#Combined Volume: Text

[thepersonalwords]

Everyone defends his treasure, and will do so automatically.The real questions are, what do you treasure, and how much do you treasure it? Once you have learned to consider these questions and to bring them into all your actions, you will have little difficulty in clarifying the means. The means are available whenever you ask. You can, however, save time if you do not protract this step unduly. The correct focus will shorten it immeasurably.

Helen Shucman, A Course in Miracles, Combined Volume: Text, Workbook for Students, Manual for Teachers, 2nd Edition

[sketch-shepherd]

Happy Pride Month I guess this is my way of telling people I'm possibly the only Ladybug Farm shipper in the fandom

(for the record Blake and Oscar are strictly platonic in this ship. It's Ruby who's in a poly ship with the both of them)

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Hiiii i have a request from your list if you take any at the moment.

10.. "You bought me flowers?"

Maybe Quinn x reader and he brings her glowers just because and shes overwhelmed because she never really had anyone doing that for her (besides her parents on birthdays or something) but never romantically!!

Sorry this took so long! I had two requests come in the same day I combined both prompts. 🩷

You had laid down on your sofa about two hours ago. It had been a kind of throw-away day with Quinn traveling back to Vancouver after finishing a long road series. They had encountered some bad weather and their flight had been delayed, so you had decided to catch up on some sleep while you waited for him to get back to the city since it seemed like it was going to be a late night. However, you had left your phone on the kitchen counter with the volume off, having gone to the movies the night before, so you hadn't heard any of his text notifications.

My Huggy Bear: They're finally letting us take off. I'll message you when we touch down. I love you. (2:32am)

My Huggy Bear: Have I mentioned enough that I've missed you? (2:17am)

My Huggy Bear: Oh, I said I'd message you when we got back, didn't I? 😅 (2:17am)

My Huggy Bear: I do, though, I miss you a lot. I'll be home soon. (2:25am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm guessing you fell asleep. I'm jealous. Turbulence is too bad for me to get to sleep. (2:37am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm going to leave you alone so these messages don't wake you. I love you. (2:41am)

My Huggy Bear: Finally back in BC, babe. (8:12am)

My Huggy Bear: I'm going to come by in a bit if you don't care. (8:55am)

Apparently, your body thought when you laid now that it wasn't just for a simple nap. It would be morning before you finally woke up, and that was because of the sound of your doorbell going off. Slowly, you put your feet down on the ground and shuffled to the door. Having not seen any of Quinn's messages, or even what time it was, everything was such a blur. Through the peep-hole, you'd make out Quinn's figure standing on your porch.

"Oh, hi baby," you yawned after opening the door and struggling to function after waking so abruptly.

He just looked at you and smiled, though he himself, was just as groggy as you were. "Good morning, babe."

You opened your arms for a hug and you both nearly stumbled through the door, "I'm so glad you're home!"

"So am I," he chuckled, holding on to you with his one free arm. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's okay, I didn't aim to fall asleep on the sofa, but I guess I did anyways."

"Ah, so I'm guessing you didn't see my messages."

When the two of you parted ways, you'd close the door and turn back towards him. "I never heard my-- I must have left it somewhere! I'm sorry baby!"

Again, he smiled as he watched you move about and wake up in stages. He knew you'd never ignore him on purpose (as least he hoped not) but he appreciated that you acknowledged when you had missed them. "I didn't expect you to stay awake until we landed. It's okay." Quinn stepped forward and gave you a kiss. That was when the scent of floral hit you.

"Oh, I got you something this morning," he added, bringing the bouquet up from his side. You somehow hadn't noticed, likely because of your sleepy state.

"You bought me flowers?" You asked, shocked by the gesture. "Quinny, they're beautiful!"

"I'm glad you like them," he confessed, watching as you brought them to your nose. "I just wanted to get you something, as an apology for not getting home when I wanted to."

Following a deep inhale of the fresh flowers, you'd look at Quinn concerned, "You didn't owe me an apology, baby! You can't help the weather! I'm just glad you're safe! That's all that matters to me."

"Still, I should get them for you more often. I know how much you like them."

You'd smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You're so sweet, but you don't have to!"

"I'll see what I can do," he winked, his forehead against yours. "I love you."

His confession took your breath away with how he had said it. His voice was low; that sleepy tone that always drove you wild. "I love you, too, Quinn. So much!"

You both would share a series of kisses --slow and passionate-- that expressed just how much you both had missed the other.

"Do you mind if I stay here with you today?" He mumbled, his lips still close to yours.

\"Of course not!"

"I don't want to drive home."

You pouted, "I don't want you to leave." In reality, you never wanted him to leave when you were together, but it was nice when he asked you if he could stay.

"Come lay down with me?"

"I'll meet you in there. I need to get these into water first." You'd give him the softest kiss to his pouty lips before he would let you walk away from him. Quinn wouldn't wander into the bedroom like you thought. Instead, he'd follow you into the kitchen and hover just over your shoulder while you worked. His arms wrapped around your waist, his lips painting kisses behind your ear and down your neck. He wasn't trying to distract you, and in truth, it would take you a lot longer to transfer the bouquet to a vase than it should have, but Quinn was always a welcomed hindrance.

"I just missed you," he whispered. "I hate being gone for so long now. It didn't affect me until I met you."

Your hands found his at your stomach, as you laid your head back on his shoulder, "I'm sorry, baby."

"Don't be. I just love you. Makes coming back to you so much nicer," he smiled as he spoke, placing one last kiss to your temple before letting you go. "That's enough sad confessions for one morning, yeah?"

You nodded, "Mhm, let's go lay down. I'll make a late lunch after."

"I'd like that, baby. Thank you."

- - -

The weeks following Quinn returning from the 6-game stretch had brought with them numerous surprises. He spent more time at your house than his apartment, more of this things dotted your place than ever had before, and most unexpected of them all were the weekly flower arrangements that showed up "just because", as he put it. He had told you that he would try to get them for you more often, and you should have known better that he wasn't talking to just hear his own voice. Sure enough, at some point through the week, on the road or in Vancouver, Quinn had flowers delivered to you with cute little love notes attached.

Your house smelled like a flower shop and was beginning to look like one as well. Each room had a vase and every time you saw one of them, butterflies tickled your heart and stomach. You hoped that Quinn knew how much each and every one of them meant to you and the meaning they held. He seemed to like them as well, always making small compliments on how nice a certain flower smelled or liking where you had placed one within the house.

He was becoming your Disney prince right before your eyes.

[freeuselandonorris]

honestly would kill to see your take on any kink ever, but I must admit I haven't been able to get your thoughts on electrostim out of my mind since you shared them so. that one. (+camshow if you're feeling it 👀)

ps.: I did have a good festive season, and I hope you did too!! 🫶🫶

glad to hear it! 🫰 mine has been. mixed. but mostly good thank u!

obviously could not resist this one. enjoy oscar being the stone cold freak for once!

Lando had asked to see it, mainly because he didn’t entirely believe Oscar was telling the truth. 

Oscar was cool and everything. Funny, with a saucy mouth on him once you got to know him. But you had to admit the guy came off as — well. Vanilla. 

So when they’d gotten pissed together on leftover Moët in Lando’s suite and Oscar had picked up the TENS machine Jon had left in there, turned it over in his hands and said, “are you into electrostim?” in tones of nervous delight, Lando hadn’t even considered it might be some sort of weird sex thing.

What the fuck is electrostim? he’d asked, tipping the remnants of his glass down his throat, which meant he didn’t notice Oscar’s horrified expression for a few seconds. 

“Nothing,” Oscar said quickly, but by that point Lando had clocked the blush spreading rapidly across his cheeks and perked right up. Even then, he’d figured it was something embarrassing, but not — that. 

He’d not believed it, when Oscar explained it. How you could wire up the same kind of machine Jon used to zap the cramps out of his aching thighs and stick it round your cock. Not that Oscar said it so brazenly. There was a lot of umm-ing and err-ing, a lot of vague hand gestures and stuttering, before Lando got the picture. 

“Fuck off,” Lando said when Oscar finished stammering out the barest of explanations. “Really? You?”

”Jesus, Lando,” Oscar said, somewhere between exasperated and indignant.

“I bet you a hundred quid you can’t,” Lando said. 

Oscar shrugged. “Believe what you like.”

Lando, whose impulse control was bad at the best of times and even worse combined with half a bottle of champagne and a burgeoning stiffy, picked the machine up from where Oscar had dropped it onto the coffee table and held it out. “Show me?”

Oscar gaped at him. He was redder than Lando had ever seen him, but he didn’t look mad or anything. Just — blindsided, maybe. 

“Not now,” Oscar said eventually. His voice came out in a kind of croak, and he cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Maybe — maybe some other time.”

Lando knew a brush-off when he saw one, so he shrugged and changed the subject and tried not to feel too mortified about it. Oscar made his excuses after another glass, sloped off to his own bedroom, and Lando put the whole embarrassing affair out of his mind. 

When his phone buzzed a week later with a text from Oscar, he had to read it twice before he understood it.

Osc 19:48 Hey. I took a video if you’re still interested. No worries if not, don’t want to pressure 🙂

Lando breathed out hard through his nose, blinking at his phone.

lando 19:50 thats the politest sext i’ve ever had yeh i am pls

Osc 19:51 🙄 it was hardly a sext [video attached]

The thumbnail was blurry, a flash of maroon and some squiggles that might be wires. Lando swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the play button. He tapped it.

”Okay,” Oscar’s voice came from the phone’s speaker, quiet. Lando kicked the volume up a couple of notches, watching a confusion of movement. Oscar’s torso, clad in his usual plain t-shirt, and a pair of khaki knee-length shorts, open at the waist. The wires Lando had spotted led out to a hand-held control box, similar to the one Jon used but a different model. 

On-screen, Oscar cleared his throat. “Had it on for five minutes or so already,” he said. His voice was a little shaky, like he was nervous. He swallowed audibly before he spoke again. “So I’m a little — I’m already, you know.” A soft laugh. “Sorry, don’t know how well I’ll be able to, um, talk you through it. Let me just — I’ll just show you.”

He exhaled, audibly steeling himself, and Lando felt himself mirror the action unconsciously. His hands were sweating enough to worry he might drop his phone. He swore under his breath and hit pause on Oscar, heading through to his bedroom and flopping back onto the bed. After a moment’s deliberation, he shoved his own shorts down to mid-thigh. He wasn’t hard yet, but — well. Better to have the option. 

He hit play. Oscar-on-the-screen hummed thoughtfully and then the screen blurred again. Some scuffling sounds that made Lando wince, the screen going briefly dark and then bleaching light again until Oscar came back into focus from the neck down to mid-thigh, standing in what looked like his bathroom with the camera, presumably, propped on the sink. 

“Right, that’s better,” Oscar said, and breathed out again, a short sharp exhalation. “Okay, here goes.” 

He put the control box down, out of shot, and visibly straightened his spine before he pushed his shorts down. No boxers. Oscar, Lando thought admiringly. I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.

It took the camera a few moments to focus, but when it did, Lando bit back a groan. Oscar’s cock was thick, semi-hard, and covered in wires. A thick black loop of it cinched tight around the base, and another snug beneath the head of his cock, trailing a black wire. 

“Had it on low,” Oscar said. “I’ll turn it up a bit.”

His hand reached out of frame and adjusted something, and he gasped. His cock jerked, filling out in front of Lando’s wide eyes. Oscar made a soft noise, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he adjusted something else that made his cock jump again, a tiny rhythmic pulse. 

“Ah,” Oscar said. “That’s — about halfway now. Feels pretty intense.”

He adjusted himself with one hand, pulling the top loop of wire a little tighter with the plastic toggle tucked up tight beneath the head. His long fingers hovered for a second, like he was struggling not to jack himself off, help things along. 

Lando let out a string of curses beneath his breath and grabbed himself. He thumbed at the bottom of the screen to bring up the playback bar. Jesus, the video wasn’t even a quarter of the way through yet. 

He watched Oscar’s cock get harder, bobbing in midair. Lando tuned himself into it after a minute or so. He could tell when Oscar adjusted the intensity of the current by the way Oscar’s cock flushed red, jolting against his belly, the veins on the underside pulsing beneath his foreskin. 

Still, it made him gasp when Oscar’s cock blurted thin clear liquid. It trickled down the side of his cock and dropped out of sight. 

“Yep,” Oscar said tightly. “Yeah, it’s. Getting good now.”

“Oh my God, Oscar,” Lando said to his empty room, voice shocked and shaking. 

Oscar hummed again, a low rumble in his chest. When he spoke again, it sounded like an effort. “Sometimes it makes me, uh. I think it stimulates my bladder or something, so — just to warn you.”

Lando let out a shuddering breath, blinking hard at the screen. This was insane. Both of them had clearly lost their minds. He wondered, for a brief paranoid second, whether this was some sort of sophisticated deepfake scam and he was going to have his bank account emptied or his DMs leaked yet again. But no, Oscar had said it to his face. 

“Right,” Oscar’s voice came over the speaker. “Gonna take it up another notch. It’s getting — it’s strong now.” 

Lando could hear it now. A faint ticking sound, barely there, pulsing in time to the jerk of Oscar’s swollen cock. Oscar pulled up the hem of his t-shirt with one hand and clenched his abs, gasping. 

“Ah, jeez,” Oscar gritted out, and on the screen, his cock jumped and let out a spurt of liquid. It spattered wet against his stomach, dripping down. Too far away from the camera to be able to see what it was. 

Lando curled his toes into the bedding. He was wanking furiously now, skin slapping against skin sounding overly loud in the room compared to the processed sound of Oscar’s heavy breaths. On the screen, Oscar’s cock was pulsing rhythmically, drooling clear liquid with every movement. Little droplets ran down the shaft, dripping to the floor. The hem of Oscar’s t-shirt had fallen down again when he’d let go of it, and it was dark and damp. Lando found himself wanting to suck it clean.

”Not—” Oscar’s breath hitched on a moan. “Not long now.” 

You’re telling me, Lando thought wildly, squeezing himself around the base to try to calm himself down. He was panting, thighs flexing with the need to come, but Oscar hadn’t yet, and he wanted to see it. 

“Okay,” Oscar was saying on the screen, more to himself than the camera. “Gonna — gonna turn it up to max now, and that’ll probably do it.”

He reached out then and picked up the phone, bringing it closer to his straining cock. As the camera moved, Lando caught a glimpse of his face, red and shining with sweat. 

“Ready?” Oscar’s voice came over the speakers, and Lando moaned at the shock of being directly addressed. 

Oscar reached his other hand out to the control unit, and Lando saw his thighs clench, his cock lurch violently. 

“Oh, fuck,” Oscar rasped. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” 

He came, untouched and messy, spraying across his t-shirt. Before he knew it, Lando was coming too, letting it get all over his own stomach as Oscar’s ragged gasps echoed in his ears. 

Lando stopped coming before Oscar did. Oscar’s cock was red and angry-looking, still spurting thin liquid every few seconds as his thighs shook visibly. Then the screen tilted dizzily, and the video stopped.

Lando stared at the screen, shell-shocked. His brain felt like it had been hollowed out. 

“Fucking hell,” he croaked to the phone. He wanted to laugh, slightly hysterical. Instead he wiped his sticky hand on his shirt and swiped out of the video, back to his message thread with Oscar.

lando 20:03 omfg wow

A second later, Lando’s phone vibrated, but there was no reply in his thread with Oscar. Instead, there was a notification from his bank. Lando opened it.

Oscar Piastri has requested funds! Oscar Piastri has requested £100.00 GBP.  Message from recipient: “Told you so.” Accept request to transfer funds?

[hiitsm]

Beneath the Surface: The Fourth Piece

Beneath the Surface is for 18+ only.

Angst, Hurt, Fluff & Smut is included in this Fourth Piece.

-

Other parts of Beneath the Surface: The Broken Heart Pieces

-

As Alexia walks out of the airport, a wave of weariness washes over her. The Nike shooting in Paris had been enjoyable, but the long hours of travel for just a brief two-hour shoot, followed by hurried rest at the hotel, left her feeling drained.

Yet amidst the fatigue, her mind couldn't help but dwell on you.

You are her constant thought.

You are her deepest desire.

You are all she truly needs.

However, you are also the one that she has hurt deeply.

As Alexia reached for her suitcase, a tired sigh escaped her lips, but before she could dwell on her thoughts, a message from her sister Alba popped up. Alba was asking her to come over quickly because she had a date and was in need of outfit advice. Despite her exhaustion, Alexia couldn't resist the opportunity to help her sister and perhaps enjoy some bonding time over this special evening she imagined Alba would have.

Standing in front of her sister's door, Alexia took a moment to gather herself. She knew Alba preferred a warning before she entered, so she opted to knock despite having a key. With a deep breath, she summoned a smile and tapped gently on the door.

Within moments, the door swung open, but instead of the worried expression Alexia had anticipated due to outfit stress, Alba greeted her with a mix of quiet irritation and underlying anger, a perplexing combination that Alexia couldn't quite decipher on her sister.

"Come in, tat," Alba said tersely, bypassing the usual hug that signaled something was amiss. Alexia followed her sister into the living room, feeling a sense of unease settle in as she tried to read the unfamiliar look on Alba's face.

As Alexia stepped into Alba's immaculately clean apartment, she couldn't help but feel surprised. Not a single piece of clothing lay on the ground, contrary to what she had expected. "Aren't you stressed about your date?" Alexia asked, concerned for her younger sister's unusually tense demeanor. Alba responded with a deep, irritated sigh.

"¿Qué pasa? ¿Por qué no estás feliz de verme?" Alexia asked quietly, her voice tinged with insecurity. It was unusual for Alba to become irritated so quickly, and Alexia couldn't help but wonder if she had inadvertently done something to upset her sister.

Alexia's thoughts were usually consumed by you.

By your presence.

By your feelings.

By your hurt.

But in this moment, all thoughts of you were absent.

She didn't ponder the lies she had told her mother and sister about the state of her relationship with you, nor did she dwell on the possibility that they might now know the truth.

That she had caused you pain.

It was a strange and unsettling realization that in this crucial moment, she wasn't thinking about you at all. A realization she couldn't afford not to have, especially now when it seemed most critical.

"Pensé en emparejar a mi hermana y mentir sobre ciertas cosas también," Alba scoffed, rolling her eyes at her sister. With each passing second, Alexia felt her irritation growing.

"What do you mean, lie?" she asked, her voice rising slightly in volume.

"Our mami called me last night, absolutely distressed, saying you lied about your relationship status and that y/n is really hurting," Alba shouted, unable to contain her emotions any longer.

Alexia felt a sinking feeling in her chest as her sister's words hit home. "This has been going on for weeks, maybe even months. ¿Alguna vez planeaste ser honesto con nosotros?" Alba's voice softened, filled now with hurt rather than anger.

"Do you realize how foolish I must have looked? I've been texting y/n about you, about us, about our family," Alba lectured her sister, her tone filled with a mix of frustration and concern.

"She kept responding so kindly, but I can only imagine how much she must have been hurting. Our mami still has pictures of the two of you up on her walls. When y/n needed a place to stay, she saw all those reminders. Can you imagine how that must have made her feel?"

As Alexia listened to her sister's words, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her own actions pressing down on her. She knew deep down that Alba was right, and that she deserved this lecture.

"And the most foolish thing is that you don't care. You don't care that those pictures are still up on the wall," Alba's words cut deep into Alexia's heart. It hurt her immensely because she did care.

She cared deeply about those pictures on her mother's wall.

She cared about you.

She cares about you a lot.

All she ever wanted was to make things right, never intending to hurt you so profoundly.

But now, faced with the consequences of her actions, she felt lost and overwhelmed, unsure of how to make amends.

"No, me importa. Realmente lo hago," Alexia confessed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she struggled to articulate her feelings. "I know I've been foolish," she admitted, her voice breaking completely. "I want to make it right," she gasped for air, overwhelmed with emotion. Alba, understanding her sister's pain, drew her close into a comforting embrace.

"Quiero hacerlo bien pero no sé cómo," Alexia murmured against her sister's shoulder, her voice muffled by tears.

"You need to start by being honest. Honest with us, but most importantly, honest with yourself," Alba spoke gently yet firmly, her words carrying the weight of disappointment and concern.

"The Putellas don't break someone's heart by writing a letter and disappearing without any explanation, by ghosting someone completely from their life," Alba's voice held a firm but caring tone, emphasizing her deep concern.

"I don't know how you can make this right, but I do know that y/n is still hurting a lot." Her words carried a weight of sadness and empathy, expressing the gravity of the situation.

"Pero te ayudaré a intentarlo," Alba added softly with a gentle sigh, offering her sister a glimmer of hope and support amidst the difficult conversation.

"Quiero intentarlo," Alexia said with determination in her voice.

-

"¡Bebita!" you hear softly at first, then more urgently. "¡Bebita, wake up!" The voice grows louder, accompanied by a gentle hand caressing your cheek. Reluctant to leave the comfort of your dream, you resist waking up, but eventually, your eyes flutter open.

You see your girlfriend leaning over you, her damp hair cascading slightly to one side after her post-training shower. The bed dips as she settles next to you, and a soft smile plays on her lips. "You're awake," she murmurs, her tone affectionate.

You stretch lightly before shifting your weight onto her lap, finding a comfortable position despite the awkwardness. "Hmm, someone's a little clingy," she teases, her voice tender.

"What time is it?" you ask in your raspy morning voice, a sound that she finds irresistibly attractive.

"It's a bit after 9 am," she replies, meeting your gaze with warmth in her eyes.

"How early was your training?" confusion lingers in your expression, prompting a chuckle from her.

"It was just a quick gym session by myself, bebita. I don't have team training today," she answers softly, knowing you'll appreciate the reassurance.

She lightly stroked your bare back, grounding you in the moment with a sensation that mirrored the dream you'd just left. Your cheeks flushed red with a hint of embarrassment, and you awkwardly shifted out of her embrace, pulling the covers up to your neck. Alexia looked up, concern flickering across her features.

"Are you cold, mi vida? Should I turn up the heating?" She moved towards the heater, ready to adjust it, but you quickly reassured her with a strange smile. "No, it's okay," you murmured.

"Okay, what's going on?" Her voice was gentle yet knowing. She crossed her arms, her eyebrow arching teasingly, a look that usually prompted you to spill everything. But today, you resisted, trying your best to compose yourself.

"Please, can you make me a coffee? I'll be there in a second," you said, your voice tinged with insecurity.

"Fine..." she acquiesced with a hint of mischief, darting away momentarily only to return to the bed in a flash, faster than your groggy state could anticipate. "But you're coming with me, amor," she declared, grinning mischievously as she wrested the covers from your grasp and swept them off the bed.

You lay there, uncertain of what to do next, feeling exposed under her appreciative gaze as she scanned your nearly naked body, your boxers clinging to your skin. Her eyes widened as they settled on the wet spot between your legs. Flustered, you instinctively covered yourself with your hand, cheeks burning crimson.

"Please, just leave," you pleaded softly, feeling vulnerable and overwhelmed by the sudden intrusion into your intimate moment.

"Did you..." Alexia began, unsure of how to react to the situation unfolding before her.

"It was just a dream with you in it, I promise," you responded quickly, attempting to reassure her.

Alexia felt a surge of arousal at the thought that you had a wet dream about her. Yet, seeing you shielding yourself from her view made her pause. You looked as though you didn't feel safe with her in that vulnerable moment. She knew about your past relationship, how toxic it had been with your previous partner. All she wanted now was to reassure you that everything was okay, that it was completely normal.

"It's okay," Alexia said softly, moving closer to you with a gentle touch. "It's completely normal, mi amor. You don't have to feel embarrassed with me. I'm here for you, and I want you to feel safe." She spoke with sincerity, hoping her words would offer you the comfort and reassurance you needed in that moment of vulnerability.

"You do believe me, right?" you asked, a hint of fear in your voice.

"I trust you, and I will always believe you, mi vida," Alexia reassured you with a soft smile, her touch bringing a sense of calmness back to you.

"Is it weird that I want you now?" you blurted out, cheeks flushing once more as the realization hit you.

Alexia gently cupped your cheeks in her hands. "No, that will never be weird. I want you now just as much as you want me," she said reassuringly before leaning in to kiss you softly on the lips. Her touch and words filled you with warmth and a deep sense of acceptance, melting away any remaining insecurity or doubt.

The two of you lost yourselves in each other's kisses, the intimacy deepening with each tender touch. Alexia's body weight shifted slightly onto yours, her hands gently caressing your breasts, eliciting soft moans from you in response. Your hips instinctively lifted, seeking more friction, but Alexia was still partially seated on the bed, leaving you wanting.

The air was thick with desire and the sweet tension of longing as you both savored the closeness and the gentle exploration of each other's bodies.

Alexia grinned slightly as she pulled away, her finger trailing lightly over your body until it stopped at the wet patch on your boxers. "I love that view, amor," she murmured, her voice filled with appreciation for the slick contrast.

You looked at her and couldn't help but notice the desire in her eyes, which only heightened your own arousal. "Are you as turned on as me?" you asked, biting your lower lip suggestively.

Understanding your hint, Alexia teasingly pulled off her clothes, leaving on her Brazilian string. "Do you see that, mi vida?" she said cheekily, gesturing to herself.

You nodded eagerly, taking in the enticing sight. Unable to resist, your hand grazed over her underwear, feeling the slick fabric that mirrored your own arousal.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you in the gym," she whispered huskily into your ear, nibbling softly on your earlobe.

And then she was lying flush against your body, her weight pressing down gently as your legs spread instinctively. She began to grind against your core, the sensation of the barely-there fabric intensifying the pleasure for both of you.

You both knew that it wouldn't take long to reach that edge, to tip over into ecstasy together. The air was filled with anticipation and desire, each movement bringing you closer to the blissful release you both craved.

-

"Y/n..?" you heard from a distance. "Y/n..!" someone shook you gently, pulling you out of your reverie.

Blinking, you refocused on your colleague who looked at you with irritation. "God, where were you just now?" she sighed impatiently. "Please, keep it together and help us clear these tables."

You immediately snapped into action, feeling slightly embarrassed that you couldn't shake off the memory that had consumed your thoughts all day.

From waking up in the morning to commuting to work, and now at work itself, your mind had been fixated on that moment.

The moment when you had felt so safe and cherished with her.

With your girlfriend.

With your ex-girlfriend.

With Alexia.

For weeks after receiving that heartbreaking letter, your thoughts were consumed by her. You wrestled with the pain she caused, yet also cherished the memories of the beautiful moments you shared together.

You believed that confiding in Eli would bring you closure, but now you realize that closure remains elusive without understanding why Alexia chose to walk away.

Reflecting on it all, you find yourself caught between the bittersweet nostalgia of what was and the lingering ache of unanswered questions. Despite the passage of time, her absence still casts a shadow over your heart, leaving you yearning for clarity that seems just out of reach.

And then, to add to the confusion, someone walked in.

She bore a striking resemblance to your ex-girlfriend. Your heart skipped a beat, but you dared not raise your hopes any higher.

Yet, there she stood, your ex-girlfriend, looking unsure of herself, hands tucked nervously into her pockets.

She appeared smaller somehow, vulnerable.

At that moment, you realized you didn't want the answers anymore.

Confronting her seemed too painful now, her presence stirring up emotions you had tried to bury.

But despite your inner turmoil, your feet carried you towards her.

Your body ached for her, and if you were honest with yourself, so did your mind.

As you approached, uncertainty hung heavy in the air. The sight of her brought a flood of memories, both joy and heartache, that you weren't sure you were ready to face again.

"...Hi," she struggled to get the words out, her voice trembling with uncertainty. But you remained silent, unable to muster a response. You could only gaze at her with wide, conflicted eyes that held a mix of confusion and hurt.

"I was wondering if you would be willing to talk," she continued, her insecurity palpable, tugging at your heartstrings. You knew you would always have a soft spot for her.

"Not here, obviously," she hurriedly added, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment at her awkward statement. "But I knew you would be here sometime this week."

"It's okay," you managed to say, surprising yourself with the ease of your acceptance. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I mean, I would like to," you added, your voice tinged with hope as you sought answers.

"Tonight at my place, 8 pm?" you asked tentatively, your gaze searching hers for any sign of hesitation.

"Si, I'll see you there," she replied determinedly, a hint of relief evident in her voice.

"Okay," you said softly, the weight of the moment sinking in.

"Okay," she echoed, standing awkwardly before finally saying, "Okay, see you tonight," and turning to leave, her awkwardness making you chuckle softly.

As she walked away, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anticipation and trepidation about what the evening would bring, hoping it would bring clarity and closure to the lingering questions in your heart.

As you made your way towards the dishes area of your workplace, preparing to immerse yourself in work once more, a subtle but unmistakable feeling washed over you.

It was as if the fourth broken piece of your heart lay right before you, waiting to be picked up and nurtured once again.

The weight of past memories and unresolved emotions lingered in the air, mingling with a sense of tentative hope for closure and healing.

Each step forward felt like a small leap towards reclaiming a part of yourself that had been left wounded and unattended for too long.

With a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the tasks ahead, knowing that tonight's meeting held the potential to mend what had been fractured and bring solace to a heart that had carried its pain for far too long.

-

Note: it took a bit longer than expected, but I hope you're still enjoying this series. There's more to come, and I'm looking forward to continuing the journey with you all.

[astralnymphh]

Vampire Ellie has a chock hold over me. Because if I had to die and the way I was going to was Ellie sucking me out, then I’m sat and ready

vampire!ellie lulling you into a blurscape from below the beltline. not to use you; rather, to ease the daytime troubles weighing your conscience and to satiate her blood drive. a win-win.

large text vers . masterlist . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO

18+ !!! SMUT !!!

𓆩✧𓆪

no bcus imagine the way you go out (pass out if you aren't that committed) is by ellie seating her pale, lusty-lidded face between your spread legs, womanhandiling the hind of your knees apart enough to tense your hamstrings, and latching those ridged pearls in the meat your thigh— free hand playing about your pussy. got her thumb extended to grind your clit and her dual toying fingers stuffed past your pussy lips, drawing so much cum at the bottom of your relaxed slit from incalculable orgasms (you're too blissed out to even follow count, or perhaps it's the volume of your blood swilled into her body by now). minutes ago, her pink tongue was lapping nastily at your gleaming folds and teasing her sharp teeth along your folds in repeated strokes, so the liquids painting her face are a mix of crimson and sleek, streaks lining her lips, tainting her nose, staining her chin— a delectable combination, in her delirious mind. unsheathes her fangs and peaks above your pussy hill every so often to check if you've succumb to a darkened haze yet, softly encouraging you if that case is still found cold, "ts' just me babe, you can give in. that's it— oh, there you go.." presses her thumb further into the bloated bud when your eyes begin to husk over, the misty sight of auburn and near-white waning as you drowse, slow as molasses, "focus on my fingers, mhm. good girl, good— gonna' mark you somewhere else now, kay?" affirming so kindly, kinder when you watch a blurry line tug into the semblance of a crooked smile, staring at you. and she's so handsy; open mitt traveling up to cradle your slumped head. massages the swells of your cheek right as a weak wince flutters off your lips, a reaction to her teeth claiming purchase upon your opposing thigh, tiny suckles fade in your hearing as you finally lapse into sedation.

told you vampire!ellie brainrot is occuring

[coraniaid]

trick or treat!

This is a Kendra headcanon that I like a lot but that I'm not sure will ever make it into anything I'm writing.

So: Kendra occupies a pretty strange place in the wider setting of Buffy. She's the first Slayer other than Buffy we meet, but the show itself is pretty aggressively uninterested in her. After the two parter she's introduced in, she's not mentioned again until Becoming, when she comes back to be killed off. She'll only be mentioned a couple of times after her death. Years and years after the show ended, Joss Whedon retroactively gave her full name as "Kendra Young", even though Kendra herself tells Giles that "[she] has no last name".

And the little scraps of backstory we do get about Kendra don't really feel consistent with anything we learn about how Slayers and Potentials operate, either. Kendra was identified as a potential Slayer when she was very small, and her parents (apparently willingly) gave her up to be raised by her Watcher, a Mr Sam Zabuto. She's very, very rules-focused, and familiar not just with the Slayer handbook but with more general details of the supernatural (for example: she's read about Angel before, which Giles himself hadn't, and she can cite sources about the Order of Taraka that Giles seems not to have read).

Meanwhile, the Council didn't know anything about Buffy or Faith until they were both Called, as far as we can tell, and even Potentials like Season 7's Kennedy who were identified at a young age don't seem to have been treated much like Kendra. Kennedy was trained to use weapons, but she doesn't seem to have separated from her parents (at least not based on how she talks about her childhood to Willow) or expected to memorize the contents of multi-volume arcane texts that even a Watcher like Giles describes as being "a bit stodgy" (in fact she tells Willow that magic "seems like fairy tale crap", so her theoretical knowledge must be pretty limited). Something is strange about Kendra. She's not like the other Slayers.

Kendra herself tells Buffy that "[her] people" take Slaying very seriously and that she sent to live with her Watcher at such a young age that she "doesn't really remember" her parents. And ... okay, well, let's be honest: this is mostly just bad writing. It can be explained by a combination of the show trying to position Kendra as, at all levels, an opposite to Buffy [Buffy lives with her mom so Kendra doesn't; Buffy's parents don't know she's a Slayer so Kendra's do; Buffy dislikes studying so Kendra must excel at it; Buffy has friends and dates so Kendra can't, etc.] and not caring particularly if the results add up to anything consistent. And it can, more damningly, be explained by the Buffy writers' regular automatic assumption that non-white people living outside the USA are necessarily more "primitive" and more in touch with old, pre-modern traditions, that they are less interested in the happiness of the individual and more respectful of authority and in doing what is best for the collective. That Kendra's people are like the Incans who sacrified the girl who we only know as "Ampata" (not her real name, of course), or the Shadow Men who activated the First Slayer, or Jenny Calendar's Uncle Enyos (who explicitly contrasts the beliefs of his "tribe" to those of "the modern man").

But what if things were different? What if this wasn't just another example of the show's constant background racism?

As it happens, as early as Season 1 we were already introduced to a group of people who take Slaying very seriously and who pass knowledge of the supernatural and the occult down to their children. People who think of themselves as having "destinies" and who make "tiresome speeches about responsibility and sacrifice". What if this group is, unbeknowst to her, the people Kendra is refering to when she tells Buffy about "[her] people"? What if Kendra's parents were Watchers?

We know that the Council don't always identify Potential Slayers at a young age, but they did manage to identify Kendra, at a young enough age that being a Potential is practically all the life she knows. What could explain that better than if Kendra herself grew up surrounded by Watchers? As soon as they decided to start looking for nearby Potentials, they'd have found one practically under their feet.

What if Kendra's parents had been expecting to train her as a Watcher, but now found themselves having to face the fact she might be Called as a Slayer? What if that's why her training focused so much on reading books and studying theory; why it made her into somebody Buffy describes as a "she-Giles"? What if her parents were hoping that she would grow up never being Called, until she was old enough that she never would, and she could become the Watcher they were always hoping she would be?

Well, we might ask: why then does Kendra claim not to remember her parents? And why does she tell Giles she doesn't have a last name?

This is, in fact, something of a mystery in any case: if Kendra's parents knew she was a Potential and were happy for her to be raised by Watchers -- even if they weren't Watchers themselves -- why was it necessary for them to cut off all ties with her? Why did she have to be raised in isolation? It can't have been for secrecy, because these people would have known that Kendra was a Potential Slayer. Again, this isn't something we see the Council insist on for any other Potential Slayer. Was there some ulterior reason that Kendra couldn't be allowed to know who her parents were, or to talk to people who might have known them?

Well, remember what Quentin Travers accuses Giles of having in Helpless: "a father's love for the child ... and that is useless to the cause". How might somebody like Travers reacted to finding out that a Watcher had potentially given birth to a Slayer? Would he trust them to raise her? Would he allow it?

What if, instead of cheerfully giving her up, Kendra's Watcher parents -- or perhaps parent, singular -- had to agree to raise her as if she wasn't theirs, just to prevent the Council from swooping in and taking her away? What if the reason Kendra thinks she hasn't got a last name is that, if she'd remembered what it was, she'd have noticed it was the same as somebody else she knew? What if, while Buffy had a Watcher she often thought of as a father even though they weren't biologically related, and who was punished for being too much of a father figure, Kendra had a Watcher who was related to her, but who was under Council orders not to tell her that he was?

What if "Kendra Young" was born "Kendra Zabuto"?

[lucyandalexiafan]

blow off steam | Alexia Putellas x reader | part 1

summary: since Alexia got injured two weeks ago, it's obviously that she needs to blow off steam; so, after the umpteenth attempt by her to have your attention, you ask her to take control, to completely dominate you.

Warnings: dom!Alexia, sub!reader, kneel at Alexia's feet, Alexia' fingers that fuck reader's mouth while reader in kneeling in front of her, humping shoe, face slaps (three times), humiliations, degradations, use of pet names / slut, light jelaous!Alexia, dirty talk, praise, hair pulling.

words: 3131

Do not copy, translate or claim my works and fics as your own; if I find out I will report them and block you. Instead, write to me, my directs are always open, and ask me if you can publish your work/fic inspired by one of mine. However, you can reblog them!

Nb: English is not my first language and I’m not sure if it’s “blow off steam” or “blow of some steam”. I searched online but I didn’t understood, so I’m sorry if it’s wrong the way that I used

I turn off the TV interrupting the program that Ale is watching, the umpteenth trashy program.

Since she was injured two weeks ago, she has become unbearable.

She doesn't come to the field during training hours anymore, she doesn't go out, she doesn't cook, and she doesn't do anything other than be on the phone and watch stupid programs on any TV channel or streaming platform.

It doesn't bother me that she behaves like this or, at least, I understand her, I try to understand her; so I do everything for both of us without protesting, without emphasizing how to take care of the house, shopping all the different type of food required by our diets, cooking different dishes for me and her every lunch and dinner (due to the variation of her diet), do not combine well with the study for my master's degree, with the research I am doing, and with my training with the team.

I don't protest, I don't snort, I don't say anything. 

I accept any comment about how overcooked the chicken is, about the fact that the bread had to be soft wheat and not whole wheat, about how messy the kitchen is.

I didn't even comment on the fact that she delegated the care of her dog to me alone, even though she can walk.

I accepted to study all night and write those essays at unreasonable hours, risking not completing my homework or showing up not prepared enough for meetings with university tutors, as well as showing up for training tired, exhausted and with less and less energy.

But today... today it's too much.

I had started studying in the kitchen, on the counter, because I had started cooking dinner and lunch for tomorrow; Ale was watching television. She knows, she knows, how much I hate having too much noise around, how much the overstimulation is a problem for me because of my ADHD, how much I go into crisis when there is too much chaos around me, no longer being able to concentrate and control myself, always ending up looking around, trying to figure out where all the voices are coming from and, when there are too many, ending up on the verge of tears.

She knows it.

But, despite this, she had started using TikTok at maximum volume at the same time as the television, creating an annoying chaos that could not even be masked by the music that passed through my headphones.

I had asked her to turn down the volume several times, I had even texted her asking her to stop because I had to study, telling her that it was important that I end that essay within three days, before the last game before the Christmas holidays.

After half an hour of trying I couldn't take it anymore, I got up, took the remote control and turned off the television.

"What are you doing?" she asks irritated.

The sharp voice.

I bite my lip.

We haven't had sex in two weeks and I haven't had an orgasm for three, and seeing her so angry floods my belly with sharps of pleasure.

Ever since we had started experimenting with sex, since Ale had started to be dominant in bed and I had started to feel free enough and trust her enough to be completely submissive, we had established 'rules'; one of the ones we started experimenting with first was about orgasms. 

No orgasms that aren't given by her or that she doesn't allow me to have.

It had not only increased libido and feeling in bed, but also communication. Since we had established this rule, we had begun to talk much more about sex, to describe how we felt and to provoke ourselves; I had begun to no longer feel embarrassed to express my sex urge or tell her what I needed. 

Begging her for what I needed.

So, after exactly three weeks since my last orgasm, I'm extremely needy.

Ale, at the same time, is extremely angry, disappointed, and resentful, about the injury and I know, I'm sure, that she would like to blow off steam on me, on my body, but she is afraid to ask for it, to do it. She's afraid because she's never done it before, because she's always afraid of hurting me and because she knows what I've been through in the past.

So now, because she doesn't want to express this need, she is short-tempered, rude, arrogant.

I kneel on the ground, in front of her, my legs slightly apart.

I look into her eyes.

She swallows the saliva, the phone still in her hand, as she jams her eyes into mine.

"I would like you to take control – I say, my voice trembling with embarrassment – I need you to blow off steam on me and I need to be dominated, to let you be in control"

I bite my lip.

The fear that he will refuse, that she will say no, that she will think I am crazy, increases when she does not respond immediately.

"You don't know what you're asking for, little girl" 

The low voice, the seraphic tone.

"I want you to take control Reina, I want you to punish me, I want you to use my body"

She lay her phone on the couch.

"You don't have to do it for me, i-"

"I want it, Ale, I need it as much as you do" I whisper, pleading, looking into her eyes.

Nails playing with a little skin on my index finger.

She nods.

"Are there any things you don't want me to use or do?" the tone is the one she uses on the field when she's the team captain.

That confident tone, which admits no reply.

"No, Reina"

I touch her right calf with one hand, the need for physical contact advancing in me; I play with her skin, just massage her.

She grins, looking at me.

She looks at me, her face slightly tilted.

She bites her lip, as if pondering my request.

"Now I'm going to make you a list of items or practices and you have to tell me with safewords which ones are green, which ones are yellow, and which ones are red, okay? – I nod – What are your safewords?"

"Green to continue, yellow to slow down, red to stop"

"Good girl - I twitch my thighs, a knot in my belly, as her hand brushes my cheek, a satisfied look as she looks down on me – then let's get started"

After a few minutes, I had established green orgasm denial, spanking with hands and belt, the use of the collar with the leash, the use of ropes or more generally in bondage, penetrative sex with both fingers and dildos, the use of plugs and strap-ons, degradation; yellow overstimulation and preventing me from speaking by putting objects in my mouth; red blindfold. However, I asked her if she could use pet names from time to time to reassure me, so the degradation and humiliation were not the only channels of communication during a scene we were experiencing for the first time.

I clasp my hands on my thighs, my belly invaded by contractions of pleasure.

"Have you had any orgasms since the last time I got you one?" the tone is so low that it gives me goosebumps.

"No, Reina" I hurry to answer; a marked blush colors my cheeks and neck because no matter how much we talked about sex, how much we started experimenting in bed more than a year ago, I will never stop being embarrassed when we talk about these things.

She grinns with satisfaction.

"Something as needy as you hasn't had an orgasm in three weeks, hm? – she asks as she strokes my cheek with her thumb, a fake smile of pity adorns her face – Does your need to be a good girl, to please me, also beat your need of an orgasm?"

I look down immediately, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

How can she make me so submissive, so needy, with just one question?

The panties are soaked, I feel them being uncomfortably attached to my intimacy.

"Yes, Reina, I just want to please you"

She moans openly at my answer and I see the muscles in her legs twitch.

I close my eyes to the sound.

"I don't think I told you that you can not look me in the eye"

I look at her, eyes slightly wider, position more rigid as I try to hold her gaze.

"I'm sorry Reina," I whisper guiltily.

We haven't even started and I'm already breaking the rules?

She looks at me for a moment and then her gaze, that sadistic, excited look, softens; a sweet, loving smile replaces the grin that had begun to adorn her face since she began to list what she could and couldn't do tonight.

"Amor, this is the last chance I'll give you to stop everything before we start, before I start punishing you and then take you to the bedroom, where only the safewords will make me stop – the suddenly cautious, sweet tone, like it's never been in the last two weeks – I'm not going to get angry, resentful or irritated if you tell me you don't want to go on anymore or that you're not sure anymore, baby, but I want you to tell me before you start because I don't want to start without being sure that you want it as much as I do; we will cuddle and maybe watching a film, order some takeaway food"

Her hand on my cheek, the back of my index and middle fingers caressing my skin.

I look at her, every fear gone, every tension leaves my body. 

She is always her, the sweet, caring, loving girlfriend who would never hurt me or continue something I don't want. 

No matter how much she needs to blow off steam, she would never hurt me.

I shake my head.

"I... I want to do it Reina, but-but only if you want it completely too" I answer, my voice trembling with embarrassment, but my gaze fixed on hers.

She smiles.

Her beautiful smile.

"I love it when you call me Reina, I'll never stop saying it" she whispers as she runs her thumb over my bottom lip, as she frees it from the grip of my teeth.

I open my lips allowing her to stick it past my teeth, into my mouth; she pushes it all in, until she hits my chin with her palm. I lick it slowly as I look straight into her eyes.

After a while she replaces it with her index and middle fingers, pushing them into my mouth slowly, and then she starts to move them, as if to fuck my mouth.

I go along with it, licking her fingers, opening and closing my lips against her skin. 

She groans looking at me.

"So submissive, at my feet, while you call me Reina – she pushes her fingers harder into my mouth, until she touches my chin with her palm again, and touching the back of my throat, gagging me – My dirty filthy slut"

I gasp.

I place my hands on her knees, as if looking for a support to hold on to while she fucks my mouth with her fingers.

She sneers.

I look at her from below, her lips slightly open twisted into a grin, her eyes veiled by sadism, her cheeks flushed, her tongue occasionally caressing her lips, her brow furrowed, the hair of her forelock escaping the grip behind her ears.

"Hands behind your back, I don't think I told you you can touch me" 

I groan in surprise as I hurry to do what she says, squeezing one hand into the other until my nails are in my palm.

The tips of her fingers touch the back of my throat with each thrust, and with every moan I make, she grins; She tells me to breathe through the nose when she realizes that, due to gagging, I struggle to breathe through my mouth.

She continues like this for some time that seems like minutes, she fucks my mouth with her fingers, her gaze alternating between my eyes and my mouth, a sadistic grin, until she takes them off completely.

I moan, finally free to breathe through my mouth.

She wipes the fingers against my cheeks, the back on one cheek, the inside on the other; the trickle of saliva that still connects them to my lips.

She puts her hand on my right cheek and I know what's going to happen.

"Disobedient little girl – the first slap is light against my skin, more for the scene than for anything else – Twice you disobey my orders and I didn't even touch you"

I gasp looking at her, her lips still slightly parted.

Then, as she walked away, her hand hits my cheek.

We both moan at the same time, her greasing and lowest, mine louder.

No matter how much I expected it, it's getting more and more exciting every time.

"Color, little girl?" she asks, an attentive look on my face trying to understand what I think about the slap.

"Green... green Reina" I moan.

"Dirty little," she whispers as she caresses my face, "So needy just because I fucked your mouth, hm?" she asks, as she runs her fingers over my lips, but without pushing them any further.

"Yes-yes Reina," I say cautiously in response.

Then, suddenly, she moves one leg between mine until I feel her foot, covered by her favorite and most expensive pair of shoes, in contact with my intimacy.

"Hump my shoe, slut" 

It's an order said as she leans back on the couch. She opens her arms, resting them on the headboard of the sofa.

I wade at her, my eyes wide open with the request, but my pupils probably dilated with excitement. I'm incredulous.

"Color, little girl?" she asks when, after a few seconds, I don't move, her voice warm, lovely.

"G-green Reina – I whisper hesitantly, realizing the time that has passed, realizing that by doing so I was disobeying – I'm sorry"

She moves her torso toward me, her hand grabbing a hand of my hair. "Do you want to add a third punishment to the two you've already earned, hm? – I answer with a faint no, Reina – Then, move" she continues, her tone suddenly more authoritative and dominant, no longer disguised as feigned pity, her back coming back into contact with the sofa.

I bite my lip and moan when I feel her shoe move slightly against my clit.

"C-can I put my hands on your leg Reina?" I ask, my voice faint, the need to touch her, for physical contact.

"Aw, little girl, can't you even keep your balance? Okay, grab my leg. You can lean against it however you want," the mocking tone.

My hands grab her calf.

My torso is against her shin as I slowly begin to move.

I'm wearing thin shorts and panties made of almost non-existent fabric, so with every movement I feel the relief of the shoelaces against my clit.

I moan, I whine, unashamed.

I squeeze her leg as I rest my head on the lower part of her inner thigh, just above the knee, breaking eye contact. 

As soon as the tip of her shoe starts to move against me, putting pressure on my hole, I start moving faster and faster; I'm not sensual, I'm not pretty bent over her, my back arched out, my head down.

"Dirty little slut," she says while her hand scratches my scalp "How does it feel to hump against a so expensive shoe that I've been looking for months in any shop in Barcelona, to be so slutty that you seek satisfaction and pleasure by rubbing yourself on a shoe without shame?"

I whine in humiliation.

"Please Reina, can I... can I-"

Her hand clenches in my hair, forcing me to look at her.

"Don't even try. This is just the beginning – she hits my cheek again – Did you think it would be so easy after disobeying me?"

I bite my lip, looking at her with the most puppy look I'm capable of; my vision slightly clouded by excitement and tears.

I open my mouth a couple of times, attempting to speak, but no sound other than a moan comes out.

When she notices that I am not responding, she stops moving her foot. "Color?"

"Green" I answer immediately, as I continue to move on her shoe, hoping that she will move again.

The shoelaces against my clit.

The contractions of pleasure in the lower abdomen.

She grinns as she looks at me.

She reaches down to kiss me, her hand still in my hair.

Then, as it all began, she moves the shoe away from my intimacy.

"How do you feel, hm? What would people say if they could see you like this, at my feet, desperate after humped my shoe like a slut, hmm? What would our teammates say if they saw you like that? – she grins, the hand that makes pat pat on my head – How do you think Aitana and Ona would react, mh?"

I close my eyes.

"None of them will be able to make you feel like that, reduce you like that, like I do. Not even Lucia. It doesn't matter how hard they try"

"Please, please," I whisper as I tighten my fingers around her knee.

The humiliation becomes pleasure, contractions of pleasure stronger and stronger, when she starts talking about the team, about my friends, about Lucy.

Of her jealousy of Lucy, caused by the fact that we are so close friends and that she is also dominant in bed; the eldest is openly dominant in bed, while Ale is much more modest in making her sexual performances public to the team. Modesty for which I am grateful, but which makes her feel clearly in competition with the English player.

"Please what, little one?"

Cheeks that burn when I hear the pet name.

Her fingers forcing my chin to look at her.

Her blonde hair is tousled.

"Touch me, please Reina... I-I need to-"

Humiliation breaks through my legs, which I immediately clench.

To be at her feet, to call her Reina, to be so desperate.

"I just want you, Reina... I... on-only you. No one else," she moans, "I beg you."

"Get up, go to our room and strip. I want you on the bed, on hands and knees. In less than ten minutes I'll be there."

[r0-boat]

So... Netflix and chill with Wise 👉🏻👈🏻

Fucking hell yeah!

Are you still watching?

Zenless Zone Zero Wise x Gn!afab Reader.

Cw: rough!Wise, sex on the couch, smut.

You are pretty sure no one in the entire world uses 'Netflix and chill' seriously...

Except for Wise apparently

Wise_Ass💞: Wanna come over? And chill maybe watch some Netflix?

You squinted at your phone, the brain still booting up as you woke up from a beautiful more than 8 hours of sleep on a Saturday.

Your eyes skimmed over the text again. Wondering if their eyes were read that right. The words were switched, but 'Netflix and chill' usually doesn't mean just 'chilling.' But even then, it is more of a tongue-in-cheek term. A term that you don't take seriously, no matter how serious you are.

It was only natural you would brush something like this off; anyone would. Shooting him a text back, you picked out your clothes and headed into the bathroom to shower.

Wise had been so pent up... So. Pent. Up. He had been doing this year's taxes, and if you run and operate a business, doing the taxes is hell; he could let Fairy do it, but then Fairy would probably find some weird loophole, and that just sounded like more work down the line, as well as possible suspicion. He knew 100% that Belle would take twice as long, but only because 70% of it would involve procrastinating. So he would much rather be in charge of the finances and taxes.

Combined the fact that he just hasn't seen you in a while.

All he wanted to do was unwind and have you in his arms. And drill you into the couch pinning your body down folding you in half to fuck you raw and hard, feeling your wet pussy clinch to milk his aching cock. Wise doesn't like thinking about your body being anything more than a sex toy. Even now, instead of staring at the documentary he's probably watched a hundred times, he stares at you with hunger.

Now you were sitting right beside him in his room, the door locked. Pressing your side into him. Your body feels softer than usual, an arm wrapped around your neck and head sliding down your back, pulling you closer, his fingers idly playing with the hem of your shirt.

He has no idea why he feels so needy today, His heart is practically pounding in his chest as he tries to slowly initiate sex hoping you pick up on What he is trying to tell you before he loses his mind.

He is so relieved that you seem to be more invested In the documentary about animals because he is a rock fucking hard, and all he could think about is mounting you like one.

He was He is blunt honest and calm but when it comes to you especially sexually he can barely think.

His hand slides back to his side before placing it on your thigh His breath shaking As he watches you slightly spread your legs underneath his grip.

Fuck it.

You watch when Wise picks up the remote turning the volume up just in case if a nosy sister is here. He scoots away from you and before you could question him he picks up your legs on the couch before crawling on top of you. Instead of his gentle smile and a soft gaze of green.

Those same eyes staring to you the look of hunger you just noticed to eat you alive butterflies fluttered in your stomach as Wise's hand is already reaching underneath your pants. You thought you were used to Wise's subtle initiation. You've been with your boyfriend long enough to know his body language.

As the documentary still plays in the background which gets drowned out by his voice tickling your ear.

"Can I have you? Do you want this?"

From the way he looks at you to the straining you now feel in his pants his true intentions are more than clear. And very welcomed.

You wrap your arms around Wise as his lips meet yours. He missed those lips. Soft lips he could kiss for hours. But your lips will not be enough, as much as he loves his tongue in your mouth he wants to make sure every part of your face, neck, collar and chest gets attention from his mouth, from soft kisses, hungry licks and possessive hickeys. Wise had been doing this since the first time He had sex with you.

As his lips pepper your face before going down to your neck He sheds off your shirt before kissing further down.

Wise nuzzles his face against the crook of your neck taking in your lovely scent he'd missed so dearly. His warm wet tongue glides across your neck before suckling on the soft skin. He nips and sucks leaving a hickey in a quite visible spot he will probably regret later. Right now all he could think about was your chest in his mouth.

But before he could lean down too put one of your hard and nipples in his mouth you pull at his shirt. Wise realizes he was still fully clothed And he can't have that. He gives you a gentle smile kissing on the forehead before getting up off the couch you watch as he strips slowly lifting his shirt over his head before taking his pants his boxers with it. Usually your shy boyfriend leaves his boxers on until he's ready to slide inside you.

You don't mind this at all He's cute shy smile with his throbbing cock bobbing as he climbs back on top of you was a sight to behold. Wise slides off your bottoms and your underwear leaving you both naked as the day you were born. His cock was so close to your wet slit an occasionally Wise when his mouth was busy on your chest he would grind his shaft against your wet folds.

You want to reach out and touch him but he stops you His hand gently grabbing your wrist and firmly pinning them over your head.

"no touching." He smirks holding you down with one hand the other hand sliding it's fingers down your body before finding your pussy.

"But you're touching me That's not fair!" You whine which Wise only response "That's unfortunate."

His eyes were trained on you the entire time as his fingers went up and down before sinking inside. You are thankful that the volume drowned out the sound you just made, feeling is cold thick fingers fill your cunt. Wise knows exactly where to touch trying to go deep enough to curl his fingers into that spot. His eyes lit up his mouth tongue open watching you arch your back underneath him spurring him on to finger fuck you faster harder.

He has never heard such noises come from your pussy before. why didn't he ram knuckles deep into your cunt sooner? He kept sucking on your chest occasionally alternating between your nipple and your neck, he could feel you clenching around him.

"Are you close? Come on baby, You can do it, squeeze my fingers and cum. Come on, you deserve to feel good. I want you to feel good."

Again you think the documentary still playing in the background as you moan Wise's name as you trench his fingers. Fingering you through your orgasm And when you finally come down from your high you watch as Wise uses your juices to coat his cock His fingers and hands sliding up and down the thick veiny shaft.

His breath is shaky as he touches himself, giving himself a few more pumps before lining it up.

"I need more I'm sorry I don't think I can be gentle please let me know if I hurt you." He kisses you on the forehead finally letting go of your wrists he grabbed your legs putting them over his shoulders.

Mating press. Something he can only hear of so animalistic, raw, and filthy. But that's how he wants to take you. That's how he has been craving to take you.

Wise's mouth is hung open, his chest heaving sinking himself inside.

He clenches his teeth letting out of his and a grown, You already arch your back clamping down on him as he struggles to move deeper inside.

Wise wants to be rough but he is not a monster He lets you adjust to his size, before he starts moving. He stays fully inside you for a few minutes again peppering your face with kisses before asking if he could move. And when you nod he clenches his teeth His fingers digging into your thigh he slowly pulls out before.

Slamming back inside you You let out a surprise shriek when she places his hand over your mouth. At that point Wise is gone seeing his own hand over your mouth keep fully leans his body into yours slamming down again and again. You are grateful for him covering your mouth because you cannot stop your noises.

And apparently, Wise can't either, usually, during sex, he's breathy, but this time, as he ravages your body, he growls and moans like an animal in rut as he plunges into you over and over again. Hitting that deep spot inside you that had you cumming on his cock.

Wise's eyes roll back in pleasure feeling your cunt squeeze him for all his worth. Pounding into you with reckless abandon chasing his orgasm.

Wise sinks his teeth into your shoulder stealing his hips inside of you with one final slam he fills you up to the brim. Wise collapses onto you wrapping his arms around you giving you another dose of sweet kisses whispering Sweet nothings of how much he loves you and missed you.

Wise Not wanting you to fall asleep on the couch picks you up into his arms He smiles down at you when you yawn.

He puts you in his bed and joins you. Is neatly folded sheets and blanket now tossed over to fit the both of you. The smell of him and the fresh smell of his laundry lull you to sleep, snuggling into his chest. Wise smiles, welcoming you into his arms.

The documentary was still playing, but neither of you cared. It was just background noise for you to fall asleep, too.

[anistarrose]

[ID identical to alt text: two screenshots from The Owl House finale. The first is the Titan telling Luz: "I am both king and queen, best of both things!"

The second screenshot is Luz reacting with a warm, slightly awestruck smile. End description.]

it could just be part of her generally awed demeanor in this scene (because, like, who wouldn't be awed about meeting the Titan?), but I'm really soft over the look in Luz's eyes when her little brother's dad eschews gender norms.

because this Luz, who's bi, who doesn't want to choose between literal worlds, and who doesn't want to choose between feminine and masculine gender presentation. who's textually gender non-conforming, and incredibly easy to interpret as genderqueer, multigender, nonbinary, or any combination of those and more.

[ID identical to alt: a screenshot of Luz in a t-shirt with purple and white stripes, along with green sweatpants. It evokes the genderqueer flag, which is displayed next to her. End description.]

in the narrative, queerness is taken so in stride that Luz never even seems surprised by how normalized it is in the Boiling Isles — and from the start, she isn't afraid to show her own bisexuality either, which I think speaks volumes to how Camila must've raised her in a very accepting environment. but still, there's something to be said about how special it must be for Luz to meet the Titan —

who is King's dad, who is the source of all her magic, who is the literal ground she's been walking upon —

and for Luz to realize: "oh, him? the closest thing to a deity of this world? she's actually a lot like me."

[writing-reference-redux]

Halloween Prompts

60 ideas for writers and artists!

Either choose your own prompt, or ask your followers to choose for you by sending you a character or ship and the number or emoji. Also, let people know if you welcome combos (combining two prompts into a single story or art piece)!

🎃 - Pumpkin carving time!

🍭 - Candy eating contest!

🫣 - Let me tell you a scary story...

🙅 - In support of the Halloween-disliker

💬 - I'm scared, and I'm going to text you all about it

🤒 - What do you mean you're sick? It's Halloween!

😳 - I have never been so embarrassed in my life

😱 - Don't worry! They're just wearing costumes!

🍷 - A little tipsy, a little spooked

☕️ - Pumpkin spice and everything nice

🍁 - The leaves are lovely this time of year

🌙 - A stroll in the moonlight

💃 - Dance the fright away

💔 - Halloween heartbreak

❤️‍🩹 - Halloween heart-mending

💍 - A Halloween proposal

🛏️ - Getting spooky in the sheets (always practice safe hex)

📖 - An armchair, a bathrobe, and a good creepy book

📺 - Let's stay in and watch scary movies

🍿 - How about we go see that new horror flick?

🛒 - What do you mean I bought too many decorations?

🪡 - Adventures in costume making

💅 - Trust me, you're going to look great!

👥 - The perfect couple's costume idea

🧼 - Your makeup really won't wash off?

🥸 - They can't tell that it's me in this costume!

🍬 - We're (not) too old to go trick-or-treating

😈 - No treat, all trick

🏚️ - Two tickets for the haunted house, please

🕯️ - A little bit of candlelight

🔦 - Are you afraid of the dark?

👂 - Did you hear that?

👀 - I'm probably just seeing things

👻 - Do you believe in ghosts?

🧛 - Vampires aren't real... right?

🧟 - The dead walk (or run, or mosey, or swim...)

🐺 - Werewolves and other fuzzy menaces

🧙 - Are you a good witch or a bad witch?

🤡 - Clowns aren't THAT scary

🪓 - Didn't you hear there's an axe-man on the loose?

💀 - Is that skeleton rattling in this direction?

🐙 - It came from beneath the waves

🧠 - It's all in your head (no, really... it's in there)

🎭 - Possession for fun and profit

🤫 - Shh! It will hear you!

🕷️ - Eight-legged guests

🐈‍⬛ - Black cats need love, too

🐦‍⬛ - An unkindness of ravens, a murder of crows...

😴 - Nightmares can't hurt you

🧸 - Children shouldn't play with creepy things

👩🏽‍💻 - An online presence

📦 - What's in the box?

🪦 - We'll just take a quick shortcut through the graveyard

🔤 - Tell me that isn't a Ouija board

📜 - An unfortunate artifact

📕 - Volume of the damned

📼 - I wonder what's on this old VHS tape

🖼️ - A portrait of very bad things

🚪 - A strange door to... somewhere

🎶 - The reanimation of the ancient being known as a "songfic"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

savanaclaw light novel: the importance of introspection

I’ve previously discussed how TWST benefits from telling us the same story across different mediums. Different mediums provide different benefits over others, and some can “patch up” rougher bits of story or add more detail to them. The game is interactive and serves as a baseline for most new content. The manga is able to have far more freedom of movement and expression due to being visual-heavy. And last, but not least, a light novel, which is mostly text, has the boon of letting us see more of each character’s thoughts and feelings. We can elaborate on what the game already established and understand the characters on a deeper level.

I would say that the light novel’s format will most benefit the OB boys, as they are the ones who will go through the biggest character arcs in the main story. Because the game’s story is told via mostly dialogue and some sound effects, we rarely, if ever, get a clear understanding of what the OB boys are truly thinking and feeling outside of their brief post-OB flashbacks. The same goes for the manga, which has limited pages to tell its story, so it has to keep a certain pace. But a light novel? Well, you can go ham there with an omniscient narrator.

Today, I want to talk about Leona’s expanded post-OB introspection in the second volume of the light novel as an example of this. Then I will combine it with the information we have from the game and see how the light novel complements what already we know of his character thanks to hindsight. (I’ll be referencing this fan translation if you want to read and follow along!)

First thing’s first! From the game, we know that Leona enrolled in Night Raven College one year late (and then got held back a year, which makes sense considering he is 20 in the main story present). He didn't find a use in attending school since he, by royal birth, was able to afford all the best tutors in the world and didn't think NRC had anything left to teach him. In Leona's Birthday Boy vignettes, he further specifies that he decided to enroll at NRC after Cheka was born. As Leona says in his post-OB flashback in-game, Cheka's birth means "the despised second son loses what little claim he had to the throne forever", essentially putting an end to his hopes. This would imply that this specific change in circumstance was the push that made Leona want to physically distance himself from home. Furthermore, it's supported by Leona's other behaviors: he does not take calls or read letters from home if he can help it (implied by Cheka asking why Leona doesn't answer his letters and Cheka calling on Halloween night to catch up with him; Leona lies and quickly hangs up), he makes excuses to avoid going home (as Kifaji states), etc. If we want to extrapolate even more, how is it that Leona, second born prince, initially crossed paths with Ruggie, who was born and raised in the slums (which, I imagine, must be quite some distance away from the royal palace)? This makes me think that even before Leona enrolled at NRC he would leave his housing and roam around, finding alternative places to stay because home just felt too uncomfortable and suffocating for him. There's also the implication that Leona often brooded over his circumstances, as he confesses to thinking about it and going to NRC to get his mind away from the tired cycle--although he also acknowledges that he's running away from "the pain" of having lost the throne.

The distancing would prove itself to be beneficial to his mental health, as Leona cites that his heart started feeling lighter, his restlessness dulled, and his pain numbed. With the throne out of sight, so, too, was it out of mind, and his longing softened. But that same haunting despair returns when another group starts to place expectations on him. This time, it's no longer the palace servants, but his own dorm members. Instead of fear and derision, his new pack looks at him, their "king", with desperateness--and, more importantly, hope. Speaking about the future with sparkling eyes. That, in turn, made Leona hopeful too. He can't let these people who look up to him and rely on him down, so he must do anything to win. That's all he ever wanted: to win, just this once. No matter what, he wants to win.

But when Leona's plans crumble, that crushing sense of despair rears its ugly head. He fails. And he suddenly understands that all his efforts will always amount to nothing, that they will always be meaningless, that there is no future for him. Leona's hopes have been dashed. He has been struck down by the world once again, just as he had started to climb up, fighting tooth and nail, to prove himself. Yet when defeat came, he also claims it doesn't bother him as much as he thought he would--perhaps because he's so accustomed to not winning, because maybe this is the outcome he had expected all along in the deepest recesses of his heart. That familiar disappointment begins to hurt him once more, and Leona wants to forget it all, to retreat to the shadows and to lick his wounds, to be far away from that pain.

One interesting new detail we glean from the light novel is that Leona is terrified by his dorm mates staring at him with hopeful eyes. It's not their expectations he's inherently scared of, but what those expectations can do to him. Leona is scared of himself, of being motivated by others to act, to never give up hope, when he still anticipates being beat down again and again by a world that rejects him and denies him. He even goes so far as to say he would be pathetic if he let his dorm mates' words inspire him and keep his waning hope alive. Ruggie, who had wanted to turn the world upside down together. Jack, who was inspired by his play three years back. All the mobs putting faith in their futures on him, their one and only leader. With so many people looking to him, how can he not be swayed by that positivity that had once been so elusive to him? How could that not ignite what little spark of hope is left in him? And that's exactly what Leona finds so dangerous about it. He's lived almost his entire life being put in his place, hurt every time he tried to demonstrate what he could do, how he could contribute--yet time and time again, here comes life, tempting him to try again, just to inevitably be compared to his brother and kicked down, delivering another blow to his pride and his self-image. Leona truly seems to hate himself for not being able to let go of that small fragment of hope he has left. He wants so badly to give up and not have to worry anymore about something he can never obtain. He's so tired of struggling and suffering for nothing. If he just caved, then he would never be hurt again. He can't be hurt if he doesn't care about anything. Yet no matter how much he wishes or tries, he can't run far enough away to detach himself from those expectations of grandeur, of being something more.

There's been many fan theories about Leona's mental health in circulation well before the release of this light novel, many of which mention self-loathing in spite of how proud and confident he typically presents as. You'd have to read in-between the lines of dialogue from the game to draw these clues out, whereas the light novel lays it more bare to you. It hits very differently reading hateful statements made by the character to himself. Leona calls himself all sorts of things: a fool, pathetic, insignificant, boring. That he isn't strong, that he isn't wise, that he's not loved. (In the in-game flashback, Leona also talks in a self-deprecating way, but to a far lesser extent than in the light novel; we also see that Falena does his best to discourage Leona from this kind of behavior.) That this is who he is, that it's the one thing he's afraid to admit and accept--but he also says he lacks the "strength" to give up. That's why Leona would rather run away than confront that potential truth. The option to embrace complete nihilism just isn't possible for him, because he can't just quash that pesky little thing called hope. This is much more complex than what's explained in the games and demonstrates a maturity and degree of self-reflection from Leona that we've never seen before. What's more, this gives us brand new context with which to view many of his other seemingly mundane actions mentioned in the game. At face value, Leona often acts very callously and doesn't care to help others unless he gets some kind of benefit from it (like agreeing to poof the contracts in book 3 just because he has his own deal he wants to get rid of). We see this time and time again when he instructs others reliant on him or less knowledgeable than he is in various matters where he is well-read and experienced with. For example, he takes note of his club members' strengths and weaknesses and offers tailored advice to help them improve their play. He tells others how to mine magestones of an adequate size in Vargas Camp. Maybe he's just doing these things to make the circumstances easier for himself (so he can put forth less effort to leading them in a game, or so he can nap heartily). But from what we've just learned from the light novel, now I'm suspecting a different secondary motive.

What if... Leona is, in part, encouraging and helping others to hone their own skills to subconsciously compensate for what he doesn't believe he himself is capable of? Because there's still so much hope for his dorm mates, for his underclassmen... (and, let's not forget, it was those in Savanaclaw that first motivated Leona to "try" again for the first time in forever) but he doesn't have that same amount of hope for himself. I get these vibes as late as book 6, when Leona and Jamil have a talk. In their conversation, Leona directs many pointed, blunt words at Jamil--words that could very easily also be thrown back at Leona's face and be applicable to his book 2 self. He accuses Jamil of making excuses so he won't have to actually act, just as Leona has continuously run away from uncomfortable situations to put himself at ease. At one point, I believe Leona event states that Jamil “*isn’t like [me]”, Here, again, it can be argued that we're seeing Leona's self-awareness on display, as well as a willingness to warn others to not follow down the same path he once treaded, to lose all hope in the future. Again, it's done with a double purpose: the other one being to get Jamil out of his way while they're exploring. And (of course) Leona's way of expressing his message is gruff and not very warm, not to Jamil and certainly not to himself. He's become prickly and defensive himself after all of his experiences--but that just adds to the complexity of his character when we synthesize what we know of him from TWST multimedia.

I really wish a lot of what was in the light novel post-Leona OB was also in the game. It would have helped to flesh out Leona's motivations and fears, which book 2 was sorely needing. As he is presented now, he appears shallow and selfish in his goals, and we don't fully understand the emotions spurring him on, a lot of which is genuine self-loathing and the sinking despair that comes with thinking you're not enough and you'll never be enough. That would have been so much more relatable than the in-game Leona having himself a pity party with a great amount of emphasis on the throne--a throne which, in actuality, just symbolizes a desire for recognition, love, and acceptance. It was never about explicitly being king. It was about being seen as his own person and appreciated for it instead of being admonished and compared to his exalted older brother.

Now, as an adult, Leona has become someone who pushes away those who try to give him that which he craves. He sees a lot of people--his own family and his dorm mates, the closest thing he has to friends--as dangers to his own mental wellbeing. He's scared to let them in, so he's built up these emotional, arrogant walls around himself. Think at how often he rejects advice from Falena and refuses Cheka's affection for him. Look at how this behavior extends beyond those who are keeping him from a literal throne and to his classmates. They instill hope in him, hope which scares Leona. The things he has wanted all his life are now poison that chips away at him. Considering all of that together, it makes Leona's story far more tragic than how it was initially shown to us in the game alone. But guess what? That can also become his strength, fuel for his character arc. Leona isn't running anymore. He's actually returning home for winter break in book 4. He's determined to not get held back again. He's committing to an internship in a field (an energy lab) which will immensely help his country (which is rich in natural resources). All of this, coming from a young man who once acted bitter when his older brother suggested that there were many things Leona could do with his intelligence to benefit their homeland. Leona is making slow strides and steady progress toward a future he used to think was unattainable for him. From that darkness, he's rising anew--like the sun upon the savanna.

[cellophaine]

Sad Girl (Part III)

Read Part I, Part II

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Sappy confession. Happy ending.

Author's Note: I'm alive.

GIF Credit

As you joined the street-level crowd from the subway, you pulled your scarf higher as the bitter wind swept over your face. You quickened your pace in the hope of getting out of the cold sooner as if you could catch up with the darkening sky. The interview had taken longer than you anticipated, and you still had to write up the report and have it on your boss' desk by 9 AM the next morning. He had been a thorn in your side, consistently pushing your buttons. He always insisted on having paper copies of every report. "It makes your report more meaningful," he said, "otherwise you're just repeating someone else's words." It took all the professionalism in you not to reach across his cluttered desk and slap him then.

By the time you reached the office, the sky had dulled into a dark grey, and the lamp posts cast their warm glow onto the street. You said goodnight to the exiting coworkers and rushed through the doors to see that Gwen, the receptionist, was leaving, too. She called out to you as you walked past the reception.

"Hey! There's something for you on your desk."

You nodded.

"Thank you."

"Doesn't say who it's from though."

You thought for a moment; a small smile crept onto the corner of your lips.

"I think I might have an idea."

Gwen gave you an understanding look and headed out. You approached your cubby in anticipation and were greeted with a sweet floral smell emanating from the bouquet that sat next to your keyboard. You took it in your hand and marvelled. It was a peculiar combination, one you couldn't really find at flower shops, held together by a simple ribbon of blue cloth. No crinkly wrapping paper. The light shade of blue hyacinth went so well with the bluebells, coupled with orange peonies and a single olive branch, which created a harmony pleasing to the eyes and nose. The piece of paper nestled in the bouquet only indicated your name in a neat font, but other than that, nothing. Still, it brought a smile to your face, a speck of joy on an arduous day. You pulled out your phone and typed out a quick text before sending it off.

Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.

You still had a soft smile on your face by the time you got ready to write the report. Your phone vibrated, signaling a text message.

What flowers?

Your brows scrunched together in puzzlement. You took a photo and sent it off. Not a minute later, you got a response.

Wasn't from me.

A slight hollowness carved itself into your throat. You texted back.

Oh. Are you sure?

The response came quickly.

Dead serious. You might have a secret admirer ;)

Never mind then.

You set your phone down only to have the phone vibrate again.

Wannna go out tonight? Me and my buddies are going to this new club on Fifth Ave.

You sighed, dreading the idea of having to stay at work late. But you didn't like the sound of going out either.

I'm alright. Just a little tired tonight. Have fun though!

The read receipt and a heart popped up on your last message. That was it. You turned your phone to silent mode before opening a new document; your recorder and notepad were ready by your side.

By the time your report was put on your boss' desk, it was already 9:30. You exhaled heavily, feeling the weight on your shoulders chip away. You took the flowers with you and nodded to the security guard on your way out. It was late, and you didn't feel like cooking, so you made a detour to the soup and sandwich shop around the corner and placed an order. You sat down on the bench by the window, allowing the gush of heat from the radiator to warm your legs. There was music coming from across the narrow street; its volume changed as people filtered in and out. People were smoking outside, chatting animatedly with one another. It stirred something in you. You worked late on a Thursday night, getting takeout by yourself because you couldn't even fathom the thought of whipping up a simple meal. You opened your last message with Andy, wondering if it was too late to change your mind.

You met Andy through Mindy when her workplace went out for happy hour. It was just shy of two weeks after you cut things off with Matt. He was a nice, easy-going guy who tried to include you in conversations throughout the night. Mindy's forms of suggestion came in the subtle look of her eyes, the slight inclines of her head, and often, a jab of her elbow. It annoyed you how much she tried to look out for you even though you didn't need her help, but at the end of the night, the triumphant was hers. Andy asked for your number, and you agreed out of an obligation you felt for Mindy's relentless effort for you to move on. It had been two months since the first date, with many dates between then and now, and all you could say about it could be summed up in one word: fine. You didn't feel a spark. Andy could be charming at times, funny, and generous. You liked him, but your heart didn't beat wildly for him. He wasn't anything like Matt. Andy was the one you should want.

So why did you still feel a sense of hesitation?

You looked at the bouquet, your curiosity piqued. Taking out your phone, you typed in the flower combination laid on the narrow counter. Scrolling through the array of articles, you noticed the keywords they shared in common.

Apology. Ask for forgiveness. Wrongdoings.

You read and read, and the realization seeped in. The clarification didn't give you any relief, only mild irritation. Matt fucking Murdock. Who gave him the right to remind you of his presence when it still lingered around? It was an undeniable indication of how much you were still so helplessly captivated by your history with him, thinking about him like he was an old wound that ached every now and then to remind you that you had always had it and that you could never be rid of it. Memories of Matt, just like the pain, were a part of you now, and you couldn't bury them or try to forget them. You had to live with them, and hopefully, when it was finally enough time had passed, you could look back at the memories with fondness, a sweet bitterness over someone you couldn't have, but you had long accepted the fact.

For the moment, the fondness was replaced by irritation. With dinner in your hand, you walked out of the door, leaving the bouquet in the trash can of the quaint restaurant.

Over the next six months, so much changed, but the one constant thing that did not was Matt's attempts to reach you and still give you the distance you needed. Once a week, on the same day, a bouquet of flowers was delivered to your desk. They never included the sender, only the recipient, and always had the same connotation.

I'm sorry.

You had to admit it was sweet. It also earned you looks of admiration and teasing from your coworkers, who were cooing over the fact that your boyfriend was such a sweetheart. For the few times someone mentioned it, you had to clarify. Andy wasn't your boyfriend anymore, and he hadn't been for the last two months.

When you broke up with Andy, it came as a surprise to him. He thought everything was going well, but your perception of the relationship was the opposite. You weren't into him; you were into the idea of having him as a placeholder for Matt. It was the cruel truth. Being with Andy didn't make you happy, and you doubted it would be any different if you were with someone else. You wanted more. You wanted the thing that you couldn't have with Matt, and at this point, you had settled for the fact that it would never be yours. But for now, you were okay with being by yourself. You wanted to be alone in your own existence and accepted the fact that when the right time came, it would come with the right person. For the first time in a long time, you felt the burden that clouded your head fall away like a crumbling infrastructure.

You quit your job despite your boss's pathetic attempts to stop you from leaving, promising you a promotion that would make you his right-hand woman. It was more work for just a little more money, and it wasn't worth it. To your luck, shortly after leaving the newspaper, you got hired as a junior staff writer for an independent publishing house. You still got to enjoy parts of the work you liked before, with better pay and a more relaxed schedule. You had more time to enjoy what you couldn't before.

Gwen still kept in touch with you, telling you about the bouquet of flowers showing up a few days after you left. And then, after that week, none at all. You figured Matt had a way of finding out about your new workplace since, shortly after the change, new bouquets were delivered to your desk promptly as if nothing had changed only except for the fact that you stopped throwing them away. You had started to enjoy them. Who knew there were so many ways to apologize to someone with flowers?

You thought you would cross paths with him eventually, but you didn't know it would be a peculiar chance encounter like this.

The gloomy sky haunted the skyline of New York City all day, teasing with little drops here and there. The air was heavy, as if it was holding itself in anticipation of a great storm. You prayed it wouldn't rain before you got home, but as you were halfway there, the sky parted, and the downpour was vicious. You couldn't see too far in front of you, and out of desperation, you ran up the stairs of the nearest shelter. You stood awkwardly on the small porch of the building as heavy droplets railed on the pavement in a frantic rhythm. You leaned a shoulder on the wall, exhausted and drenched, looking helplessly out into the downpour that showed no sign of stopping soon. Water dripped from your lashes, and with each blink, you saw a moving silhouette formed in the misty veil. Your heart beat faster and faster as the silhouette approached until he became someone you knew too well. Emerged from the rain was Matt, his breathing heavy, but you doubted it was from running from the rain, for his footsteps slowed, hesitant as he sensed that the porch he was approaching wasn't vacant. And the space was occupied by none other than the woman that haunted his fitful sleep and waking daydreams.

For a long moment, you could only stare. The water clung to him like how every piece of your existence that used to long for his approval and touch did. And Matt seemed to do the same thing. You couldn't bring yourself to break the silence. Your eyes were wide open as if you were afraid his presence was only something your mind made up. That he wasn't real. And just like that, you were starstruck again. Just like the first time you saw him after you realized that you loved him. In the gradual slip of the initial shock, you took in the newness in his familiar appearance. His hair was a little longer than when you saw him last, prompting the little curls at the nape of his neck. His dripping briefcase did its best to shield his face from the rain, but you could see the strays followed the slopes and rises of his handsome features. His lips parted, pulling in a deep, slow inhale. He looked like a man who was in disbelief, and truth be told, you felt the same way. Only now did you realize how much you'd missed him.

"What are you doing here?"

You croaked and cleared your throat when you realized your voice was barely a notch above a whisper. Matt shook himself out of the trance, clearing his throat.

"This is, uhm– my office."

"Oh!"

In a fit of panic, you didn't realize that it was the Nelson, Murdock and Page office. What kind of cruelty had fate forced upon you? You sighed, an apology on your lips as you put your bag above your head.

"I'm so sorry, I will go–"

Before you could launch yourself into the pouring rain, Matt stopped you with a hand on your elbow.

"No, please. Stay."

And because he knew you so well, he could sense your hesitation.

"You can get warm upstairs and wait until it's better out there."

You watched the way the tips of his ears had turned into a darker shade of pink. This anticipation reminded you of the time when, with just a look, you knew you had fallen for him. You swallowed and managed to croak a soft "okay." Matt nodded, a little breathless himself, as if he was relieved that you agreed to stay. He pulled out the key and unlocked the door before holding it open for you to step inside. You walked the stairs, remembering the last time you were here. Your heart was in fragments, barely held together by your nerves, by the time you reached the final steps.

You roamed your eyes around the office as Matt turned on the old heater along the wall. It looked about the same, but now there was a monstera adding a touch of green to the space. You shrugged off your damp coat, and Matt took it out of your hands. The gesture felt so natural, you thought to yourself as you watched him hang the coat next to his by the door. He had stripped down to a simple white dress shirt and black slack, and you averted your eyes at the sight of his torso visible under the wet shirt as if you hadn't seen him naked before. He threw his tie on the desk and came out of his office with a throw blanket. He held it out until you took it. It looked handmade and felt soft to the touch. Matt pulled a chair out for you in front of the heater. You thanked him and put your bag by your feet after taking the seat. A brief moment of silence followed, and Matt immediately assumed his position as the gracious host.

"Do you want some tea? We have the kind that … that you like."

A shiver ran through you. A cup of tea didn't sound too bad.

"Please. If you don't mind."

He waved his hand dismissively and walked towards the kitchen. You listened to the sound of him rummaging around in the small room. Feeling awkward just sitting there and not being useful, you called out.

"Do you need some help?"

"I got it. You stay warm."

You settled against the chair, wrapping yourself in the blanket. Feeling the gentle and warm brush of the radiator on your legs, you shivered slightly. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you tried to calm yourself down by focusing on the monstera leaves instead of the presence of the man who once broke your heart.

Matt came back to the room with a steaming mug, and you took it gratefully. It looked like he didn't make any for himself. You took a sip, allowing the tea to burn your tongue.

"How have you been?"

His question knocked at the mutual understanding of your situation. You weren't exactly friends, and you were long past the point of lovers. But it didn't have to be awkward. With so much history between you, all the memories twisted and turned and took off, swirling furiously like the storm outside. But there was a blessing in it. The storm was out of your reach, and right here, right now, you were safe. The person who lapped up crumbs of attention from the man who never explicitly gave them was a part of you. But not anymore. You could start fresh.

"I'm fine. I figured you knew about my new job?"

Matt dipped his head sheepishly as if to hide his expression of being caught.

"I did. Are you enjoying it?"

"I am. It's a lot less stressful when I don't have to answer my boss' unreasonable demands. I get more freedom in what I do. The pay is much better, too."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I'm glad. It seemed like you had a bad time at the newspaper."

"Yeah, I did."

You nodded, feeling a brief wash of melancholy at the mention of your old job.

"I know the flowers come from you."

There was no point in avoiding the subject. Your heart was on the verge of exploding, but you had to. You both knew it was coming.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for overstepping. Just say the word, and I'll stop any kind of contact with you."

When you didn't respond, he continued with his face angled towards you. The window behind him cast sharp shadows on his face, and from this point of view, you could see the agony on his face.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just … I had to try to show how sorry I was. How sorry I still am."

"I know."

You sighed.

"As much as I would like to blame it all on you, it was on me as well."

At that, Matt sat up straighter and protested.

"That's not true–"

Your hand sprung out to hold his hand, keeping him there. Matt stilled as if your touch had paralyzed him.

"Please, listen to me."

You went on despite the slight shake in your voice.

"I let my expectations run wild even though we were clear from the start. It was a mutual benefit arrangement."

His other hand came to rest on top of yours. Warmth seeped from the palms of his hands, and you wished you were enveloped in his embrace instead.

"I stepped over the line myself. I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. I gave you mixed signals and lied to you about my own feelings."

You inhaled deeply. 

"What feelings?"

"I really thought it was better to keep you at arm's length and not let myself … feel things for you, but I did anyway. I should have been honest with you. But I thought I wasn't deserving of someone like you."

Your heart rattled in the cage that was your chest.

"What are you saying, Matt?"

A sorrowful relief caressed his face.

"I love you. I regret not saying that to you every day we were apart."

You felt as if all the air was pulled out of your lungs.

"Don't lie to me, please. I don't want you to just– just say what I want to hear. I'd rather never have you than to have you unwillingly."

Matt placed your hand on his heart, letting you feel the rhythm underneath your palm. Erratic, wild and uncontrollable, just like yours.

"I only want you. I think about you all the time. I'm miserable when you're not around."

"I don't know what to say …"

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it with a tenderness you had missed dearly.

"That's okay. Take your time. I'll wait for you as long as you need."

He paused briefly, then continued as if it took great strength for him to utter the words.

"Even if you no longer feel the same, it's okay, too."

You couldn't conceal the wide smile in your voice.

"I mean, telling a girl that you love her before going on a first date with her? Mindy wouldn't like that."

Matt chuckled, the sound warm like the honey he put in your tea.

"Was Mindy the one …?"

"Yup. She doesn't like you at all."

"I deserve that."

You caressed his face, feeling the stubble along his jawline. There was a feeling you thought you would never get again, but now, you were basking in its glow.

"Can we … can we take it slow?"

His lips found the palm of your hand, kissing it tenderly.

"Of course. Anything you want."

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

Taglist for this specific fic: @nyutasgirl @havlindzk @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @carstairswife

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hello hello! i love your blog and it has been a fantastic resource for me. if i may ask, how does one go about writing music? my character is put in a situation where listening to a song is a large part of a scene, and i want to describe the song and music itself. while i would describe a guitar or drum, the song i have in mind specifically is mostly digital (think similar to edm) so i'm not sure how to do it. do you have any idea how i could tackle this?

thank you in advance!

Writing Notes: Electronic Music

Electronic Music - any music involving electronic processing, such as recording and editing on tape, and whose reproduction involves the use of loudspeakers.

It is produced from a wide variety of sound resources—from sounds picked up by microphones to those produced by electronic oscillators (generating basic acoustical waveforms such as sine waves, square waves, and sawtooth waves), complex computer installations, and microprocessors—that are recorded on tape and then edited into a permanent form.

Generally, except for one type of performed music that has come to be called “live electronic music”, electronic music is played back through loudspeakers either alone or in combination with ordinary musical instruments.

Musicians are always quick to adopt and explore new technologies.

The fast-paced changes wrought by electrification, from the microphone via the analogue synthesizer to the laptop computer, have led to a wide range of new musical styles and techniques.

Electronic music has grown to a broad field of investigation, taking in historical movements such as musique concrète and elektronische Musik, and contemporary trends such as electronic dance music and electronica.

The Art of Noises (1913) by Luigi Russolo is an important text in the history of electronic music, because it is the first attempt seriously to categorise all sounds and, indeed, to treat them as potential music.

Russolo wrote:

Every manifestation of our life is accompanied by noise. The noise, therefore, is familiar to our ear, and has the power to conjure up life itself. Sound, alien to our life, always musical and a thing unto itself, an occasional but unnecessary element, has become to our ears what an overfamiliar face is to our eyes. Noise, however, reaching us in a confused and irregular way from the irregular confusion of our life, never entirely reveals itself to us, and keeps innumerable surprises in reserve. We are therefore certain that by selecting, coordinating and dominating all noises we will enrich men with a new and unexpected sensual pleasure. Although it is characteristic of noise to recall us brutally to real life, the art of noise must not limit itself to imitative reproduction. It will achieve its most emotive power in the acoustic enjoyment, in its own right, that the artist’s inspiration will extract from combined noises. Here are the 6 families of noises of the Futurist orchestra which we will soon set in motion mechanically:

Rumbles: Roars, explosions, crashes, splashes, booms

Whistles: Hisses, snorts

Whispers: Murmurs, mumbles, grumbles, gurgles

Screeches: Creaks, rustles, buzzes, crackles, scrapes

Noises obtained by percussion: Metal, wood, skin, stone, terracotta etc.

Voices of animals and men: Shouts, screams, groans, shrieks, howls, laughs, wheezes, sobs

In this inventory we have encapsulated the most characteristic of the fundamental noises; the others are merely the associations and combinations of these.

Some Electronic Music Vocabulary

ADSR – Stands for Attack, Decay, Sustain and Release – refers to the envelope [i.e., characteristic of a sound (e.g. volume or filter) as it changes over time; can be used as a tool to shape a sound over time] applied to a sound to shape it over time. Can be applied to the volume, filter, pitch or more. Can make things sound plucky, soft, or ambient etc.

Aliasing – Subtle distortion that occurs in the digital realm when the input frequency is higher than the sample rate. The sample cannot be measured accurately and thus introduces imperfections into the sound.

Ambience – Can refer to a sound in a track which creates a sense of space or atmosphere – typically achieved by the use of time-based audio effects such as delays and reverbs. Also can refer to the level of sound in a recording that contains background noise, separate to the intended recording. Typically this background noise is undesirable, but sometimes it is an aesthetic choice.

Arpeggiator – A MIDI Effect that turns a static chord into an arpeggio. If that doesn’t make sense, it makes things go bleep-bleep-bleep.

Atmosphere – A sonic effect created by reverb, long tails and quieter sounds. Referred to as the background of a track.

Beat Repeat – A type of effect that takes audio as an input and repeats the snippet back at timed intervals to create a glitch effect.

Chill – A loosely-defined term to describe the sound of more relaxed, deeper and melody-driven music in electronic music. Sometimes people refer to this as a genre in itself.

Distortion – The processing of audio such that extra harmonics and loudness are added, creating a more fuller or aggressive sound. Distortion types include tube, clipping, tape, diode, overdrive, fuzz and many more.

Doppler Effect – The sonic effect of frequencies sounding higher pitched when moving closer to an audio source, and lower pitched when moving away. Like when you drive past a police siren.

Formant – A vocal quality of a sound relating to vowels, and a filter type that achieves a vowel-like sound. If you’ve ever heard an ‘oooh’ or ‘aaah’, then you’ve heard what a formant sounds like.

Gate – An audio effect that reduces the volume of a sound once it passes below a certain threshold. It’s good for reducing background noise or unwanted sounds in a recording or sample. Just like your gate at home stops unwanted people coming into your house.

Glide – Portamento—when the pitch slides evenly from note to note

Lazer – A type of sound made by a synth that features fast-moving pitch envelopes to create a ‘pew pew’ type effect.

Masking – A phenomenon when two sounds with similar frequency content cause one to become ‘buried’ due to phase cancellation or differences is loudness. For example, two piano sounds playing at the same time might cause one of them to sound less powerful and thin in the mix.

Normalize – Increases a waveform’s level to its highest before it becomes distorted

Panning – The process of moving a sound either left or right in the stereo field. Panning is a great mix technique to achieve width and space.

Polar Pattern – The way a microphone picks up a sound. Some pickup sound in many directions, others only in one direction, and everything in between.

Reflections – Part of a reverb that creates echoes based off sounds hitting walls and bouncing around rapidly.

Transient – The initial start point of a drum sound, where the audio goes from near silence to sudden loudness. Sounds clicky.

Voice stealing – When a synthesizer is programmed to play more sounds than accessible voices shuts down some present voices so new tunes can be played

Tips for Writing About Music

The most important step when writing about music is to write, read, and listen to as much as possible. Writing hones your voice, while reading exposes you to various styles and information that will shape your writing. The wider the range of music you embrace and study, the better your perspective and critical ear.

Read about music: Understand as much as possible about music, from instrumentation to how artists create their song lyrics. Reading also helps teach the technical vocabulary specific to certain genres. To help you gain a better command of music, use music writing reference books, such as A Short Guide to Writing About Music by Jonathan Bellman and How to Write About Music, edited by Marc Woodworth and Ally-Jane Grossan. Both of these works discuss how to research and write about music effectively, and are great resources for new music writers.

Stay informed: Develop an understanding of news, events, and cultural conversations that inform songwriters. For example, understanding the politics behind Russian feminist collective/punk group Pussy Riot is necessary if you want to write an informed piece on their output.

Learn music theory: The more informed your technical language, the better your music writing will be. Elements such as BPM, timbre, crescendos, adagio, and other music sounds will help you more deeply understand a particular piece of music and its relationship to other songs on an album.

Listen to music: Don’t only listen to genres that you prefer, but expand your ear to different types of music. Artists are inspired by music across time and genre, and the best music critics recognize those references.

Put work out: Whether you join your school’s paper, do creative writing, or start your own blog, getting eyes on your work is imperative to improving your music writing. There are also online resources that aggregate opportunities and writing prompts for writers of all experience levels, providing a great opportunity for new writers to get their foot in the door.

Pitch to publications: Online and print publications are always looking for new pitches from writers. The more places you pitch, the more likely it is that you will sell a piece. Don’t be discouraged if you pitch one outlet and never hear back. Lean into your passion, keep writing, and pitch some more.

Also describe the effects of the song to your character/s. The effects of music can be described using various adjectives like relaxing, calm, refreshing, soothing, etc.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Thanks so much, really glad to hear this! Choose which of these notes would be most appropriate to incorporate in your story. Do go through the sources as there are more information I wasn't able to include here.

Another reference on music-related terms, plus some great additions. And more resources that could help with describing sounds and scenes related to music in your story:

Words to Describe Sounds

100 Sensory Words

Some Percussion Instruments

Some Pop Music Vocabulary

Writing Template: Singing Scene

Finding the right words that could accurately describe the specific song you have in mind to your readers is one way to tackle this, but it's definitely a challenge. Hope you find the right words/references here!

[eyeodyssey]

November 15th, 2024 marks the 40th anniversary of the inaugural performance of the Tokyo Grand Guignol’s Mercuro at the Art Theater Shinjuku. While it isn’t fully complete yet, now feels as good a time as ever to share here the current progress of my new translation of Mercuro, an updated “text adaption” as I put it that crosses the full script from June Novel with details that were given through photos, video footage and recollections from audience members. The reason for this is to account for the fact that Mercuro wasn’t a literary play, but an Artaudian experience Ameya conceived in efforts to override what he saw as being a wordy pretention in contemporary theater, his direction even being described before as a sot of "destruction" of Tagane’s writing. Judging Mercuro by just K. Tagane’s text would arguably be missing half the picture, so I’ve done my best to account what I imagine from the evidence that exists what Ameya’s half would've been like to maintain a decent balance. The first act of the play is fully available in two parts for free on my Substack, the second act is still in progress and will be steadily serialized as I finish enough progress on it: - MERCURO (Text Adaption) : ACT 1 : SCENE 1 - MERCURO (Text Adaption) : ACT 1 : SCENES 2 & 3 The process has been a difficult and laborious one in consideration of not just the scarcity of original materials, but the lack of publicly available media as well. Much of Ameya’s direction is not just in the actors, but the handling of visuals and sound design as well, calling back to his influences from Artaud’s more viscerally ritualistic view of theater as a practice. While a handful of songs are known to have been featured, there are still many gaps in between of not just how the songs were sequenced, but how Ameya would’ve edited them as well. A full video recording of Mercuro’s original run (not to be confused with the abridged 1985 Mercuroid TV performance) exists, but it is only in the hands of private collectors. Despite the hurdles throughout my research, through a combination of artistic dedication with what could best be described as obsessive stubbornness against the odds I was able to track down all the materials I could. Special thanks goes to Yu Hirayama of @suikazuraofficial (known for their music compilations, the subculture magazine FEECO and the Steven Stapleton biography Nurse With Wound評伝) for personally providing a copy of the Mercuro volume of June magazine and the Roadsiders article The Time That The Flyers Came To Town. I recommend anyone with an interest in subculture to look into his publications.

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

✌🏻 That was so hot… but don’t you dare do that again… ✌🏻

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Smut

✎ Summary: Channie’s Room is live, but you’re bored in the bedroom. Good thing he’s already looking at his phone.

✎ CW: Established relationship, sexting, nudes, vibrator use, swearing, teensy bit of dirty talk, unprotected sex

✎ Word count: 1,373

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

“Everybody put your hands up, Stray Kids sing it loud loud loud…”

As usual, Fam plays at the beginning of Channie’s Room. The webcam is pointed at an empty chair, and he appears as the song comes to an end.

“안녕하세요!” Chan sings, greeting the fans watching his stream. “Helllloooooo!”

The chat is full of the usual comments and questions:

ur so hot!

what are you working on? excited for the next album 💕

marry me!

when are you coming to Brazil?

But then there’s yours:

check your texts, babe 🎡☄️🛋️🎒

It’s the odd combination of emojis you agreed to use if you wanted him to know that one anonymous fan was actually you.

He’s reading through the comments, humming between replies. The chat moves so quickly, you’re prepared to send your comment multiple times before finally catching his eye. But then his finger stops scrolling and thumbs at the bottom of the screen to close the app. Bingo.

The “delivered” under your photo changes to “read,” and you can see his expression change ever so slightly. He clears his throat and tries to keep his cool, but blood rushes to his head, spreading from his ears to his cheeks to his throat. Practically every inch of visible skin is now a deep pink.

“Uh, Stay are being so nice today, you’re making me blush,” he says kind of convincingly. But you know better.

While he set up for the stream, you freshened up and donned your new lingerie. You considered being sweet and waiting until he came back to the bedroom to surprise him, but honestly, this is way more fun.

You took a bunch of selfies: one angled down, one angled up, one straight on your tits, another right on your ass. Lots of options, but you decided on the full body shot from above — your lower lip pinched between teeth at the top of the screen, fingers pulling at the bra strap in the middle, and your long, smooth legs crossed in front of the tiniest pair of underwear at the bottom.

He’s having trouble focusing on the chat now, and who could blame him? You look amazing, and there’s just a wall and some wiring between your bodies right now. Two dozen steps, and he could be on top of you, inside of you.

Chan readjusts his body in the chair, undoubtedly making more room in his jeans for his stiffening cock. He fidgets uncomfortably and tries his best to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

Whoosh

Off goes the second image — this one focused on your chest. But the straps are pulled down and one hard nipple sits just above the edge of the bra’s cup, pinched between two fingers.

This photo goes unseen for a little longer than the first, and you’ll let him open it in his own time. He’s seemingly back in his groove on camera, reading fan-suggested pickup lines and discussing whether a tomato is actually a vegetable or a fruit. You know he won’t be able to resist forever, though.

And of course, you’re right — you know him too well. A shaky inhale from virtual Chan encourages you to check your phone, and, yep, he saw the second one. The blush is back and this time, it’s accompanied by a tiny smirk and narrowed eyes. He cheekily stares at his phone’s screen for just a second too long, prompting commenters to ask if something’s wrong.

“Oh, naur, all good here!” he reassures. “I’m gonna play some songs for you guys and I’m just picking the first one!”

Ok, liar. Fib your way through this one.

Whoosh

Photo number 3 is simple, but speaks volumes. A long, thick vibrator sits atop your bare thigh. It’s a new toy, and he’ll know that. He’ll also know you’ll use it if he takes too long, and the thought of him sitting there listening to music on a livestream while his girlfriend fucks herself in the next room over will drive him crazy.

🎒🎡 wow i’m so bored……. ☄️🛋️

Another comment to push him to check his texts. You may get some less-than-nice replies from Stay for this one, but that’s fine. This is for him, not them.

…but there’s no reaction. You’re not sure if he didn’t see it or is simply ignoring it, but he’s vibing to Le Sserafim’s Antifragile like he isn’t thinking about your tits. Too bad you don’t give up that easily.

💕 you look so good today, 🛋️🎒 차니 🎡☄️

Still nothing. Fine, you’ll just start without him.

Your slender fingers pull the lacy underwear to the side to check how wet you are. Teasing your boyfriend like this always revs you up, so you’re not shocked to discover that two fingers slide in with more than enough room to spare. Time for photo number 4.

This one crosses the line from suggestive to straight-up filthy. Half of the vibrator is visibly slick from your arousal, and the other half is buried deep inside your cunt.

Whoosh

You were so distracted with your little photoshoot that you didn’t notice he replied two minutes ago.

you’re so bad

The last photo shows up as “read” almost immediately, and you glance at your laptop to see his reaction. He’s slumped into the corner of the chair, nervously giggling at his phone. So much for keeping his cool.

He’s stopped paying attention to the chat almost entirely, but you don’t even know if he’s noticed. You tend to have that effect on him. One more text while you know he’s still looking.

get your ass in here 🫦

He bites his lip just a little too seductively for YouTube, then he’s saying his goodbyes with unmistakable urgency.

“Bye Stay!!! Big hug? Big hug!” he coos, leaning in and closing his arms around the camera.

Even the hug is shorter than usual.

“See you next time, byyeee,” he chirps, throwing up that signature peace sign with a wink before disappearing from view.

Seconds later, he’s at the door with the same eagerness you saw on screen. But this time, you can also see the outline of his huge, hard cock in his jeans, complete with a small wet spot of pre-cum where the tip pushes against the denim.

“Hey, handsome,” you hum. “Need something?”

“You know what I need, you fucking tease.”

He’s on top of you before you can blink, groping at your tits and sucking at your neck.

“That stupid thing is nothing compared to me, and you know that,” he says, pushing the shiny new sex toy off the bed.

He unzips his pants and unsheathes his cock, giving it a few solid pumps before sliding those panties he saw earlier to the side and driving himself inside you.

“Oh fuck,” Chan breathes. “God, fu-”

Your lips engulf his, ending his moaning and mumbling. His mouth is citrusy, and it’s making your tongue tingle.

There’s really no rhyme or reason for any movement or grasp. You’re going at each other just like you did when you were nothing more than horny teenagers exploring something — and someone — new. Fingers and nails drag on skin and rake through hair, and you’re not sure how much longer you can last.

“Channie, I’m gonna…” you moan, breaking the sloppy kiss. “Are you…”

“Yeah, baby,” he pants. “Come.”

Manicured nails dig into his shoulder blades and you finish with force, crying out his name over and over. God, you hope he actually ended the livestream.

Then he’s coming too, emptying his balls deep inside you. His thrusts weaken, but the small movements are still enough to push some liquid down your legs and onto the comforter. Something to worry about later.

He collapses on top of you, lacking the strength and will to even pull out. His deep breaths tickle your neck, and you’re still seeing stars on the ceiling. Warm, wet fingers caress your damp collarbones, then he speaks.

“Baby, that was so hot… but don’t you dare do that again. I will fucking block you.”

“Agreed, and deal. I’ll only do it when you’re live on TikTok.”

He can’t tell if you’re serious, and if he’s bothered by the idea, he doesn’t show it. As he said, it was hot. And he was 100% right.