is special. ‘but you’re the first of many things, dollface.’ i believe that it’s the small moments like this that keep this relationship going, that keeps MC suspended in enough belief to put herself through what Beomgyu offers her. just art. like i’m fully slobbering over this I EFFING LOVE YOU

ladies, take this as a warning! cast men like this out of your life! demons! all of them! they consume your souls! not all of them are as sexy and worth it as choi beomgyu!

AND LIKE I SAID. he is seriously good at making her accept little to nothing. and i’ll say it again and again. you do it SO realistically. “At least he was here with you and not the woman he’d been feeling up not even an hour prior. You were all that mattered to him. Right? That’s why he’d gone after you, only you.” settling for less and less. it is such a classic example of how somebody who’s not being treated good at all by somebody that they value the attention of will accept less and less over time, filling in the gaps with excuses. it’s so realistic and SO GOOD. first, it’s ’oh, maybe i’m the only girl.’ then, it’s stuff like thsi. ‘it’s okay, because he left her for me.’ GIRL STAND UP. but also, how could you blame her? i mean, obviously she has some blame in this. of course she does. but i understand her completely. yeah, she’s fully cooked… do NOT let that man break your spirit!

and let me say. and i mean, LISTEN TO ME. i have to tell u that DOLLHOUSE THE WEEKND AND LILY ROSE DEPP IS LITERALLY SO PERF AND I NEED U TO HEAR ME ON THAT. it’s so them. just the essence of the song, the lyrics paint SUCH a dynamic and it is so SO SOS O them. please and thank you.

BACK TO BUSINESS. the scene where she’s investigating him and asks him why he did it, but is actually insinuating the man that he killed in the first scene where she was terrified of him without even having to mention it out loud because yeonjun was listening, shows how in tune they are with each other despite it all, and definitely why shes best and worst to be on this case. because he knows exactly how to tug on that leash even if she thought she took it off ten months ago, and yet… quite literally nobody will get a word out of him besides her. AND, i don’t believe that anybody even knows him better than her. it clashes, but i can’t even tell if her being on this case is the best or the worst. i am so enthralled by the murder case, by the way. a lot of fanfic writers are really, really good at writing the romance aspects of a fic. and it’s okay, because a lot of them don’t need to be more than that. but then there’s fics like these that are more than that. this is how i spot the best of the best writers—who can keep A B and C plots all interesting and worth paying attention to, beyond just whether or not they fuck and get together. it takes a higher level of writing skill that i’m not saying EVERYBODY has to have as a fanfic writer, but it is something that i believe set certain fics apart as something just a little different. i love it.

like, just the fact that we watch how she’s changed by beomgyu. he infects her. he actively ruins her, and i can’t even tell if it’s intentional. and the cycle kinda continues, we see her using taehyun to get at beomgyu. it’s not fair, stringing him along as beomgyu does her. it’s the concept of being the victim of a situation and then recycling that pent up toxicity into another person, and now, are you even better than that person at all? do you deserve how they treated you, now? my heart honestly did ache for taehyun cuz that’s bae, but ALSO god he was just so sweet and willing to go out with her, and she drug him right to the same shady places that beomgyu dragged her. it’s almost melancholic seeing her become that, even if in less intense ways. this is the effect of what beomgyu does to her, and again. she is not entirely a victim. doing the same to taehyun was not fair. but reality isn’t fair, is it? and you do reality so SOOOO well. i’m opening my notes app rn thabk you very much. just this toxic, heady kind of consuming relationship where it infects you and corrodes you on the inside. changes who you are for the worse. like a drug. CAUSE HE REALLY IS A DRUG IN THIS FIC AND IM STILL GAGGED OVER THAT.

also, i think i know why cc beomgyu gives you as much pain as tsfawc taehyun gives me. the both of them are very much internal characters. they say and act in ways, and could say anything, but their mind could be something completely else. they watch their words so painstakingly closely that you have to write them that painstakingly closely as well, because every word means something else with them. the do not say what they mean, and when they do, it doesn’t seem like they are because they never do. they’re definitely not the same in any capacity— but they def are both cold in very different ways. beomgyu is the absolute leading force in this fic, coupled with the main storyline: the murder of baekhyun, which he is intrinsically tied to as a suspect. but he also just has such a gravitational force that he makes it that way. it’s clear that his role isn’t actually main love interest like i wrote earlier. the more you learn about him, the more you see that he is a driving, enigmatic force in the story than anything else. something potent and so real that it’s kinda uncomfortable, but certainly too far out of reach to be a love interest. especially toward the end, jumping between the flashbacks where the walls are slowly coming down between them and then to the future where they meet as interrogator and interrogated is both jarring AND it emphasizes that fact. as good as it seems things might’ve been going, choi beomgyu is as choi beomgyu is. believing that he’s something he’s not, projecting your own preconceived notions onto him, whether it’s the idea that he’s nothing but a street rat or even on the flip side that he’s anything more than that, is a mistake. he cannot he pinned down, and to try is to fail. that’s what MC is both slowly learning and forgetting, and it’s why we see them where they are in the future. strangers but not.

it’s so crazy that she and even us as readers are so used to bare minimum that even him relenting something so simple as a contact to text him with feels almost romantic. this is how beomgyu operates. he gives so, so little, knowing that you’re hooked, so that even the littlest something is hard hitting. but he’s sowed such mistrust in us and MC that giving something like this, seemingly letting down walls even just the littlest bit, feels bittersweet. could you even let yourself enjoy it when you fear that it’s for nothing?

it feels like such a journey. in the present, only five days have passed, but because we go through so much in the flashbacks it is SUCHHH a journey. so even though we are discovering so much past, we are still so entirely lost as to the happenings of the present. the dual-plot points and storylines is GENIUS. like i need to give you all your flowers for that. it gets you so invested and, even though you’re finding so much out about their history, all it does is lend you clues to the still enigmatic present. so genuinely set up.

“He appears almost bored, but you knew that he was listening intently, for he had stop playing with his rings.” ALSO PERFECT!! perfect. always acting, feigning nonchalance no matter what. but there’s one person that got close enough to spot the tells. how ironic is it that the one person that he let close enough, no matter how minimally, is now in charge of a case he’s accused of murder in? nevertheless, he had the fact that she is clearly, to everybody including herself, both emotionally resistant to harming him AND wishing he was locked tf away forever. oh it’s messy alright!

and let me say again, just the fact that shes literally watching herself change, becoming someone less like herself and more like him, able to see it but not at all able to stop herself from craving the hit that the drug of him gives her. hurting the people around her, like taehyun, hurting herself, but she will crawl to him on her hands and knees for a fix because she’s allowed him to bring her down to this place. to the drugs and the nasty people and places that choi beomgyu exists in, and it’s lowkey started to take root in her too fhe more she exists in it with him. dragging taehyun to a place like that? using him? is that not a reflection of beomgyu in some ways? and then all of a sudden she’s at this new low, sitting in a sweet little park on a sweet little bench watching him fucking snort drugs off the back of his hand, escaping the sight in a grimy bathroom where the light’s flickering, and even in a moment of reflection like this, it isn’t enough to wake her up.

so, after that whole yap festival, i literally do not want to wrap this reblog up, but i fear it literally will not load to post if i don’t. even though most of this was kinda like coke-induced rambling, i am thoroughly invested in this fic from hereon out. this is now my fic for the year thabk you! serene i love you brain and just OMFG i cannot believe i’ve taken so long to get to this. until the next part..

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 [ every single tape recorded for Criminal Conscience, listed in order ] ⎯ this series is still being updated !

Criminal Conscience contains sexual content. The story portrays substance abuse and acting under the influence as well as both unhealthy and toxic relationships. It also includes other triggering topics such as attempted SA and violence/gore along with character death. ⎯ Each tape is carefully tagged with individual warnings, read them all properly before continuing.

this series has been revamped, find the archived version here.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ wc, 44.1k and counting ་༘࿐

📼 TAPE 01 ⎯ STAY AWAY FROM CHOI BEOMGYU “Choi Beomgyu”, he says, the smirk on his lips widening as he does. The name fit him, oddly enough. Perhaps it was a bad idea to give out your own name. He was a stranger, not to mention one that Kayla had specifically warned you about not long ago. Still, this man intrigued you beyond limits.. 

📼 TAPE 02 ⎯ RED LIPSTICK STAINS The red lipstick that you had accidentally brought along this morning, the one you were supposed to get rid of. It had been but a mere coincidence right… The way it had presented itself so nicely on your dresser earlier that day.

📼 TAPE 03 ⎯ TO KNOW IS NOT TO LOVE The cool metal of his rings sting your naked skin as his hands caress your thighs. He’s silent, and for a moment you thought that he might be angry with you. But then his eyes lift to meet yours, they’re dark, but in the pale light of night, they seemed to be almost glowing. “Dollface?” His breath is hot against your legs. 

📼 TAPE 04 ⎯ I DON'T SMOKE He holds out the cigarette for you to take. Eyeing it with disdain for a moment, you decline by shaking your head, “I don’t smoke.” — Beomgyu cocks an eyebrow at you, “You’d be the first to decline.” He studies you for a moment, the corner of his lip twitching into a faint smirk. “But you’re the first of many things, dollface”, he says as he brings the cigarette to his lips. 

📼 TAPE 05 ⎯ BLOODY BODIES Immediately you jerk back, your gaze flitting down to your now stained fingers. It was fresh. “Oh my god”, is all you can muster and before he has the chance to object your hands are insistently bunching his shirt up above his chest. — “Dollface”, Beomgyu tries, his fingers gently wrapping around your wrists but you merely shrug him off, all too focused on the blood smeared across his skin.

📼 TAPE 06 ⎯ A BUSINESS KIND OF DEAL His lips stretch into a smirk when he notes the increasing frown on your face. “Think of it as a business deal”, he says as he motions toward the two of you. — “Business?” You echo, the confusion in your voice evident. Beomgyu nods, his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. “No deals go through until both parties consent to it of course.”

📼 TAPE 07 ⎯ $5 FOR A ROLL With slight reluctance you pluck the piece of paper from him, trembling fingers rolling it up and creating a makeshift straw. Beomgyu watches you with an amused smirk, his tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. You don’t say anything when you hand him back the now rolled dollar bill, and he doesn’t either as he takes it from you.

taglist remains open for this series, send me an ask or reply under this post to be added !

header made by talented @heesmiles<3

[glowettee]

✧ if i’m so dramatic, why am i always right? ✧

✦ intuition vs gaslighting ✦

hi lovelies, it’s mindy 🌷🕯 i’ve been off tumblr for a few days, things have just been really overwhelming lately, and i needed a little breather. but writing always brings me back to myself. it’s my favorite kind of comfort. the glowettee x pll series has seriously been such a joy to create… every post, every idea, every digital piece for my gumroad has been healing in its own way. this next post is something close to my heart. it’s about gaslighting... something i’ve experienced a lot, especially from people i thought i could trust. it’s such a common thing, but so many of us don’t realize it’s happening until way later. i used to second-guess my intuition constantly because people convinced me i was being “too much.” but every time… my gut was right. so i wanted to write this to help you tell the difference between real intuition and someone twisting it. if you’ve ever felt that quiet confusion or started to doubt yourself after talking to someone, this post is for you. i hope it brings clarity. and softness. and maybe even a little validation if you’ve been there too. - mindy 🤍🩰

sometimes i wonder if girls like us were born with a sixth sense or if we just got so used to being hurt that our bodies evolved. hyper-awareness as a survival trait. intuition as our most sharpened weapon. people love to call it being “dramatic,” but let’s be honest... i was right every time.

𓆩♡𓆪

❝ if you’re so emotional, how come your instincts always come true? ❞ they never have an answer to that, do they?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

✧ the 'dramatic' girl dilemma

there’s a reason why every group chat has a girl they secretly call “too much.” the one who always has a weird feeling. the one who picks up on tone shifts and changes in energy and tiny inconsistencies like it’s her full-time job. she’s the one who says, “this doesn’t feel right,” and gets labeled a buzzkill. the killjoy. the overthinker.

but i’ll let you in on something i had to learn the hard way: they only call you dramatic when they don’t want you to notice what’s really happening.

girls like us don’t get the luxury of being chill. we’re watching. always. we had to learn to be. we’re the first ones to feel the shift in a friend group dynamic. we clock the fake laugh. the silence in the hallway. the DM left on read. and when we bring it up? “you’re imagining things.”

they say "you're too sensitive" like it's a flaw. like feeling deeply makes you unreliable. but being sensitive never meant being wrong. it just meant you felt the betrayal before it became undeniable.

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✧ trauma turned my gut into a siren

there’s something about growing up being ignored, bullied, overlooked, or manipulated that turns your whole nervous system into a radar. suddenly, you’re the girl who notices everything.

like, i still remember being 14 and realizing that one of my friends always laughed at my jokes in front of boys, but never when it was just us. or how she'd call me pretty but then immediately ask if i was wearing makeup. subtle stuff. stuff that sounds dumb when you say it out loud. stuff that makes people go, “you’re reading too much into it.”

but i wasn’t. i never was. that’s the exhausting part.

emotional intelligence feels like a superpower until it starts to drain you. like being psychic, but without the option to turn it off. you don’t just read the room, you analyze it, archive it, cross-reference it with past data.

i used to hate this part of myself. now i know it kept me alive.

you’re not paranoid. you’re perceptive. there’s a difference.

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✧ you knew, even when it didn’t make sense

sometimes your body knows things before your brain catches up. your heart races before he lies. your stomach drops before the betrayal hits. you get that pit-in-your-stomach feeling and then brush it off, until the truth slaps you a week later.

trust me, i’ve been there. i once had a gut feeling that a friend was turning people against me... but there was no proof. just a weird energy. until one day, someone accidentally sent me a screenshot that wasn’t meant for me. and suddenly the feeling made sense.

they call it “bad vibes.” i call it early intel.

start decoding the patterns:

the too-long pause before answering your question

the “i didn’t mean it like that” when you call it out

the subtle digs framed as compliments

the way people say your name when they think you’re not listening

you noticed for a reason. trust the noticing.

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✧ what gaslighting actually feels like

gaslighting doesn’t always sound like “you’re crazy.” sometimes it sounds like “you’re overreacting,” or “you always assume the worst,” or “why do you make everything a problem?”

but the worst kind of gaslighting is the kind you do to yourself. when you feel the red flags and immediately shut yourself down. when your first instinct is right, but your second thought is “i’m just being dramatic.” that’s emotional self-betrayal. it hurts. a lot.

i once told a guy that something felt off, he’d been cold, weird, distant. he said i was insecure. i said sorry. two weeks later, i found out he’d been seeing someone else the whole time. lesson learned: don’t apologize for what your body already knows.

you can’t logic your way out of a feeling that was never lying to you in the first place.

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✧ intuitive doesn’t mean irrational

“dramatic” is just a word they use to discredit girls who are too emotionally accurate to manipulate.

your feelings are data. emotions are not the opposite of intelligence, they’re the early warning system. they tell you what’s not being said. they tell you what the energy in the room is doing. they tell you the truth before the truth shows its face.

what if you’re not “too much,” what if you’re just always one step ahead?

what if the real problem isn’t that you feel too deeply, but that you feel accurately, and that makes people uncomfortable?

i’m reclaiming the word dramatic. to be dramatic is to see danger before it arrives. to feel something shift before it collapses. to be emotionally clairvoyant. and i think that’s beautiful.

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✧ how to protect your knowing

your intuition deserves protection. here’s how i keep mine sacred:

✧ journal your gut feelings ~ even if they don’t make sense yet. time-stamp them. track patterns. ✧ make a screenshots folder ~ for receipts, subtle shifts, digital clues. memory gaslights too. ✧ create a ‘weird vibes’ note in your phone ~ no explanation needed. if something feels off, log it. ✧ meditate or walk after intense conversations ~ let your body process what your mind can’t yet. ✧ check in with your inner child ~ would 13-year-old you trust this person? she knows. always.

𓆩 ritual for the emotionally haunted 𓆪 › write down a time you were right, but told you were wrong › throw it away, or rip it up › whisper “i trust myself now.” › repeat every time the world tries to confuse you.

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✧ you weren’t crazy, you were correct, and ahead

they’ll tell you you’re crazy until the moment you’re proven right. they’ll call you dramatic until the danger becomes undeniable. they’ll gaslight you until the truth surfaces, and then pretend they never doubted you at all.

the girls who trust themselves become the women no one can lie to. so feel everything. sense everything. believe yourself.

being dramatic is how you survived the world they tried to confuse you in.

and if you’re always the first to notice the danger, maybe it’s not a flaw. maybe it’s your gift. maybe it’s what will save you.

✧ love always, mindy

[cheriedivine]

Handcuffed couple challenge (youtuber!Ellie x reader)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem reader (No use of y/n)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ summary: Filming a handcuffed couple challenge with Ellie, what could possibly go wrong?

♡‧₊˚₊✧ CW: Slightly suggestive jokes, Swearing, use of pet names (bae, babe, baby) just Ellie and reader being silly

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Tags: youtuber!Ellie, youtuber!reader, stablished relationship, oneshot, fluff

♡‧₊˚₊✧ WC: 7.4K (lol)

♡‧₊˚₊✧ Author’s note: HEYYY SO IT’S FINALLY HERE, you guys have no idea how much I enjoyed writing this, ofc it’s based on Izzy&Emma’s latest yt video where they do the 24hrs handcuffed, but i gave it my own twist hehe, I hope you guys enjoy it and lmk what you think! also i’m open to requests if y’all want anything in specific. that’s all luv u enjoy <3

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One thing about Ellie Williams is that when something gets into that pretty little head of hers, you are doomed. Especially when it comes to recording a video for your shared youtube channel.

This time was no different.

It was 2am when Ellie, half-asleep and deep in a TikTok scroll spiral, stumbled across a video of a couple doing a ridiculous cooking challenge handcuffed together, laughing and making a complete mess of their kitchen. That was all it took.

The next morning, you woke up in an empty bed. Your girlfriend? Nowhere to be seen. Weird… You thought,

You blinked at the ceiling for a moment, brain foggy with sleep, before shrugging it off. She probably hit the gym early or something, she did that sometimes. Still half-asleep, you sank deeper into the blankets and started your usual doom scrolling, checking socials, reading comments, answering emails. The usual.

An hour passed, and your stomach started to grumble from the lack of food. You glanced at the time, then at the door. “Where the hell is she?” You debated waiting for her to eat, but curiosity won so you pulled up her contact to text her. But you can swear this girl is telepathically connected to you because as soon as you clicked on her contact, a message from her popped up like she was psychic.

“Has your majesty risen yet? I’m bringing breakfast ;)”

You rolled your eyes, already smirking.

“U are such a loser. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Miss me much?”

You didn’t even have to see her to know she was surely wearing that smug stupid little grin the one that made you want to kiss her and throw a pillow at her face at the same time.

With a dramatic sigh, you finally rolled out of bed, heading to the bathroom for your morning skincare routine. The splash of cold water brought you fully to life. You threw on one of Ellie’s hoodies — for warmth, obviously, not because it still smelled like her, and shuffled into the kitchen to feed your cat.

“Pspspsps, T-Rex. Breakfast is served,” you called, holding the food dish. The little fur ball meowed like he hadn’t eaten in a decade, purring as you scratched the back of his head.

That’s when you heard the front door unlock.

Ellie walked in, balancing a pair of grocery bags and a cardboard drink carrier with two coffee cups. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up, her tattoo flexing on her forearm and there was a determined (and slightly unhinged) look in her eyes.

You blinked. “Ellie, what the hell? We weren’t supposed to do groceries ‘til Sunday.”

She dropped the bags on the counter and grinned. “Good morning to you too. And yes, I slept great, thanks for asking, babe.” You narrowed your eyes as she handed you a warm breakfast bagel and your favorite coffee.

“…What’s with the groceries and surprise breakfast? What did you do?”

“Can’t I just do something nice for my beautiful girlfriend that I love sooo much?” she said with that shit-eating grin that meant she was absolutely up to something.

“Spill. Now.”

She of course cracked immediately.

“So. I had an idea. Okay? A great one. Picture this: you and me. Handcuffed. In the kitchen.”

You froze. “Woah, woah hold your horses, number 1 why would i want to be handcuffed and number 2 where the fuck are we even supposed to get handcuffs?”

“Jesse” she replied casually.

“GROSS…That’s disgusting.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t want to be handcuffed to me?” Ellie gasped, placing both hands dramatically over her chest. “Wow. Okay. You hate me.”

“You are the most dramatic person on this entire planet I swear” you muttered, already regretting your life choices.

“You’re telling me you don’t want to see me try to knead pizza dough with one hand while handcuffed to you?”

You stared at her. She grinned wider.

“I hate you,” you said flatly, taking a long sip of your coffee.

“No, you don’t.”

And unfortunately for you — she was right.

Ellie proceeded to lay out the entire chaotic plan (which, in hindsight, explained the suspiciously full grocery bags). She showed you the TikTok video that had inspired her latest hyperfixation — some couple fumbling through a cooking challenge while handcuffed. “Look at them,” she said, scoffing. “We’d be so much better than this. They didn’t even season their sauce!”

It took a full hour of bargaining, bribery, and Ellie promising to do all the chores for the next two weeks before you finally caved. Truthfully, a small part of you was curious how badly it could go… plus, being handcuffed to Ellie wasn’t exactly the worst fate in the world.

Ellie dragged out the tripod from the closet, the one that had a chipped leg because she refused to buy another one “It works just fine” she said— and began adjusting it like she was some kind of professional cinematographer. Meanwhile, you were getting ready in your room, doing your everyday makeup, some light blush, mascara and setting powder so the light wouldn’t reflect directly on your face, your routine was simple but familiar. You changed Ellie’s hoodie into a plain black shirt that fitted you like a glove, because why not, at the end you still wanted to look good.

Ellie adjusted the tripod one last time, squinting into the tiny screen like she was defusing a bomb. “Okay… I think it’s straight?, the lighting is kinda shit tho” Ellie muttered, twisting the ring light toward your side. “There. Now let’s get this bitch started shall we?” With that Ellie hit the record button, rushed to your side with the handcuffs clinking in her grip, and threw an arm around you.

“Hey losers,” she grinned at the camera. “Welcome back to our channel.” You waved dramatically. “Today, we’re doing something incredibly stupid, which of course was... Ellie’s idea.”

Ellie held up the handcuffs like a trophy. “We’re making a pizza while being handcuffed together,” she said, eyes glinting with mischief. “And before anyone starts—no, these aren’t from last night. These are borrowed. Unfortunately.” You gave the camera a deadpan stare. “Oh my god. Literally everything could go wrong.”

“Okay so who’s gonna be on which side” Ellie raised a brow before putting the handcuffs on, “Wait… are we both right handed?” you questioned, pausing mid-thought. Ellie gave you an offended look. “You should remember if i'm right handed babe” Your girlfriend said teasingly giving you a wink.

“You are such a perv,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes. Then, turning to the camera like you were addressing a live audience: “Well, since I’m the one who actually cooks in this household, I think I deserve to have my right hand free.”

Ellie scoffed. “Um, yeah, but I’ve got more strength in my right hand, so I could knead the dough way better.” To prove her point, she flexed her arm like some kind of gym rat. You stared at her. She was ridiculous.

But you had your ways.

Leaning in close—just enough for your lips to nearly graze her cheek—you whispered, low and deliberate. “If I get to have my right hand free… I’ll let you have a little fun with these later.”

She didn’t even say anything before clasping that handcuff immediately to her right hand. Her freckled face turning fifty different shades of red.

“…Fine. You win.”

You grabbed the other side of the handcuff and clicked it around your left wrist.

“Oh my god, I already hate this,” you groaned, trying to stretch your arm while Ellie moved in the opposite direction like she had no concept of shared space.

“Too late to back out now. LET’S GET THIS SHIT STARTED, BABYYYY!” she screamed in her fake frat-boy voice, throwing both arms in the air and nearly dislocating your shoulder in the process.

You winced. “How about you try not to break my wrist before we even start.”

She grinned like a menace. “Sorry babe. Kinda forgot we were attached for a sec.”

“Did you even look up a recipe before deciding to do this?” you asked, already knowing the answer. She blinked. “Um…nope”

You sighed.

Of course not. That’s why you had been stuck scrolling through your phone for the past ten minutes, trying to find the easiest homemade pizza recipe on the internet—while your hand was getting jerked around like a ragdoll.

“Okay, genius. We need: flour, yeast, olive oil, salt, sugar, and warm water.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Bet. Let’s get this bread. Literally.”

You started pulling ingredients out of the bags while Ellie, predictably, got in the way at every turn.

“Left!”

“Your left or my left?!”

“We share a left right now!”

Ellie poured the flour onto the counter, way too enthusiastically.

“Bae… slow down, this isn’t a sandbox,” you warned, watching the powdery mountain grow taller and messier by the second.

“No no no—this is the volcano thingy! We’re doing it all fancy,” she said, using her fingers to dig a little well in the center like she'd seen on TikTok. “Now pour the warm water and yeast in here,” she added, nodding toward the crater like she was a Michelin-star chef.

You raised a brow. “You’re acting like you’ve trained in Italy. You watched a 30-second reel.”

“Don’t disrespect my culinary heritage,” she said, her hands now fully coated in flour. You leaned in, cautiously pouring the mixture into the well… but oh dear you were mistaken thinking Ellie was gonna behave. She looked directly to the camera and blinked before her flour-covered hand left the dough volcano, and smacked right onto your boob.

SMACK.

A perfect, powdery handprint appeared on your favorite shirt.

You froze. Blinked. Looked down slowly like you were in a movie about to go rogue.

“Ellie Williams…” you said, dangerously calm.

“What?” she grinned, so smug you considered throwing her into the volcano. “Just cleaning off my hand.”

“On my favorite shirt.”

“It’s a work of art, I left my mark. Like a signature. That’s love, baby.”

You gave the camera a long, deadpan stare. T-Rex meowed behind you rubbing his little head against your leg like he understood the gravity of the situation.

“You’re gonna pay for that.”

Ellie’s grin only widened. “Oh no!. Am I gonna get punished?” she asked, voice dipping into a mock pout.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as you swiped some flour off the counter and flicked it right into her face.

“Oh it’s on now.”

Despite the chaos, the kitchen started filling with the warm scent of yeast and flour mixing as you combined everything, Ellie took over the kneading (with her left hand, of course), turning it into a flexing contest.

“Check this out,” she said, rolling up her sleeve and smirking at the camera. “These biceps? Built for dough.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to smile at how seriously she was taking herself. She flexed her arm, giving a playful wink before getting to work on the dough, her hand moving with surprising precision.

“Alright, go ahead and knead that dough, big shot. Show me what those ‘dough-building’ muscles can do,” you teased, arms crossed, watching her go full-on chef mode.

Ellie scoffed but didn’t hesitate, her hands sinking into the dough with exaggerated care. “This right here? The art of pizza-making. Watch and learn.”

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, eyes trailing down her flexed arm. Your gaze lingered on the tattoo on her forearm—the intricate design that you loved more than you'd ever admit.

“Damn,” you said, letting out a low whistle. “Those arms... and that tattoo? I’m gonna need a moment to compose myself.”

You stood next to her, trying to hold back your giggles, but the flour-covered chaos around you only made it harder to be serious. T-Rex jumped on the flour covered counter, sniffing the dough like he was ready to apply his biscuit kneading technique. "Hey, not you too," you said, shooing the cat away.

Ellie, of course, had no intention of letting this become a normal cooking session. She threw you a smirk. “So, you’re just gonna stand there and look cute while I do all the work?”

“Obviously," you replied, leaning back against the counter, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Somebody has to keep the camera in focus while you work."

“Right,” Ellie said, rolling her eyes as she continued kneading. “You’re just here for moral support and laugh at my flour-covered face.”

"True," you agreed, brushing the tip of her nose with your flour coated finger, you could tell that despite the playful banter, Ellie was surprisingly proud of her skills—despite the flour in her hair, and the random stray bits of dough sticking to her shirt. She paused for a moment, looking over at the camera. “You guys, this is actually kind of fun. like the adult version of slime”

“Who said adults can’t play with slime” you pouted jokingly, “Society.” you laughed out loud at the brunettes response, Ellie grinned, obviously pleased with the teamwork. “Just wait ‘til the pizza’s done. I’m gonna blow your mind, babe.”

“Ok now we need to let the dough rest for about two hours, or until it’s doubled in size—“ “WHAT? TWO FREAKING HOURS?” your girlfriend interrupted, clearly upset by the statement. “Yes Ellie…, now don't be impatient and let’s start with the marinara sauce” you tried cheering her up by occupying her mind on something else.

Ellie dragged you to where the tripod was situated, almost safely and changed it’s angle so the camera got a better view of you and the stove, “Alright all set, so what’s next babe?” she asked, looking at you with her mesmerizing green eyes. “Wait i got distracted— Ok so now we open the tomato cans and pour them into the pot with a little bit of olive oil, a garlic clove, some basil leaves and obviously salt and pepper”.

“Okayyyy chef, see guys that’s why she stays in the kitchen— wait that sounded so wrong… does that count as sexism if we’re lesbians?” Ellie said worried, but you laughed easing her nerves a bit “You are so stupid I think i'm in love with you” She blushed at your comment and proceeded to try and open the can, and try in the sense that you were holding the can while she placed the can opener on the brim of the can. “Why is this shit so hard bro”

Finally after battling with the can for a few minutes Ellie managed to get it open, triumphantly holding up the can opener with a smug grin on her face. “Hey, babe, check this out.” She held the tool in front of you like it was some sort of weapon, pointing at it dramatically. “This... is a can opener,” she said with a wink, then pointed at herself with a teasing smirk. “And this... is a leg opener.” There was a pause before you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you reached for the camera. “I swear, I’m deleting this footage later, just so you know.”

With a final defeated sigh, Ellie popped open the tomato sauce can. “See, I’m good at this.” she said as she started to pour the sauce into the pot. But just as she tilted the can, a little too much sauce splashed up and hit her favorite hoodie. Tiny bright red sauce drops splattered in the center of her chest.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing. “That is literally karma” you teased, your voice dripping with mock pity. “Looks like it’s your turn to clean up, chef.”

Ellie looked down at the red stain, then back at you, unphased. She wiped a bit of sauce off her hoodie with the back of her hand and smirked. “See, this is what happens when yall don’t appreciate my cooking skills.”

“STOP ELLIE YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE, DON'T WIPE THE SAUCE OFF YOU'RE MAKING A MESS ” you whined at your girlfriend, the hoodie was in fact worse than before. That sauce was not going to come off anytime soon “The only mess i wanna make is the one with your—“ You smacked your free hand on her mouth before she could even finish the sentence. “One more dirty joke and I’m duct taping your mouth shut” you warned her, eyes fixed on hers.

Her eyes sparkled like she might actually enjoy that. You narrowed yours in return.

“Anyway,” you sighed dramatically, turning to face the camera again. “Back to the video. We’re gonna let the sauce simmer with some seasoning and, fingers crossed, it’ll turn out edible.”

Ellie leaned in to sniff the pot. “Smells good. Gordom Ramsey BEWARE we’re coming for you”

You laughed and grabbed your phone again. “Okay, while that simmers, we can start chopping the toppings. You’re on mushroom duty.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting me handle the knife? While we’re handcuffed?” She said looking directly at the camera like she was some sort of reality cooking show “I trust you babe, just try not to chop your good fingers off.” you said teasingly, Ellie rolled her eyes and with a sigh she settled a few mushrooms on the cutting board and hoped for the best, “You sure you want ME doing this?…” Ellie looked at you, trying to reverse-psychology herself out of the situation, but when you saw how truly worried she was, you took the responsibility of chopping the toppings, while Ellie placed them on little bowls carefully.

“Okay you know what, maybe we should just settle for a classic pepperoni and cheese pizza…” you said glancing at the terribly chopped mushrooms in front of you, Ellie gave you a side eye that said more than words could tell, and you agreed to keep it simple and overall safe.

“Alright guys the chopping is canceled, sometimes you just gotta accept the defeat and move on, even I have to back off sometimes you know” Ellie said dramatically, like she was giving a pep talk to the camera.

“Ok, ok now what the hell are we supposed to do while we wait for the dough to rise?” you asked your girlfriend, “I know some ways we could kill time you know” She said with that stupid grin on her face.

“I would kill you right now but I’m attached to the crime scene so…” you said flatly, looking her dead in the eye, while she was trying to hold her laughter. This girl is going to be the death of you literally.

After a few minutes of thinking what you could actually do, Ellie leaned back against the counter, tapping her fingers like she was waiting for lightning to strike. You were scrolling through the recipe again, double-checking you hadn’t missed anything—until you noticed she was just staring at you.

“What?” you asked, not even looking up.

“I have an idea.”

You sighed immediately. “Of course you do.”

“Hear me out babe, blindfolded lipstick challenge while also being handcuffed… ” she said, already reaching for her phone, to look for the video that had inspired this idea. “We’ve got at least an hour before the dough’s done doing its thing, right?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Ok I’m in, but you should be the one putting the lipstick on me since you’re the one missing your dominant hand.”

Ellie lit up like a Christmas tree at the idea, pushing herself off the counter and dragging you along by the handcuffs toward the tripod. She grabbed it, still grinning, and carried it to the bathroom, where you both agreed the lighting was better (and the mirror would save your lives). You set the tripod down carefully on the sink, adjusting the camera just enough to keep both of you in the frame. Meanwhile, Ellie fumbled with a sleeping mask, pulling it over her eyes and completely blacking out her vision.

“Alright guys, while we do this, I’m gonna read some of the questions you sent to our Instagram story earlier,” you told the camera, trying not to laugh at how serious Ellie looked fumbling blindly with the lipstick in her hand.

“By the way,” Ellie interrupted, lifting the lipstick like it was a microphone, “if you don’t already follow us, it’s either because you’re a loser or you’re new here. Either way, all our socials are linked down below.”

You snickered under your breath as she tapped around your face, trying to locate your lips with the lipstick.

“Anyway, back to the questions,” you said, pulling out your phone. “First one: How did you guys meet?”

Ellie let out a dramatic sigh, like she was preparing to tell an epic love story. “Ah, finally, a normal question. Okay. So, we met in college. I was majoring in Visual Arts, because obviously, gay. And she—” she nodded blindly toward you, “—was majoring in Film. We crossed paths a few times, and I basically had a huge hallway crush on her.”

You smiled at the memory, leaning into her light touch as she awkwardly dabbed lipstick near your mouth.

“We found out we had a bunch of mutual friends, they introduced us, we started talking... and then you know, classic slow-burn, painfully homoerotic friendship that turned into this," Ellie said, waving the lipstick vaguely at the handcuffs between you. “Very on brand for us.”

You both laughed, the camera catching everything perfectly—the lipstick smudging halfway across your cheek, Ellie’s huge grin under the sleeping mask, and the pure chaos that somehow felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Yeah at the moment I didn’t realize I was a lesbian yet, so that explains the homoerotic tension and painfully slow burn” you explained while Ellie still struggled to locate the lipstick where it needed to be.

“Dudeee stop moving, I can't do this if you keep talking—“ She said desperately “—Ok wait just let me read this question and I’ll let you do your work” you assured her.

You were mid-scroll, trying to find the next question, when you burst out laughing. “Oh my god—okay wait, this one is messed up. Who even asked this?”

Ellie paused, lipstick still in one hand, her other hand hovering awkwardly over your face. “What is it?”

You cleared your throat dramatically and read it in your best game show host voice.

“Would you rather: see your parents having sex... or have your parents see YOU having sex?”

Ellie ripped off the sleeping mask, like she couldn’t believe her eyes (or more likely her ears). “I think I spoke too fucking soon about you guys submitting normal questions.”

You were already crying, laughing, clutching the sink for balance. “I’m not answering that.”

“Oh no, you read it out loud. Now you have to.”

“I literally can’t choose, both are psychological terrorism.”

Ellie made a face like she was in physical pain. “Okay, okay, I think... I’d rather them see me. Just so I have the power. I can be like, ‘That’s what y’all get for traumatizing me first.’ Turn it into a full circle revenge arc.”

You wheezed. “Oh my god.”

“Now you have to answer,” your girlfriend insisted, like a puppy waiting for a treat. “I think I rather see them having sex, but just because I think i’d be too embarrassed and would actually die on the spot if they saw me, so yeah thats my answer, and also it couldn’t get worse you know—“

“—Ok that’s valid.” She pointed the lipstick at the camera like it was a weapon. “Whoever submitted that, you are sick, why would you even think that”. Ellie laughed, but it came out more like a smirk. She adjusted the sleeping mask back in her eyes again and continued to “apply” the lipstick on you.

“Okay I think I’m almost finished— time for the big reveal now, but close your eyes. On the count of three. One…”

“Two” you said in unison.

“Oh god im scared—“ you said already knowing your face probably looked like you made out with a crayon.

“THREE”

You looked in the mirror, bursting into laughter at the sight of the lipstick smeared well past your lips and halfway down your chin. “I look like I just made out with a clown.”

Ellie beamed. Tears in her eyes from the previous laughing fit “You’re welcome.”

“Ok now it’s my turn” you said, snatching the lipstick from her hand, Ellie was still snorting at your lipstick stained face, admiring her work of art, when you tugged the sleeping mask over your eyes. “Okay, my turn. Hand over your face.”

She scoffed, grabbing your wrist and guiding the lipstick into her face “My beautiful face is ready for the sacrifice.”

“Just stay still and don’t make any faces,” you warned, already gripping her chin with your handcuffed hand like an amateur dentist.

“No promises,” she said, settling back on the toilet lid, legs spread like she was about to do an interview with Vogue. She reached for your phone and scrolled through the next question from the Q&A sticker. “Ooooh, here’s one: ‘What’s your biggest ick about each other?’”

You and Ellie both went “oooooh” at the same time, the camera catching it perfectly.

You grinned mischievously. “I’ll go first. Ellie chews on random shit like a dog. Pens, her hoodie drawstrings, bottle caps… one time I caught her with my AirPods case in her mouth.”

Ellie gasped in mock betrayal. “IT WAS ONE TIME.”

You pointed at her. “One time too many.”

Ellie chuckled darkly. “Alright. My ick for you? You take hours to reply to texts. Like, I’ll send ‘are you alive?’ and you’ll answer six hours later with a meme.”

You shrugged, unapologetic. “I have a very active brain. I can’t be tied down.”

“This is your mouth, right?” you asked, blindly smearing the product around her lips like a toddler with a crayon.

Ellie was laughing. “I think that was my nostril, but I’ll allow it.” You giggled, blindly tapping her cheeks with your fingers.

“Okay, next question,” she said, biting back a giggle as the waxy tip grazed her nose. “Oh my god. You’re drawing on my nose, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m outlining your beautiful upper lip,” you lied blatantly, tongue poking out in focus as you smudged the lipstick across half Ellie’s cheek. “Next question, babe.”

Ellie cleared your throat dramatically. “If aliens came to Earth and offered to take one of you back to their planet forever, who would go?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Ellie. Because she’d cry less than me.”

“True, but also It would give me such good lore”

“Shhh,” you hushed her. “Stay still or I’m gonna give you a mustache.”

She burst out laughing as you smudged even more lipstick on her chin. “I swear to god, you’re using my face like a sketchpad.”

You peeked under the blindfold to see her face—her entire mouth, nose, and even her forehead now stained with lipstick from constantly touching her face mid-application.

You shrieked. “You look like the joker”

She looked at the camera with a straight face. “Guys is it giving performance art makeup yes or no”

“You’re giving a sick Victorian child ” you wheezed, “Can we do one last question please” you asked Ellie, she nodded while looking for one last question to end the little q&a.

“Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Ellie leaned closer to the camera like she was telling a secret. “It was me. But I thought she was asleep when I said it, so technically I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“I was literally AWAKE. I was just pretending to sleep because I was so nervous I felt like my heart was getting ripped off my chest”

“You were fake sleeping?” she gasped. “You mean I confessed my undying love to a decoy?”

“Literally yes. But I said it back the next morning, so it still counts.”

“Okay, but can we just acknowledge how poetic that moment was? Me, whispering ‘I love you’ into your unconscious body like a sad poet?”

“And me pretending to sleep like a coward,” you added.

After a few more minutes of waiting — and filming a whole artsy montage of you both modeling the masterpieces that were your lipstick-smeared faces — the dough had finally doubled in size.

Which meant: pizza assembly time.

“Can I roll the dough?” Ellie asked, already scraping the dough out of the bowl with one hand.

“Of course, babe,” you said sweetly. “Just don’t rip my wrist out of the socket while you do it.”

Ellie shot you a cocky grin, grabbed the wooden rolling pin, and planted her uncuffed hand firmly on the left side. You lined up your hand on the right, both of you teamworking the shit out of it — handcuffed, half-delirious, and still somehow making it work. Once the dough was flattened into a kinda-sorta-acceptable circle, you grabbed the pot of sauce and spread a thick layer across it, narrating every step in your best fake cooking show voice.

“And now, we generously apply our lovingly handcrafted marinara— Ellie, STOP eating the toppings!” you snapped, catching her with a full knuckle of shredded mozzarella halfway to her mouth.

She rolled her eyes and popped it in anyway. “Party pooper.”

You dramatically sighed, sprinkling the rest of the cheese over the pizza. That’s when it hit you.

“Oh, fuck, Ellie, we forgot to preheat the oven!”

Ellie froze mid-bite. “...The oven works? I thought it was like a landlord myth.”

You stared at her in disbelief. “Do you even know how to turn it on?”

She shrugged, wiping her cheese-sticky fingers on her jeans. “Not a clue.”

Still filming — the camera balanced on the counter catching every second of this— you both stared helplessly at the untouched oven. After a few seconds of aimless button pressing and frustrated groaning, Ellie threw her head back.

“That’s it. We’re bringing out the big guns.”

She fished her phone out of her pocket (with much difficulty, considering the handcuffs) and FaceTimed Joel.

You both stared at the screen, waiting.

After a few rings, Joel’s tired face popped up — and the second he saw you two, his mouth opened like he was about to say something but no words came out.

“What the hell...?” he finally managed, blinking hard at the sight of his daughter and her girlfriend covered in what looked like smeared clown makeup, chained together by a pair of suspiciously shiny handcuffs.

Ellie cracked up immediately. "Heyyy Joel. We’re filming a video. Long story. Anyway— can you PLEASE tell us how the hell to turn the oven on before we burn the house down?"

You leaned into the frame, offering Joel your sweetest sauce-smudged smile. "Hi Joel!"

He shook his head slowly. "Y’all look like you lost a fight with a three-year-old and a Crayola factory."

Ellie wiped a fake tear. "That’s the nicest thing you've ever said to me, man."

Joel groaned. "And what’s with the damn handcuffs? Jesus Christ."

You started giggling. "Content, Joel. It’s for the content."

Joel gave the camera a look so fatherly it could've been framed. "I don’t even wanna know what kinda content y’all makin'. Alright, listen up. Find the oven buttons."

Ellie spun around dramatically, dragging you along with her. "Found 'em! There's like, a hundred buttons, though!"

Joel sighed, like he already regretted answering. "It ain’t rocket science, El. Look for somethin' that says 'Bake'."

Ellie squinted. "Okay, okay, I see it—What temperature should I set it at?"

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Put it to 400."

"Yessir," Ellie saluted, poking the buttons with her free hand while you tried to steady the camera, still filming everything.

Meanwhile, Joel just kept staring at the two of you. "And you’re really just... sittin' there... wearin’ kids' makeup and chained together like morons."

Ellie grinned wide. "Yup. Living the dream, old man."

"World’s gone to hell," Joel muttered, but he was definitely smiling a little now. "Alright, once it’s preheatin’, leave it alone. No touchin' it. And for the love of god, don't try shovin’ the pizza in there without help, you'll burn the damn house down."

You gave a thumbs-up. "Thank you Joel! Love you!"

He shook his head but you swore you saw the smallest smile tug at his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too, kiddo. Don't die."

With that, he hung up.

Ellie turned to the camera with a shit-eating grin.

"And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, was Joel Miller making his monthly YouTube appearance ."

You cackled, wiping some flour off your forehead.

"I can already smell the comments."

Ellie threw an arm (and by proxy, your handcuffed arm) around your shoulders.

"We should make him do the 'Handcuffed Baking Challenge' next time."

"Joel would rather be hit with a golf stick" you snorted.

"Facts," Ellie agreed proudly.

After hanging up with Joel, you and Ellie high-fived but it came out more like an awkward clank of your wrists, and turned back to the unfinished pizza sitting on the counter.

“Alright, final touches before this baby goes in the oven,” you announced, grabbing the bag of pepperoni.

Ellie wiggled her eyebrows. “Let’s make a pepperoni shaped figure on it.”

You snorted. "Like, a heart? A smiley face?"

Ellie grinned mischievously. "Nah. I was thinking something more mature."

You gave her a warning look. “If you suggest a dick shape, I swear to god—”

Ellie gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "I would NEVER—okay, I was totally thinking a dick shape, but whatever, party pooper. Smiley face it is."

Handcuffed and giggling like idiots, the two of you painstakingly arranged the pepperonis into a smiley face, which turned out looking more like the default male roblox face. It took way longer than it should have — every time Ellie moved a piece, she’d yank your wrist with her, causing you to mess up your side, and vice versa.

"STOP MOVING!" you cried.

"I CAN'T, YOU'RE BREATHING TOO LOUD," Ellie shot back, sticking her tongue out in concentration.

Finally, after what felt like a solid ten minutes of struggling, the pizza was ready — just as the oven beeped, signaling it was preheated.

"Moment of truth, baby," Ellie said solemnly.

Together, you shuffled over to the oven like some three-legged race team from hell. You opened the oven door (barely), Ellie held the pizza tray with one hand, and you guided the oven rack out with your free one.

T-rex was awakened from his nap by the sound of you guys fumbling with the oven door, which caused him to meow so loud, you thought Ellie had stepped on his tail.

"Please don't drop it, please don't drop it, please don't drop it," you chanted under your breath as you both maneuvered it inside.

Somehow, miraculously, the pizza slid into the oven without major casualties.

You both whooped and fist-bumped midair.

"Alright, while that's cooking, we should probably clean up... before Joel somehow senses the chaos and drives over here," you joked, grabbing the dirty bowls and utensils.

Ellie groaned dramatically but helped you anyway, dragging you along to the sink like a reluctant kid.

The two of you struggled through washing dishes — you holding the plates, Ellie scrubbing them, occasionally splashing water all over the counter (and each other).

"This is teamwork, right?" Ellie said, throwing a sudsy sponge at your chest.

"Teamwork makes the dream work, baby," you said, wiping the water off your shirt with exaggerated dignity.

Facing the camera, Ellie leaned closer, water dripping down her sleeve.

"I just want the record to show," she said seriously, "that I do in fact help with the dishes in this house"

You bumped her hip with yours. "Barely."

Ellie laughed, then turned to the camera again, her green eyes bright.

"Alright guys, if you’re still watching this mess, comment down below who do you think is carrying this relationship: me, or her?" she pointed at you with a soapy finger.

You gasped. "First of all, it’s me, easily. Secondly, stop slandering me on MY YouTube channel."

Ellie wiggled her brows. "Our channel, babe. Equality."

“Equality would be you doing more of the dishes,” you muttered under your breath, making the camera catch it, and sending Ellie into another fit of laughter.

Just as you finished drying the last plate (and somehow still soaked the front of your shirts), Ellie sniffed dramatically.

"I'm actually so proud of us babe, even if the pizza turns out like shit (Which it wont) we did such a good job for being HANDCUFFED"

You leaned into her, grinning.

"Yes I agree, it wasn’t half as terrible as I thought"

Ellie flexed her still-cuffed arm like she was being awarded a medal.

"Told you It was a great idea"

“Yeah, yeah, now let's settle down for a bit — my legs hurt from standing up all day," you huffed dramatically, dragging Ellie along with you towards the couch.

Ellie clumsily carried the camera with her free hand and set it down on your little coffee table, adjusting it so you were both in frame. Finally, you collapsed onto the couch, feeling like you could melt into the cushions.

"I'm so hungry I could eat T-Rex," you groaned, your cat immediately hopping onto your lap and purring loudly.

"HEY. WHAT THE HELL," Ellie gasped, immediately scandalized. "Leave our baby out of this" She reached out with her free hand to pet T-Rex, who purred even louder at the attention.

"Who's a good boy? Who’s mama's good boy?" you cooed, scratching his chin just right, making his tail twitch with satisfaction.

Ellie watched the scene with a blank face before deadpanning at the camera, "I just got a girl boner from that."

You gave her a scandalized look and tugged at the front of her hoodie. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet," Ellie said smugly, ruffling your hair, "you’re still with me. Tragic."

You rolled your eyes, settling back against her shoulder. "If you could only bring one thing to a remote island, what would you bring?" Ellie asked suddenly, throwing the question toward the camera like it was a game show.

You answered without hesitation. "You. Obviously. There’s no one else I'd rather be stuck with."

“Aweee—“ Ellie's face went soft immediately, cheeks flushing pink. She leaned down and kissed the top of your head.

“—Same for me," she murmured, then smirked. "And honestly, if we were stuck on some island together, we would definitely survive. We'd never be bored."

You pulled back just enough to squint at her suspiciously. "Again with the sex jokes. I'm trying to have a moment here, Ellie."

"You love it," she teased, winking at the camera like she was hosting a late-night comedy show. "But seriously," she continued, getting a little more earnest, "I think we’d keep each other sane. Or, you know... drive each other insane. Either way, it’d be fun."

You laughed, leaning your head against her shoulder again.

"Besides," Ellie added with a shit-eating grin, flexing her arm dramatically, "you'd need my big strong arms to protect you from wild animals or whatever."

You pulled back, raising an eyebrow. "Define big."

Ellie clutched her chest like you’d just stabbed her. "You’re so mean to me on camera. They're gonna think you’re the top”

You snickered. "Oh my god."

Just as Ellie was about to ask another stupid hypothetical question, a loud beep echoed from the kitchen.

"Saved by the bell!" you gasped, practically throwing T-Rex off your lap meowing in betrayal as you and Ellie scrambled to your feet, your girlfriend rabbed the camera off the table with her free hand. "Alright guys, moment of truth. Will it be edible? Stay tuned."

You wobbled into the kitchen together like a two-headed creature from a sci-fi movie.

Somehow you managed to get the oven open without burning yourselves alive. Ellie used a kitchen towel to yank the tray out while you hovered next to her, uselessly gasping and flapping your free hand like that would help.

"Hot hot hot hot hot!" Ellie hissed as she placed the pizza down on the counter.

You both leaned over it, admiring your work.

"Honestly?" you said. "We ate this shit up."

"I wish you guys could smell it, it’s fucking heavenly." Ellie declared, giving the camera a dramatic chef's kiss.

You quickly sliced up the pizza using the pizza cutter, the two of you fighting over who was worse at it. Once you had two steaming slices on plates, you remembered the handcuffs and gave Ellie a mischievous look.

"Okay. We have to feed each other," you said, grabbing your slice with your dominant hand and holding it out toward her.

Ellie immediately cackled. "Cheers baby"

Still filming, you both counted down — "Three, two, one" — and tried to feed each other at the same time. Both of you missed by like three inches.

The pizza folded, the toppings slid around, and when you finally did get a bite into your mouth—

"AH FUCK, IT’S HOT!" you both yelled, flailing dramatically.

Ellie was fuming out of her mouth, nearly dropping her plate. "I think my taste buds just dissolved."

You fanned your mouth like that would help, eyes watering. "I can’t feel my tongue."

Eventually, once your mouths stopped being on fire, you both flopped onto the floor, handcuffed, eating pizza straight from the plate like it was a survival movie.

Ellie leaned into the camera with a dead serious face. "Let’s try again, I couldn’t taste anything other than lava"

You guys took another bite of the pizza (blowing it off a bit so it would be edible) and it was actually very tasty, the surprised look on each other’s faces said everything.

“This is so good I could orgasm right now” You said dramatically. “Just proving once again lesbians can do anything” Ellie added, proud of her work.

Between bites, Ellie looked at the camera, grease on her chin, and said, "We would could definitely make it to Masterchef"

"Absolutely" you agreed through a mouthful of cheese.

After a few minutes of shoving pizza into your faces, you both finally sat back up, looking absolutely wrecked — sauce stains, flour in your hair, and lipstick smears everywhere.

Ellie reached over and adjusted the camera a little, her fingers smudging the lens slightly. “Alright losers thanks for watching our video, it means a lot to us” You giggled, wiping your mouth on your sleeve. “But seriously, thank you for hanging out with us today, and for putting up with whatever this video was.”

“We love you guys so much, for real,” Ellie said, her voice a little softer now. She reached over and bumped your shoulder with hers. “Don’t forget to like and subscribe, you know leave a little comment and let us know if you like this type of videos or what would y’all like to see” You leaned into her, smiling. “And also thank you for sending in the craziest questions, you guys rock”

Ellie laughed under her breath and turned her head slightly, looking at you — her eyes all soft and melty despite the absolute war crime that was both your appearances.

Without thinking, you tilted your head too, closing the small gap between you.

Just as your lips brushed hers, you saw Ellie smirk against your mouth and suddenly lift her free hand to slap it over the camera lens — cutting the video feed to black mid-kiss.

The last thing the viewers heard before the screen went dark was the soft sound of you laughing against her lips and Ellie whispering, “So… about what you said earlier”

[zylokv]

LOST IN TRANSLATION — J-LINE TWICE

" that whole ‘i wanna touch’ thing… we’ll save it for next time. "

synopsis — it’s 3 a.m. in los angeles when you step into an elevator with momo, sana, and mina, unaware that they’re members of TWICE. while they joke about your height and looks in japanese, you stay quiet, until..

notice — i don’t speak japanese, so any japanese phrases used in this story were translated using reverso/google translate and might not be 100% accurate. please forgive any mistakes—and feel free to gently correct me if needed! this is all just for fun and vibes. pairing — sana x mina x hirai momo x reader. disclaimer ! this is a work of fiction. while TWICE is a real k-pop group, the characters in this story are fictionalized based on their public personalities. i do not own TWICE—i only own the story and original character(s). this was written purely for entertainment purposes, with respect to all individuals involved. genre — oneshot.

the streets of downtown los angeles looked like they were holding their breath.

3:07am.

los angeles at 3am was a different kind of quiet. not empty—but softened, like the whole city had exhaled and gone still. the distant hum of traffic was a low pulse in the background, and the air, warm from a lingering spring day, still carried the faint scent of car exhaust and jacaranda trees in bloom.

you were already regretting your decision to hit the gym this late, but there was no turning back now. the oversized hoodie hung loose over your frame, the sleeves hiding half your hands. your gym bag thumped lightly against your hip with each step. you had your headphones on— no music yet, just the silence that came before the rnb playlist started.

insomnia had won again. and when sleep didn’t come, movement did. the gym in the basement was open twenty-four hours, and the thought of hitting the bag for an hour seemed better than staring at your ceiling for the third night in a row.

you hit the button for the elevator with your knuckle, yawning into your sleeve.

ding.

the moment the doors slid open, your brain short-circuited.

three girls were already inside, laughing. loud. barely holding onto their food as they turned around mid-conversation. the scent hit you first—soy sauce, grilled meat, something fried and sweet, maybe donuts. it was like walking into a late-night food truck festival.

they looked up in unison.

one had dumplings in her mouth. literally. mid-bite. the second had strawberry milk in one hand and a chicken sandwich in the other, her expression stuck somewhere between surprise and delight. and the third—hood up, sleeves over her palms—blinked slowly like she hadn’t quite caught up yet.

you stepped in, the doors closing behind you.

the silence was immediate.

momo swallowed first.

“背の高い”

(tall.)

you heard it. clear as day. but you didn’t react. just lifted your water bottle to your lips, watching the elevator numbers tick down.

sana leaned in toward momo, stage-whispering like she wasn’t absolutely audible. " まって、LAの人ってこんなにストイックなの？”

(wait, are people in LA really this intense?)

“たぶん。” momo smirked, eyes dragging from your shoes to your hoodie to your face. “でも、めっちゃタイプ。”

(maybe. but they’re totally my type.)

you kept your face neutral, eyes forward. the air smelled like sesame oil and seaweed snacks and something caramelized. there was a crunch—sana tearing into what looked like a fried chicken sandwich with absolutely no shame. mina stood closest to the elevator buttons. she glanced at you, then down at the floor. then back at you.

“アメリカ人ってああいう感じかな。” she mumbled, half to herself. (i guess americans look like that.)

“ああいう感じってどんな感じ？” momo asked, nudging her.

(what do you mean ‘like that’?)

“なんか…かっこよくて静か。” mina replied.

(like… cool and quiet.)

“それもあなたの好みですか？” sana teased, nudging mina’s arm.

(is that your preference too?)

“彼らはあなたの言うことを聞くことができません、さあ。” sana elbowed her, snorting. “ここアメリカよ？絶対わかんない。”

(they can’t hear you, come on. we’re in america. there’s no way they understand.)

mina turned pink.

you bit your lip, just barely hiding the smile tugging at your mouth.they didn’t know. they really thought you couldn’t understand a word.

“わたしがタイプって言ったのに。” momo muttered, fake-offended.

(i already called dibs.)

“じゃあジャンケンで決めよう。” sana offered, mouth full.

(rock paper scissors for it, then.)

“餃子があるから無理。”

(i’m holding dumplings, i can’t.)

you finally moved—shifted your gym bag onto your other shoulder. the elevator made a soft ding. one more floor.

the scent of sesame oil and fried chicken filled your nose. momo’s shoulder brushed yours as the elevator moved. her arm stayed close. too close. you could feel the warmth through your hoodie.

“彼らの腕を見てください” momo whispered to sana, thinking she was being slick.

(listen, seriously look at their arms.)

sana giggled. “触りたい”

(i wanna touch.)

“私たちはそうすべきでしょうか？” momo asked, completely unserious but somehow entirely serious.

(should we?)

then your phone rang.

you picked it up without a word, answered with the calmest voice you could muster.

“兄さん、今ジムに行くの。”

(brother, i’m going to the gym now.)

dead silence.

it was instant. you didn’t even have to look to know their eyes were huge. but you did. you turned your head just enough to see them in the mirrored elevator wall—wide eyes, open mouths, and a dumpling midair in momo’s chopsticks.

you continued, casually. “エレベーターの中で面白いことを聞いたばかりだ ちょっと面白い”

(just heard some interesting stuff in the elevator. kinda funny.)

a strangled noise came from behind you.

“日本語…？” mina blinked.

(japanese..?)

“彼らは完璧にそれを話します..” sana whispered, scandalized and thrilled.

(they speak it perfectly..)

you hang up the slight sound evident. you turn your head slightly.

sana was slack-jawed, strawberry milk and chicken sandwich forgotten. momo was wide-eyed, mid-bite again. mina looked like she wanted to melt into the floor.

you gave them a slow smile—lazy, just a little smug. “ありがと。ちなみに、私はそれらの賛辞を早く聞きました。”

(thanks. i heard those compliments earlier, by the way.)

“やっば…” sana whispered, covering her face.

(oh no...) mina made a sound that might’ve been a laugh. or a squeak. maybe both. also looked like she wanted to disappear into her hoodie forever.

you took a step toward the door. paused. let the silence simmer. “君たち3人でゲームを決めよう。” you said, smiling. “誰が勝っても私は地下室にいるよ。”

(you three will decide who win. whoever wins ill be in the gym basement.)

ding.

you stepped out as the doors slid open, tossing a glance over your shoulder.

“「触りたい」ってことは…次回に取っておきましょう。”

(that whole ‘i wanna touch’ thing… we’ll save it for next time.)

the last thing you heard before the elevator doors closed?

“なぜ彼らはあなたのタイプだと大声で言ったのですか!？”

(why did you say out loud that they were your type!?)

"サナ、あの人に触れたいって言ったでしょ!"

(sana, you literally said you wanted to touch them!)

“やめて…” (please stop...) — mina.

kino's note — your sleep deprived writer is back! (sort of) missed my pretty girls and i got this inspo while out on a run at 6am

[deangirlsstuff67]

Out Of His League

Boaz Priestly x Reader

Summary: You make him a deal, he shows you his secret and you show him yours.

Warnings: clit piercing, language, fluffy Boaz, oral (female receiving), making out, feeling up, nipple piercings

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

“Did it hurt?” Tish asked as you were rolling silverware in napkins together. Priestly was behind you both talking with Piper while half ass ease dropping on your conversation.

“Well duh Trish, you’re getting a needle stabbed in a sensitive area, it didn’t feel great.” You both giggle, “but it was so worth it.”

This got Priestley’s attention, “what are you two girls talking about?”

Trish shot him a glare over her shoulder, “nosy much?”

“Wow… okay Trish.” He turned back to his conversation with Piper.

You felt bad. You know he’s always kind of had. Thing for Trish and she won’t give him a second glance with the crazy hair and all the piercings he has. Trish likes pretty boys. She also enjoys using them and proving they are as dumb as they are pretty.

Some days you wonder if your friend is ever going to settle down and find herself a nice guy.

Priestly is sweet, kind, funny, and original. Is he a little out there? Sure, but at least he’s himself. You find that attractive in his own sort of way. If you’re being honest, he’s probably the perfect boyfriend.

—————————————————————————

Tonight you and Priestly are locking up. He’s wiping down tables and you count the till and close down the register.

Curiosity is getting the better of him though. He has to know if he was right about what you and Tosh were talking about earlier.

“So what hurt to get done y/n?”

Looking up from your count you are shocked he even still remembers the earlier conversation.

Smirking at him you figure why not flirt a little, “wouldn’t you like to know big guy.”

“Yes… yes I would. I think I know but I want to hear you say it.”

“Whys that?”

He struts over to the counter, leaning against it. Cleaning tables forgotten at the moment, “because I don’t peg you as the type of girl who would do something so daring.”

Laughing you go back to your counting, “oh I’m full of surprises Priestly.”

“There’s no way.”

“No way what?” You look at him through your lashes adding the charm a little thick.

He looks like he half believes you and half thinks you’re screwing with him. A girl like you getting that pierced, there’s no way that would happen.

“Tell you what Priestly, you tell me your first name and I’ll tell you what I got that hurt, deal?”

Groaning he turns back to his previous task, “nope, no way in hell.”

For some reason he refuses to tell us his first name. You have no idea why but you do know that it would curb his curiosity for a minute or two.

—————————————————————————

Three weeks go by and Priestly has been staring at you every chance he can, like he’s studying you. Trying to get a read on you and what you could have done. He hasn’t asked you again but he knows the price he has to pay to get the answers he wants.

You’re closing with him again that night and finally he can’t take not knowing anymore. You’re in the back room tidying up when he walks up behind you scaring the shit out of you, “Boaz. My first name is Boaz.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that!” You smack his arm as you walk past to put stuff in the garbage.

You take a deep breath before turning around. A deals a deal, “I got my clit pierced.”

His mouth drops open and you can’t help but giggle. Besides your ears you don’t have any visible piercings and you don’t talk about the ones you do have. Beside past boyfriends, no one knows about them.

“If it helps I also have had my nipples pierced for a few years now.” You shrug as you continue moving around the room. Boaz is rooted in place, trying to process what you’ve just told him.

His brain is misfiring though and all the blood has started pumping to his cock as he thinks about the image you placed in his mind.

You’re walking past him again, enjoying the look on his face when he reaches out and grabs your arm pulling you towards him.

“What are you doi-,” he cuts you off with a heated kiss. You can’t help but moan as his tongue licks into your mouth fighting for dominance with yours. His hands grab your waist and pull you flush to his hard body.

When you make contact with his hard dick he groans and leans his forehead against yours, “that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard y/n.”

You don’t respond, head dizzy from the kiss you just shared. Instead you take his lips again and kiss him hard.

He spins you around and lifts you up onto the table behind you without breaking your kiss.

Hands explore your body as you make out in the break room. When he softly rubs his thumb o er your nipples you throw your head back with a moan.

The piercings make them extra sensitive.

Smiling he does it again just to watch your pleasure from such a simple touch, “has anyone played with your clit since you got it pierced.”

“No.”

Rubbing your nipples again, “think it’s as sensitive as these ones?”

Looking into those list blown eyes you smirk as you respond, “only one way to find out Boaz.”

—————————————————————————

“Mmm… fuck Boaz…” he wasn’t wrong that piercing was the best investment I made. Either that or Boaz is a sex god no one ever knew about. The way his tongue is twisting and rubbing your piercing just right has you dripping for him.

This is orgasm number three he is pulling from your trembling, wrecked body and he doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

Once he’s worked you through the last of it, he comes up for air. Kissing you so you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue.

There is something that turns you on about tasting yourself on the lips of a man. Maybe it's the fact that he enjoyed every minute of getting you off numberous times, or maybe it's just the fact that you have claimed him in a way and made him yours, at least for a moment.

Boaz Priestly was a sweet, funny, slightly out there kind of guy. He always had a knack for macking you feel better on those shitty days. You never thought you'd hook up with him though.

"I never heard my first name sound so good than when you're moaning it for me to hear."

You straighten up and fix your clothes. Giving him another kiss, you wink as you speak, "you know my secret and I know yours now. Promise I won't tell a soul."

You go to walk away but he stops you, "where do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"Awe that's cute sweetheart, I am far from finished with my girl."

You give him a puzzling look, "you're girl? Not that I'm not flattered but I kinda always thought you wanted Tish."

"Don't get me wrong, Tish is cute but you're the real prize y/n. You've never judged me. Always there for me when I need a friend. Hell you're beautful as fuck and you make me laugh. Knowing now that you have a kinky side and piercings of your own means that maybe I stand a slight chance with a girl like you." He's staring at the ground as he talks, gone is the cocky guy who was just making you scream his name repeatedly in the back room of your workplace, it's now replaced with a guy who seems to nervous for the man you have grown to love.

"Boaz, did you think you were out of my league or something?"

All he does is nod his head.

"You silly boy. I don't care about looks. If I'm being honest I love your style. You are 100% confident in who you are and express yourself through your style. You are funny, charming, and yes a little wild, but you were never out of my league."

Green eyes meet you y/e/c ones as he processes what you just confessed to him. You can't help but softly smile at the man in front of you.

God he's adorable.

Leaning in you kiss his lips gentle and take his hand, "come on, my man has more fun in store exploring what this piercing can do to me." You send him a wink as you lead him to the back door and into the night.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day you and Priestly walk into work hand in hand. You're both holding your breath as your coworkers look at you both. Within minutes hoots and hollers can be heard as they all congratulate you.

"About damn time you two." Tish says with a smile on her face as she wraps you up into a hug.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist:

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @lessons-of-red @spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @deansimpalababy @nancymcl @tspmoff @idontwannabehere78 @foxyjwls007 @senjoritanana @leigh70 @neii3n @maggiegirl17 @jamerlynn @mostlymarvelgirl @kimxwinchester @multiversefanfics

[wonislife17]

synopsis: Jungwon has an unexpected interaction and realizes something.

Here are the other chapters (the ones that come before): pt1, pt2, pt3.

pairing: reader x yang jungwon

WC: 823

A/N: Can you tell I listened to 'Brought the Heat Back' by Enhypen when I wrote this? I tried to keep it a little shorter this time. Let me know if you'd like a part 5. I got inspired after watching that Face Reading of Enhypen (I think it's Korean Fortune Telling?) with Enhypen pre-debut. I'm thinking about making a taglist for this as well. Thank you everyone for the love and support! Happy reading. :)

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It's been three weeks since Jungwon saw you. It doesn't bother him, or at least, that's what he tells himself, but every time he didn't see you, he felt a lingering cloud at the back of his mind.

He even sits a few rows back from the row he saw you sitting at, just to get a different view of the class in hopes that it would get him out of his slump. It just so happened to have a good view of the door, so on the off chance that you came late, he'd be able to see you perfectly.

But you'd never show.

If his friends had to ask him about his sullen mood, he'd simply say he's tired. After all, who would catch feelings for someone after they already turned them down?

'It doesn't help that this weather is absolute hell. Who would even want to come to campus with all this rain, or the harsh grey skies?' He muses, his focus slipping for the last 10 minutes of the lecture.

When the lecture ends, he packs his things quickly, and leaves.

The cold campus air smacks Jungwon's face, and he internally curses himself for not bringing his jersey as he takes out his umbrella. He heads to usual coffee spot on campus, desperate for a mocha.

His mind is halfway between what work he needs to do in preparation for his semester tests next week, and whether he should have ramen for supper (again), when he sees his friend, Heeseung come out from his own lecture, Heeseung's crush, some other guy and... her. She's laughing at something the guy said, face brightening, lips smiling. Heeseung spots him and waves, beckoning him over.

"Jungwon. How're you doing?" Heeseung grins, clearly happy he's getting to spend time with his crush. "This is that friend in my lecture I was talking about...." He gestures to the girl he likes, but that isn't what captures Jungwon's attention.

You're still chatting with Jay, the two of you in your own world. It stands out to him more than it should. Your relaxed posture. Your cheery smile. Even the way you're talking. 'She's so... calm around him.' He thinks to himself, quickly comparing your and his interaction to what he sees in front of him.

Jungwon quickly shakes it off, and greets the friend, introducing himself to her. She greets back politely, then turns to look at you, who's still chatting with Jay.

"Erm... earth to Jay and (Y/N)? Aren't you two going to be polite?"

Jay looks at Jungwon and politely introduces himself, and you look at him, apprehensive.

"We already know each other." You say casually.

Your friend looks surprised, and Heeseung remarks about how it's a "small world".

It takes everything in Jungwons mind to not blurt the question that's burning the neurons in his brain about why you haven't been going to those lectures, until Jay offhandedly remarks about how it's nicer to see you in his Wednesday lectures instead of trying to tire yourself out with those god-awful early 08:30 ones.

Like something slotting into place, he realized that he was, in fact, disappointed that he wasn't seeing you in lectures. He looked at Jay and you, who are already back to chatting. The rain finally settles into cloudy skies.

Heeseung looks at Jungwon, slightly confused about his more serious demeanor, but brushes it off. "Uhh... we're going to sit somewhere and eat lunch... you wanna join us?" Heeseungs calm, but excited voice snaps Jungwon out of his reverie, and he nods half-heartedly.

"Sure, hyung. I was going to get myself a coffee anyway."

The group makes its way to the cafeteria, with Heeseung and his crush sharing an umbrella, and you and Jay each having your own.

Jungwon looks at you and Jay, chatting away, and notices things he didn't see before. Why would he? He's always about achieving goals, and learning, and improving oneself. He didn't give himself the time for simple, silly things like this. But he couldn't stop himself from noticing certain things. The sway of your hair as you walk, your bright eyes as you're talking about something you're passionate about. It's almost like masterpiece coming to form, showcasing your attributes.

The sun makes its first welcomed appearance for the day, and everyone lowers their umbrellas.

"Finally." Says Heeseungs crush, and everyone chuckles.

Jungwon looks to you, and what he sees makes his heart flutter. Your skin looks honeyed by the soft morning sunlight. It's ironic, considering you were laughing at something Jay said like a madman, but seeing you in such a state of joy, Jungwon realized he can't fool himself into thinking that he's only noticing you purely because he caught you staring at him.

But it looks like you've already moved on, chatting to Jay like your confrontation with Jungwon didn't happen.

'Dammit. This was not in my plan.' ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

pairing: reader x yang jungwon, yang jungwon x reader.

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇

PAIRING: dean winchester x f!reader

TAGS: supernatural 6x6 plot with canon divergence, jealousy, angst, ‘unrequited’ feelings, hurt/no comfort

A/N: was going through the show again and remembered this episode’s existence so ofc i had to put my own twist to it and make it even angstier :D lmk if you want a part two (might do it anyways) but yeah, not-so-happy happy reading <3

WORD COUNT: 807

masterlist || request box <3

It had been a year since you’d seen Dean face-to-face last — since he had left to be with Lisa and Ben after Sam sacrificed himself to save the world, leaving you alone. It hurt to see him do all the things he’d told you about — things he told you while you laid atop Baby’s hood and looked up at the stars in Bobby’s junkyard when neither of you could sleep after a hunt. Conversations about any and everything where the walls that Hell built crumbled brick by brick. It had always been you in the picture you’d painted in your mind that he’d do it all with. Until it wasn’t.

Even a year later, you couldn’t really blame him. He’d told you that the door was always open for you to visit, and you almost took him up on it, but then you saw him with them. He looked so happy. Who were you to fuck that up?

Don’t think I can make it over after all. Enjoy your night. Tell Lisa and Ben I’m sorry.

Now Sam was back, and Dean was hunting again. It should have been easy to keep it all buried—as if you hadn’t spent the last year doing just that but, of course, the thing you had to be hunting was the Goddess of Truth. You thought you could hide it, but the jealousy that boiled underneath your skin had grown too hot, and she saw it. “All three of you are the worst liars I’ve ever seen, but you,” Veritas scoffed as she turned to look at you. “The brothers have nothing on you.”

Your jaw tightened as she crouched in front of you, Dean snarling from behind her. “Leave her alone.”

“Oh, trust me. You’re gonna wanna hear what she has to say, Dean,” she crows over shoulder. “It’s all about you, ain’t that right, Y/N?” As she spoke, she dragged a finger down your cheek and across your lips. “I just know your tongue tastes exquisite. Let’s get it out in the open, shall we?”

Of all the scenarios you’d imagined where you’d bare your feelings to the man across from you — the man who you’d fallen in love with and had been in love with since you met him — this wasn’t one of them. It was worse than anything your brain could have possibly ever imagined. “He’s your best friend, but… how do you really feel about Dean?”

Your mouth moved before you could stop yourself. “I’m in love with him.”

As the words slipped past your lips, Veritas let out a breathy laugh. “How long have you been in love with him?”

“Blackwater Ridge.” You didn’t dare look at Dean as you spoke, but you caught him flinching at your mention of the forest in your periphery. It was where you had met the brothers first. You still remember the way your heart skipped at the way he looked at you even while beaten and scratched to shit, his green eyes were alight with admiration and it made your heart melt.  

“The whole time…” Veritas crooned, a sick smile on her face at the chaos she was causing. “And now he’s got a cute little family, doesn’t he? How does that make you feel?”

No. Anything but that. You tried to hold yourself back, but it was useless — like trying to stop yourself from vomiting even though it was rising from your stomach. “It hurts,” you gasp, biting your tongue as you try to stop yourself from crying. He shouldn’t be finding out this way — he shouldn’t be finding out period.

“Oh, I know you can do better than that, Y/N. Spit it out.”

“Stop it,” Dean hissed, but it was too late. She had asked, and you had to answer.

“It hurts, and I don’t know what I could have done wrong for him to leave after Sam died. He’s my best friend, and he just left and ran to her. He chose her, and I’ve spent the last year asking myself what could she possibly have that I don’t?”

“Why not tell him?”

“Normal was everything he’s ever wanted. He looked so happy with them. I’m fucked up. Lisa’s not. I wasn’t gonna beg when he’d already made his choice.” Veritas hummed in satisfaction before standing up and dusting off her skirt. The weight that pressed on your skull subsided as her gaze pulled away from yours, and the chill of the room at your coerced confessions crawled across your skin. You couldn’t bear to look at Dean knowing that whatever you were met with would break you — that it’d confirm your worst fears. He wasn’t supposed to know. He was with Lisa now, and he was happy. Your words would mean nothing because he chose her. It was always gonna be her. 

[baronessvonglitter]

Star-Crossed

Dieter Bravo x gn!reader | WC: 2K

Summary: On a shoot in Italy, Dieter has one of the worst weeks of his life. Perhaps one unselfish act can turn all that around..

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Language. Alcohol drinking. Mentions of drugs. Allusions to smut/possible mmf threesome. Accidental flashing. Duo the Owl is its own warning. Dieter goes commando because I say so. Burglary. Dumpster-diving. More stealing. Dieter's having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Mention of a fire. Salmonella is yet another warning on its own. Sickness (obviously). Reader is gender neutral and not described apart from having an accent. No use of y/n. Not beta'd so don't come for me. A very special thanks to V in the notes ❤️

A/n: this is my submission for the Italian music challenge hosted by my dear friend @itwasntimethatdidit40. Big thanks to her for assisting with some Italian phrasing 🙌🏼 This was such a lovely and interesting challenge and thank you so much for being patient with me.

I chose to write for Dieter because I've never written him before, and I was given the song "Giudizi Universali" by Samuele Bersani:

dividers by @strangergraphics 👑

FULL MASTERLIST

The paparazzi now has photos of Dieter's cock, and it's all the song's fault.

The last thing he remembers are the purple lights, neon and sharp overhead as sweat runs down his neck. They blink in a crazy rhythm, every other second bathing the room in a dim violet glow before going out quickly to black, and back again.

He's dancing at full speed, doing everything at full speed the way Dieter Bravo just does. The beautiful young woman dancing with him swivels her body so lusciously that it almost tempts him away from the beautiful young man she's with. She shouts something over the music, leaning in closer when he can't hear her the first time. Her lips graze the shell of his ear.

"Balli come una scimmia!" she says laughingly.

Dieter forces his own laugh, his gaze flicking to her partner. "Uh, what did she say?"

"She says you dance like a monkey!" The young man shouts back, still dancing, his neck and chest giving off a sheen of sweat.

"Well that's not very nice, is it?" He starts to doubt himself and his dancing ability. No one has ever said anything about his ungainly dancing. The innocuous comment starts to sour his night, so he orders another round of drinks.

The vodka flows freely that night, and Dieter remembers being grateful that some words, especially alcohol-related ones, are universal.

He remembers nothing more, waking up just past noon, in between the young woman and her boyfriend, wearing nothing below the waist. His mouth is dry and he wants a cigarette. Even better, some ketamine. Like he always does, he procured a dealer just as quickly as he was on the ground at Leonardo da Vinci International Airport.

With a grunt he pushes himself out of bed, nearly toppling over the young man, his weight falling on his supine body. Unfortunately Dieter's cock is more awake than his brain, and responds eagerly to the stimuli of being between the young man's legs.

"Give me a break, we don't have time for that now," he mutters, getting off the bed and taking a moment to stretch. He goes to the window and, shielding his eyes, tries to get an idea of where exactly he is in this city.

He can see his hotel sign on the other side of town, and he groans. The thought of having to hoof it is not one he wants to entertain. His host and hostess were the ones to kindly walk him to their place tonight, chattering away in the musical Italian tongue he'd bothered to learn just a little of while here on the shoot.

A historical soap opera set in the 1880s, Dieter plays an evil count, hellbent on taking over his estranged brother's wealth. The role is basically a softball for him. His agent wants him to acclimatize himself to foreign fans. And so far he's done just that. If you consider fucking them to be acclimatization.

He's here for the next few months and he plans to take advantage of all that. But first he needs to get hold of some Special K.

He grabs his phone from the back pocket of his pants, hung haphazardly over the vanity mirror, and he thinks about taking a selfie. Not to post, of course. But his Face ID isn't working, and his passcode seems to be incorrect.

Too late he hears a crowd gathering below, and still in his sluggish state, he frowns, peering down out the window to see a group of people, some holding cameras, most holding smartphones. And they're all taking pictures of him. He smiles good-naturedly and waves, knowing his hair is a mess, his beard is scruffy. He can still taste the Grey Goose at the back of his throat.

And he realizes why they're photographing him. Not just because he's Dieter fucking Bravo.

He's not wearing any pants. Or underwear for that matter.

"Shit! Shit!" He closes the window and hides, still hearing the chatter below. Fuck! He promised his agent he'd be on his best behavior while in Rome. All he did was dance and drink at a club, go home with a hot couple, and accidentally show his dick to a bunch of innocent bystanders.

But he should know better. Likely the paprazzi have been following him, waiting to get a juicy photo op like the one he just gave them. He can see the evening edition already: Academy Award Winner Caught with Cock Out After Night of Debauchery.

Eyes squeezed shut as he feels a migraine coming on, he holds his head in his hands as he tries to figure out What the Hell to Do.

Taking a look at the phone in his hand he realizes it's not even his. It has a glittery purple cover with hearts. Though it'll fit his own phone. He removes the cover and puts it in his pants pocket where he thought his own phone was. He can't even use this phone to call it.

Suddenly it chirps to life, playing an upbeat pop song, the lyrics melodic and expressive and going completely over his head because as usual he hasn't bothered to do his Duolingo lessons. That owl is going to be pissed at him.

He answers the phone, pressing the green Answer button, but the voice on the other side is unknown to him. It sounds like an angry boss or even an angry lover. One of his party pals from last night is in trouble. He hangs up on the caller and shoves himself in his pants, the phone going into his pocket. He doesn't even bother looking for his underwear; he doubts he was even wearing any last night.

But the crowd outside hasn't dispersed. He hides in the bathroom until he can think straight.

Splashing some cold water on his face, he tries to calm his breathing, mentally cursing himself for getting in this situation. Why does he never learn?

He stares at the phone, pressing instructions on the screen until he gets to the number keypad. Of course he doesn't know any phone numbers by heart. Who does in this day and age?

When he finally gains the courage to leave, the couple are gone. And so is his wallet, which he'd left on the nightstand. He curses his shitty luck. He doesn't even remember their names, so there's not even a chance of tracking them down.

A migraine starts, making him wince. He needs something for the pain and his nerves now. With no other viable options, he takes a deep breath and leaves, finding a back exit leading to an alley filled with dumpsters. Upon hearing chatter. and the clicking of cameras, Dieter heaves himself into one of the dumpsters, right into a pile of day-old organic waste.

Great.

He eventually makes it back to his hotel, stealing a pair of sunglasses and a hat from a nearby street vendor to disguise himself, running at the fullest speed possible for him (he's been told he needs to trim down but the food here is too delicious to have just one serving at each meal), shouting out promises to return when he has some cash.

He probably won't.

His agent catches wind of the photos, and promises to do something, even if he has to sue the bastards for invasion of privacy. He assures Dieter that he'll put a stop to those scandalous photos being reprinted or distributed in any way. Dieter puts every ounce of trust in his agent to do just that, even though he sees his costars and even some of the crew giggling behind his back.

Go ahead and let them laugh. He's grower, not a show-er. He'll show anyone just to prove it.

At least he has a working phone now, courtesy of the studio.

He hears the song again when he's in the makeup chair, tissues tucked into the high collar of his historical costume as a gorgeous man whose name he's forgotten touches up Dieter's makeup, adding a touch of bronzer at his hairline. The makeup artist is listening to a playlist of Italian 90s songs, and this one begins. The MUA sees Dieter's frown and says something in his melodic accent, pointing to his phone where the music is emanating from, smiling and giving a hopeful thumbs up. Dieter nods, giving a thumbs up as well. But it's too early for a smile, so he attempts a half-assed smirk.

"Turn it off." he says loudly, hoping he'll be understood. "Silenzio.. per favore?" {Silence... please?} But there's some malfunction with the phone or the app or whatever because the song doesn't stop. In fact it skips, the song sounding more threatening until the MUA forces it to turn off. The silence thereafter is a relief to Dieter, though his frustration is mounting.

Perhaps his mood has set the tone for the day, because Murphy's Law attaches itself to the set like a leech. The lead actress keeps forgetting her lines and has to have them fed to her, taking up more of his time than he'd like. Then there's an electrical fire during one of his most important scenes. The entire cast has to be evacuated off the set, but luckily it's close to break time and craft services is ready to feed everyone while they're displaced for the time being.

Unfortunately there's an outbreak of salmonella in the seafood bisque everyone's been eating. Fortunately he only had a couple spoonfuls of it, but production on the show has halted for the time being, and the remaining cast and crew are sent home. Unfortunately, he's still confined to the restroom for the remainder of the night, swearing off craft services for the rest of his life.

He should have recognized that as the second sign.

Most of the cast and crew are still being treated by the time he's feeling better days later. Even so, he dares a little night walk even though it's only been a week since he flashed the photographers. There hasn't been anything in the press lately, but he knows there are probably some greedy little cunts who refused to turn over the film, probably keeping it for a blackmail-kind-of-day.

Living in the spotlight, there's always a chance for someone to spring out of the shadows with an unexpected reprisal. A scorned lover, a repudiated friend, even a teacher from his past who would sell an embarrassing story about how he failed ninth grade world history before dropping out completely.

What the hell, let them come for him. He's older now, and tired despite the fast lifestyle he'd adopted decades ago. He's slowing down by the minute, the drugs and alcohol wearing him down, smoothing him out like a used tire.

And so what if the paps come for him? So what if his dick shows up on TMZ, pixelated beyond recognition? He's been Hollywood fodder for much worse. He can just stay here in Rome, an ancient has-been in an ancient city. Maybe he'll be considered a landmark himself, given enough time.

He wanders in the gold and magenta evening light, his stolen purchases on him: black baseball cap and dark sunglasses. He has the cash to pay for them in his pocket.

At the vendor stand he finds you, and for a brief moment he feels his luck has turned around. Your smile is beatific as you look up at him, and he doesn't know if it's because you recognize him or because you're just an angel on earth. You ask him in accented English if he sees anything he likes, and while you're talking about they keychains and magnets, he sees you and boy does he like you.

And later, when you're walking in the Piazza Navona, licking at the cold sweet gelato you're carrying, you laugh as he explains what he's gone through, the trials and tribulations that he's endured just by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Just as he's finished his story, that song starts blasting from a nearby bar. Dieter winces as if expecting a blow: some mischance to befall him. Maybe he'll trip on his own two feet and fall headfirst into the fountain.

But all that happens is that you squeeze his hand and press your lips to his cheek. They're delightfully cool on his heated skin.

tagging those interested in my wip: @thedilfdiaries @everybodylovedcontractors @inept-the-magnificent @sawymredfox

[hunter-creature]

"Please Miss?" I was breathing a bit too rapidly, simply unable to blink. I couldn't stop looking into those big hopeful eyes as she kneeled on the floor. Her face was starting to twist in worry.

I would probably be shaking, but she was griping my wrist and the end of the gun, pressing it against her forehead. I had to pull away, get my footing. She didn't try to stop me, but I could already see tears spilling down her face. "Hey, hey, shhhh its okay I just need a minute, okay? This is... big for me," I wasn't sure I was ready to let her go. But I wanted it, I wanted it so bad. To paint the walls with her brain. To see body flop dead and lifeless. To... ,hells, so much. "But you promised-," I slapped her hard. She was stunned silent. The tears dried up as her brain tried catch up. I was not going to have back talk at this moment. "Do not presume to tell me my own fucking words. I know what I said, I - You've earned your pullies. I just- just," Fuck, now I was breaking character. I hugged her tightly, squeezed the air out of her lung. The cold metal of the gun digging into her back. I need her. "I just.. can't let you die that quickly, okay? Can I just- let me do it slower, the way I want?" She nodded and tried her best to return my crushing hug before I finally let go. I roughly pressed the muzzle into her stomach before dragging it down to her thigh. Rubbing it in a bit before asking, "Here? Is here good, my little snuffable?" There was a brief pause and shiver from her. Before she was ready for it to be over in an instant. Now she was going to have to endure however long I was going to toy with her. She already knew how long that could be. "Yes, Miss. Please, my pullies..." I grabbed her collar and pulled her close for a kiss before lifting the gun and firing. We both jolted from the blast. I couldn't hear anything and she probably couldn't either. The ear damage hurt, but it made the whole scene almost serene. Red was bubbling out of her thigh and I almost couldn't look away. Thank whatever goddess gave me the power to look back to up to face. The stark shock and need. The pain probably not fully reaching her brain yet, but the fear dawning as she saw my glee. Shaky, jitters more then panic, I shoved the barrel of the gun into her mouth. Forcing her to suck on the still warm barrel as she bled all over the basement floor. The weapon buzzed with either her screams or moans. It didn't matter which to me. This is what I needed. I finally pulled the gun from her mouth and put it back up against her forehead. She gave me the most pathetic look I had ever seen. Slowly I tugged on the trigger, it felt like hours in barely a second. Then. *Click* There was confusion on her face. She had seen me pull the trigger, but she was still here. I only grinned wider. Realization hit her like a truck. She start to babble something I couldn't hear. Shoving her finger in with mine and pulling that trigger again and again and again. Click. Click. Click. Finally I had my fill of the fun, punched her hard in the gut, and left her to squirm on the floor as I retrieved the medical kit. It took her 5 years to earn that bullet and she had let me put it in her thigh. It would be hell getting her out of the basement and to the hospital, but it was worth it for all this.