#I just have to make sure not to push her too hard

[hoshifighting]

how seventeen would act with reader having daddy issues

WARNINGS: it may be sensitive to some people, and there are mentions of past traumas and family issues. mostly of it is basically, seventeen and their family taking care of you <3

a/n: this was an ask that was in my inbox for a long time, sorry about this 🥺 and worse, I was writing it, and the light have gone off, so ivé lost the drabble and I cant find in my inbox, I just know that it was from my bestie hannieween, sorry about the long time 🥺🙏 I hope you like it

seungcheol: already planning how to spoil you just to make up for what you didn’t get. this man would not let you suffer through those awkward, tense family reunions. the second you even hint at feeling uncomfortable, he’s pulling you out of there and taking you straight to his family’s place. his dad, a total sweetheart. he’s the type to sit you down, ask how you’re doing, and genuinely listen. and that’s when it hits you—this is where seungcheol gets his protective streak. his dad’s got the same energy, always making sure you’re taken care of. it’s like you’re part of their family now, and honestly, it feels better than anything you’ve ever known.

jeonghan: he’s sneaky about it, but in the most loving way. like, he knows you’ve got that hole where support should be, and he’s filling it without making it obvious. he’d get his mom and dad to invite you over for a casual dinner, but then it’s all about you. “oh, y/n loves pasta, mom,” he’d say, nudging you under the table when you get shy. his parents adore you, and jeonghan’s sitting back, watching you laugh at his dad’s corny jokes with this smug little grin, like, yeah, that’s my baby.

joshua: he’d plan random trips to his family’s place, just so you can hang out with his mom. like, one weekend, you’re baking cookies with his mom, and the next, you’re playing guitar with his uncle. josh is always hovering, making sure you’re comfortable, but lowkey beaming when he sees you getting along with his family. he’s super patient, too—he never pushes, just waits for you to open up when you’re ready. and when you do... he’s holding your hand, whispering, “see? they love you, just like i do.”

junhui: he’d make sure you feel like you belong there too. he’d take you home during the holidays, and suddenly, his mom’s treating you like her own kid. jun would sit next to you at dinner, quietly making sure you’re okay, squeezing your hand under the table whenever he notices you getting overwhelmed. he’s just sitting there, watching it all unfold, thinking, yeah, this is what you deserve.

hoshi: this man would straight-up share his dad with you. like, he’d plan trips for the three of you—fishing, hiking, picnics, you name it. and he’d be so proud when you start opening up to his dad. he gets that it’s gonna take time, but when he sees you laughing at his dad’s terrible puns, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. sometimes, when hoshi’s away for schedules, you’d even hang out with his dad without him. he’ll be texting you like, “my dad loves you more than me now 😭.” and even when he’s away for work, his family still makes time for you, calling you over to hang out or have dinner.

woozi: jihoon’s not big on family talk, but he knows you are, and he gets it. instead of dragging you into his family stuff, he makes a point of creating a new kind of support for you. like, you want to skip a stressful family dinner? cool, you’re spending the night at his place, binge-watching your favorite shows and eating takeout. he’s not one for big gestures, but he makes sure you always know you’re not alone. his quiet, steady presence is the comfort you never knew you needed.

wonwoo: he’d just sit there, letting you talk, and then hit you with the most thoughtful response ever, like, “you didn’t deserve that, but you deserve everything good now. let me be that for you.” giving you the world’s warmest hug, he’d probably start joking about being your emotional support cat forever.

minghao: he fully believes in breaking cycles, so he’s the guy who helps you redefine what family even means. he’d take you to meet his ambient, his friends, his family, everywhere where he KNOWS you'll be taken care off. he’d also start little traditions with you, like Sunday morning walks or trying new restaurants, just to build something stable and comforting for you. he's not trying to be your dad—of course. but he's trying to make programs that he remembered doing with his dad and that somehow, marked his trajectory. he wants you to experience that too.

mingyu: when shit gets heavy, he doesn’t try to fix it all at once—he just sits with you, lets you cry on his shoulder, strokes your hair, and whispers, “you’re not alone, okay? you’ve got me.” when you’re ready, he’s like, “now, what do you want to do about it?” and he’ll back you no matter what. he’ll drag you out to do the most random shit—karaoke, late-night drives, baking cookies at 2 a.m.—just so you’re not stuck in your head. and when you thank him later, he’s like, “who, me? nah nah.”

seokmin: he is the kind of guy who’ll carry you—literally. if you’re overwhelmed, he’ll scoop you up like you weigh nothing and plant you on the couch with snacks, a blanket, and whatever dumb movie he picked. “you don’t need to do anything today,” he says, plopping down beside you with the softest smile. but also, he won’t sugarcoat things, but he also doesn’t let you get stuck in negative self-talk. “you’re worth more than what he made you feel.”

seungkwan: got a sixth sense for this kinda thing. you don’t even have to say the words—he knows. he’s the type to gently steer the convo every time someone in your family says something shitty, or he’ll swoop in with some sarcastic-ass joke to take the heat off you. but when it’s just the two of you, he’s soft as hell, cuddling you, stroking your hair, and reminding you that he’s your safe space now. he’d probably even offer to go with you to therapy, just to sit there and hold your hand.b

vernon: he’ll say the goofiest shit to make you laugh—like doing terrible impressions of your least favorite family members or purposely messing up on kendama. doesn’t even try to hide how much he loves you. when you’re down, he’s the type to turn everything into a you’re amazing campaign. random notes in your bag, impromptu “you’re so cool” chants, and hugs so tight they might crack your ribs.

chan: baby’s the sweetest. he’s lowkey hurt that you’ve had to deal with that kind of stuff, so he makes it his mission to show you what love and support really look like. chan’s family would love you, and he’d be so excited to share them with you. he’d plan little visits where it’s just you, him, and his parents, so it’s not overwhelming. later, he’d check in, like, “did you have fun? was it okay?” because all he wants is for you to feel loved and safe.

[amirasainz]

I have a request for Lando Norris x Sister!reader where she gets cheated on. Please🫶🏻 I love your writing

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Big Brother to the Rescue

The paddock was buzzing with activity, fans cheering and cameras clicking as drivers moved between interviews and meetings. It was a typical race weekend—hectic, thrilling, and intense. But for Yn, none of it seemed to matter.

She walked beside Lando, her older brother, keeping her head down. Normally, she loved being at the Grand Prix. She’d tease Lando about his starts, laugh at his banter with the other drivers, and soak in the high-energy atmosphere. But today, her heart felt heavy.

Lando, always in tune with her moods, glanced down at her and frowned. “You’re too quiet,” he said as they reached the McLaren hospitality area. “This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

Yn sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That was all it took for Lando’s protective instincts to kick in. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about it. Did something happen? Who do I need to fight?”

Yn couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his immediate leap to violence. “It’s nothing. Just...my boyfriend cheated on me.”

Lando froze mid-step. He turned to her, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “He what?”

“Cheated,” Yn repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “With some girl he met at a party. I found out yesterday.”

Lando clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That absolute—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. First of all, you don’t deserve that. Second, I’m going to make sure you’re okay. And third, if I ever see him, he’s toast.”

Yn smiled faintly at his overprotective tone. “Thanks, Lan. But I don’t think anything can cheer me up right now.”

Lando wasn’t having it. “Challenge accepted.”

---

Throughout the morning, Lando hovered around her like a mother hen. He brought her tea, her favorite snacks, and even a McLaren hoodie to keep her warm. The other drivers began to notice.

“Why is Yn so quiet today?” Carlos asked, walking over to where she sat with her tea. “You’re usually giving Lando a hard time.”

“She’s going through something,” Lando replied, his tone making it clear the topic was off-limits. He wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. He ruffled Yn’s hair affectionately before heading off.

A little while later, Charles and Pierre stopped by. “Yn, you’re not smiling,” Charles said, crouching down to her eye level. “That’s illegal. Lando, what have you done?”

“For once, it’s not my fault,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “She’s just—she’s sad. Leave her alone.”

Pierre, never one to resist a joke, smirked. “Do you need us to scare someone off? We’re good at that.”

“I can scare people off just fine,” Lando said firmly. “Thanks.”

Yn managed a small laugh, which made Charles and Pierre exchange victorious looks.

---

Later, when Ollie came by, he took one look at Yn and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, sitting down beside her. “What if I became your new boyfriend? I’d treat you like a queen.”

Yn laughed for the first time all day, the sound catching Lando’s attention from across the room. He walked over, arms crossed.

“Really, Ollie?” Lando said, glaring at his friend. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“What?” Ollie said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, I’d be an upgrade.”

Yn shook her head, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but effective,” Ollie said, winking at her.

Lando wasn’t amused. “Stick to racing, mate.”

Ollie shrugged and walked off, leaving Yn smiling. “He’s an idiot,” she said, leaning her head on Lando’s shoulder.

“True,” Lando agreed. “But if it made you laugh, I’ll allow it.”

---

As the day wore on, Lando continued to dote on Yn. He handed her tissues when she teared up, reminded her to drink water, and even skipped a strategy meeting to sit with her in the quiet corner of the hospitality area.

“You know,” Yn said softly, “you’re a really good brother.”

“Obviously,” Lando replied with a smirk. “But thanks. And for real, Yn, don’t let that guy make you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the idiot, not you.”

Yn sniffled and smiled up at him. “You’re the best.”

“Duh,” Lando said, pulling her into a hug. “Now, what do you say we watch the race together? I’ll dedicate my first overtake to you.”

Yn laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. “Deal.”

By the time the sun set over the paddock, Yn was back to herself, and it was all thanks to Lando—her overprotective, slightly annoying, but always reliable big brother.

[archiebaldo1414]

Picture it with me people

Season 16. Opens with Dean realizing Heaven isn’t good. He’s having these memories of him and Cas through the years and is just like ‘if this was heaven he’d be here’ type shit you know

Supportive Sam and him break out and try to go rescue Sam from the empty. Dean is depressed as hell as always, but he has a purpose now so he’s compartmentalizing, but we continue to see memories. At first, they were all bro-like shit (as much as Destiel ever can be so still romantic lmao) but it starts transferring into stuff we’ve never seen before.

A night in the Dean Cave just them and they keep just looking at each other. [the audience can’t tell if it’s sweet or if they are getting second hand embarrassment since Dean’s fucking 40 and Cas is billions of years old]

A time where Cas heard about the kiss it better thing and fucking DID IT when he cut his hand or some shit. We begin to realize they might have been slightly more aware of things that we were led to believe.

There’s more chill domestic stuff but the kiss it better thing comes up once or twice more. Enough to show us that’s one of their weird little rituals that no one knows about; but ITS A THING!!!

Cas is saved. There’s hugging and intense eye contact. Sam is there. He gets a hug too and suddenly they are having trouble looking at each other. Dean is distraught. He’s fucked up about feelings, he can’t voice this shit! He tried in purgatory but Cas didn’t let him, but now, now he can’t. He keeps trying to talk to him; Cas is sure to remind him he is okay and knows Dean doesn’t feel a certain way.

He’s frustrated. Why is Cas making this so difficult?? How does he have no clue? Surely he’s aware how he acts with Cas is VERY different to how he acts with everyone else/how everyone else acts with him?

It comes to him suddenly when he bangs his hip on the counter. As he swears (loudly) a little voice in his head is saying ‘Cas needs to kiss it better’. And then he knows. Since he was rescued, they’re little rituals have gotten infrequent and awkward. Cas doesn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable after all! He knows now!

Dean runs. Bangs on Sam’s door. Sam opens it, it’s late, he’s annoyed. “What, Dean, why do you look so excited?” He’s doing his bitch face

“Sammy, punch me in the mouth” he prepares himself for the punch, he can hardly stop grinning. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, the freak.

“Dean? What? Why would I punch you?” Sam is perplexed. He’s concerned. He would love to punch Dean (lol)

“I need you to. It’s important, please, Sam”

Eileen hears them and comes to the door as well. Sam explains what’s going on while Dean looks at her and pleads to punch him. She clearly realizes something Sam doesn’t becuase she starts cackling before winding back and punching him. Hard. His lip splits, and he grins around slightly bloody teeth before waving goofily and turning to go while Sam throws up his hands in frustration because What! The! Fuck!

Anyways. Dean marches down the hall. He’s nervous. He knocks. Cas answers. He looks down at Dean’s fucked up bloody mouth and is like Dean! What happened! Who must I kill! And Dean’s like it’s all good man but 😔👉👈it hurts

Cas is all; let me heal you…and Dean’s like OKAY THAT’S FINE WITH ME HA HA

There’s a bit of staring while Cas tries to figure out what’s going on and he slowly raises two fingers before Dean slowly pushes his hand down. He doesn’t let go of the loose grip on his wrist. His hands are shaking a bit. Cas is feeling a little rejected, he can’t even heal Dean now? But Dean is so close, and he’s still holding his wrist? Why is he shaking a bit? What’s go- oh. Oh oh oh oh

Cas very tentatively leans forward and presses tiny little delicate to Deans mouth as he heals him and cdjrjgfjejficsjtjvisjtv

Anyways they kiss a lot yay the end

dean: ow, fuck. i cut my finger.

cas: here, let me kiss it better.

dean, blushing furiously: oh- uh- okay.

[later]

dean: sammy, i need you to punch me in the mouth.

sam, already winding up: done.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Tastes Like Sugar (Agnes x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Detective Agnes O'Connor is your favorite customer and you might be her favorite citizen.

Words: 3k

Warnings: Swearing

Tags: @sasheemo @buttercandy16 @chlondykebar @toomanylesbiancouples @midnight-lestrange @babybeeelle @dontsblameme

@alexusonfire, this one's for you!

The bell above your door rang out in the quiet morning. The sun was just peeking over the treeline, the air chilled outside. You perked up, pasting a smile on your face, ready to face the day. The first customer.

Depending on which Westview native was coming through the door would dictate how the rest of your day went.

“Gimme one of the chocolate ones.”

Agnes O’Connor. Your day was going to be a good one.

“Sure thing, detective,” you said, flashing her a genuine smile.

The acerbic detective was your favourite customer. You made no secret of it. Your smiles were hers as were your compliments. Her scowl, comforting in its familiarity, was a mainstay of your interaction. But every now and then you saw her lips quirk up and you’d glow with pride

“Busy day?” you asked, plucking one of the chocolate donuts from the display case.

“No more than usual,” she replied.

Her arms crossed over her chest and she was watching you with an intensity that made your heart beat quicken.

“It must get boring living in such a quiet town,” you said, “never thought about moving to the big city?”

“Plenty of crime here,” she replied.

You tucked the donut into a paper bag, ringing her up. Those assessing blue eyes swept over you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you let her look, knowing all she’d see was someone dazzled by the big dog in town. No one was better than her. She had a reputation around town. Everyone knew the streets were so safe because of her.

“Not with you keeping us safe,” you said.

She pursed her lips but didn’t disagree. Her phone tapped against the card reader, the ding loud between you. You nudged the paper bag over to her.

“Have a good day, detective,” you said, looking at her from under lowered eyelashes.

She lingered for just a moment before she sniffed and turned away. The bell rang behind her as her back disappeared.

^

“Morning, detective.”

Her index finger tapped on the counter. You let your smile reach your eyes, the early mornings worth it when you got to see her. She perused the front case of baked goods, not even bothering to greet you with more than a raised eyebrow. You lent on the counter, grinning at her.

“It’s always nice seeing your smiling face in the morning,” you said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, looking up at you, less than impressed.

“Just that you brighten up the place,” you said.

She muttered something under her breath that you missed. You tilted your head, waiting for her to say something else. Blue eyes flicked up to you before down to the case again.

“Gimme a glazed,” she said.

“Sure thing, detective,” you said.

She crossed her arms over her chest, watching you pull one of the donuts free for her. The paper bag crinkled in your hand as you transferred the donut into it. Pushing it over the counter, you tucked your hair behind your ear. She pulled it over to herself with long fingered hands, making you bite down on your lower lip.

For just a moment, her eyes seemed to focus on your mouth. Then she was turning away.

“See you tomorrow morning, detective,” you called at her retreating back.

She raised a hand to you in a wave before the door shut behind her.

^

For the first time in ages, Agnes wasn’t the first customer you served that morning. A line had formed before the frowning face of your favourite customer entered the cafe. You kept twirling from the counter to the food cabinet to the drinks. You hadn’t worked that hard that early in a while but you kept your smile firmly in place.

“Are you always so bubbly in the morning?”

“Detective.” You brightened and she squinted at you, “I was worried I wasn’t going to see you this morning. Too busy sleeping in?”

“No time to sleep in. You know that,” she replied.

You perked up, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Her head cocked to the side, eyes sweeping over you like she was documenting every little thing you were doing. You let her, wondering what she was reading in you.

“Something sweet to start the morning off right?” you asked.

“What?” She blinked.

You nodded towards the display case. She froze before turning her eyes down to it.

“Gimme one of the powdered ones,” she said after a moment.

“Sugar for someone so sweet,” you said with a grin.

Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the paper bag from you. Your teeth sunk into your lower lip again as your heart beat double time. This time her gaze definitely dipped to your mouth. Heat coursed through your veins.

“See you tomorrow, detective,” you whispered, lowering your gaze.

“I like the blue. It’s pretty,” she said.

You glanced down at your blue dress, missing as she glanced over her shoulder to get one last look at you before disappearing into the morning mist.

^

“Detective, we have to stop meeting like this,” you said as she sauntered through the door.

“Not until I find a better donut place,” she said.

“You mean it’s not my sparkling personality that keeps you coming back?” you asked, pouting at her, “I’m hurt.”

“Deal with it,” she said but you could see the way her lips ticked up into a small smile.

“You keep treating me so badly and I’ll stop being so nice,” you said.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You let your eyes wander over her body, thinking about all the ways you could try being not so nice. All the ways you could be naughty with her. Your cheeks heated and you were the first to look away. Her chuckle was low, a raspy vibration in her chest. You shivered, eyes darting up to her again.

“What can I get you, detective?” you asked.

“Chocolate sprinkle,” she said without even looking, “it’s going to be a long day.”

“Nothing the great Detective O’Connor can’t handle, I’m sure,” you said.

You smiled softly, eyes meeting hers over the top of the counter. A scowl settled over her face but you didn’t let it deter you. You never did. You knew you were going to break through that tough exterior one day.

“There you go,” you said, pushing it over the counter.

“Thanks,” she said.

Her hand closed over it, fingers covering yours. Lingering, your gaze caught on hers, the moment stretching out. You wanted to live in it, for the moment never to be broken. It was the kind of moment you’d be thinking about long after she was gone.

She pulled her hand back, pursing her lips. You didn’t say anything, simply nodding to her as she stepped away from the counter. She lingered for another moment before she spun on her heels and stalked out of the cafe. The sigh that passed over your lips was dreamy.

“Can I get an oat milk latte?”

You blinked, turning your attention to the next customer.

“Sure thing!”

^

You were humming to yourself as you went through your opening ritual, getting the cafe ready for the morning rush. You weren’t paying as much attention as you should have, not hearing the bell above the door when it was shoved open.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”

“Shit.” You jumped, pressing your hand to your racing heart, “Agnes. We’re not open yet.”

“I don’t care,” she said, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at you.

“Okay, well, you’re going to have to wait for me to finish up before I can get you a donut,” you said.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” she repeated, hoisting one of the chairs off the table closest to you.

“Did you miss me, detective?” You flashed her an impish grin.

“That boy they had working,” she ground out through gritted teeth, “wouldn’t shut up.”

“I never shut up,” you laughed.

She grumbled something under her breath, slamming down another chair. You shook your head, sliding closer to her.

“Just admit it. You missed me,” you said, hip bumping against hers.

Her arm caught you around your waist, hand pressed to your hip. Though the fabric of your dress, her palm was burning. Your breath caught, turning your face towards her. She was close enough for you to feel her breath ghost over your skin, those blue eyes burning as they looked down at you.

“Where were you?” she asked, voice lowering into something that felt dangerous.

“It was my day off,” you replied, breathless as you stared into her eyes, “I was probably still in bed when you were here.”

Her gaze darkened and you shivered. She squeezed your hip before she released you.

“Don’t do that again,” she told you.

“What? Take a day off?” you laughed, “I think I’m allowed to do that.”

“Don’t,” she said.

“You really can’t get on without me, huh?”

Her fingers reached up, curling around the ends of your hair, giving it a tug. Your lips parted and her eyes flicked down to them. Your tongue ran along your lower lip, watching her gaze follow it.

“Chocolate donut, detective?” you asked.

Her hand fell to her side and you stepped away from her, winking at her over your shoulder. The paper bag crumpled in her hand when you passed it to her, knuckles grazing against one another.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, detective,” you whispered.

Her hand slid over your hip again, leaving you with fire running through your veins.

^_

“Fancy running into you here.”

Agnes shoved her aviators further up her nose, staring out at the crowd. Leaning against the wall in the shade, she stared out at the Westview crowd. You nudged her shoulder, standing beside her in an attempt to get out of the sun.

“I brought you something,” you said when you didn’t get a response.

“Is it a donut?” she asked, sounding less than impressed.

“Better,” you said, “lemonade.”

You held out one of the cool cups of lemonade you’d bought as you’d walked through the fair. You’d caught sight of her quickly, a brooding shadow on the outskirts of the town’s fun. There was something about her that always drew your eye, even in a crowd.

“You brought me lemonade?” she asked, still not looking towards you.

“Breakfast of champs,” you chirped.

“It’s not breakfast time,” she replied.

“Well, you didn’t come in for a donut so I know you haven’t had any today,” you said.

She sighed but took the cup from you. You grinned, watching her down the drink and crush the cup in her fist. It shouldn’t have made you feel hot, but the cool drink was a relief as you chugged it down. Her chuckle was filthy in your ear.

“So you’re keeping tabs on me now?” she asked.

“It’s not my fault you’ve become such an integral part of my day,” you said, “if I’m not allowed to take a day off then neither are you.”

“I’d hardly call this a day off,” she said.

“You don’t come by the cafe, it’s a day off from me,” you said, pouting at her.

“Am I not allowed a day off from you?” she asked.

“Nope.” You popped the p obnoxiously.

She humphed but didn’t disagree. When she shifted, her shoulder came to rest against yours, warmth seeping into your skin. You settled closer to her, watching the crowd.

“Sometimes I wonder what I’m still doing in a town like this,” you said, “and then the fair comes to town and I wonder how I could ever leave.”

“You thinking about leaving?” she asked, voice gruff.

You looked over, catching her watching you. Meeting her gaze you smiled.

“Not anymore,” you said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I found something worth staying for.”

She didn’t say anything, but her shoulders seemed to relax. You pressed your shoulder more insistently against hers, turning back to watch the crowd. Her fingers brushed against the back of your hand.

Your head came to rest on her shoulder.

^

“Long time no see,” you chirped when Agnes came through the door.

Her smile was surprisingly free of irony and sarcasm. You brightened, our own smile taking over your face in response to hers. She lent on the counter, one elbow, looking at you from under hooded eyes.

“Best view in the town, right here,” she said.

“Flatterer.” But your cheeks heated.

“Gimme one of the chocolate sprinkles,” she said, “I want something sweet in my mouth.”

You opened your mouth but no words came out. She chuckled, reaching out to curl her finger around the bottom of your hair. She tugged until you shivered.

“Have I finally managed to shut you up?” she asked.

“No,” you squeaked.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Just the donut?” you asked in return.

“What else you got on offer?” she asked.

“Something sweeter.”

She tugged on the ends of your hair again before letting you go. Her smirk had your cheeks heating again but you wiggled your eyebrows. Her chuckle was warm and delicious, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Perhaps when my shift is done,” she said, “I’m sure you have plenty of suggestions of things I could taste.”

“Are you flirting with me, detective?” you asked, leaning over the counter, not able to stop yourself.

“That’s quite a serious charge,” she said.

“Enjoy your donut,” you said, sliding it across to her, “I hope it’s sweet enough for you.”

“I’m sure it will tide me over until I can find something sweeter to occupy my time with.”

She left you behind the counter breathless and throbbing with need and a full day’s work ahead of you. You cursed her very existence. And hoped she’d be back soon.

^

The door opened seconds after you’d flipped the sign. You laughed, stepping back, giving Agnes the room she needed to barrel into the cafe. Her hand caught yours, dragging you after her. You went easily, just enjoying the feeling of her palm against yours.

“Someone’s had a good day,” you said.

“Shut up,” she growled.

“Or not,” you muttered.

“Is anyone else here?” she asked.

“I’m the last one,” you replied.

“Good.”

She pushed open the door into the store room, not listening to your arguments about how she shouldn’t be back there, that if anyone found her you’d be in so much trouble. Your back was shoved into a shelf. The door closed with a click.

“Can I help you with something, detective?” you asked, smirking when she lent back against the door.

“I believe I was offered something sweeter than a donut,” she said, “I’ve come to collect.”

“You’re going to have to get a little closer. Might be hard to reach from all the way over there.”

Her hand landed on the shelf beside your head, leaning into your personal space. You tilted your chin up, lips parting. Blue eyes dragging down to them, darkening as they focused on your mouth. You waited, the moment stretching.

“Well?” you asked when you thought she was never going to move.

Her lips pressed to yours, cutting off any other words you might have wanted to say. When you’d imagined kissing her, in those late night fantasies and sunlit daydreams, it had never felt like this. You’d imagined her in all kinds of scenarios, soft and romantic, desperate and needy, hot and heavy, but this was so different.

The self possession she carried through daily life was really coming through. It was commanding, pressing you back against the shelves, digging into your spine. Your hands landed on her shoulders, fingers digging in, dragging her closer, opening under her. She growled, low in her throat, her hand grasping your hip as she slotted her leg between yours. Your hand curled around the back of her neck, holding her in place as you whimpered into her mouth. She nipped at your lower lip before her tongue soothed over it.

“Agnes,” you groaned, muffled against her mouth.

“Hush, hon,” she said, “I’m enjoying my sweet treat.”

You surrendered to her, letting her taste as deeply as she wanted. You clutched at her, wanting more of her. You’d been waiting so long for her you were hardly going to stop her now. Even if the shelving was digging into your back and you should be locking up the cafe and cleaning up. She surrounded you, giving you no chance to escape, as if you’d wanted that, crowding you more insistently against the shelf.

“Taste so fucking good,” she growled.

You arched against her, the whine coming from the back of your throat lost as she kissed you again. Dragging her closer, you pressed against her, feeling every one of her curves against yours. The noise she made was addictive, better than any sugar could be. Your hand slid up under the soft flannel shirt she had on, seeking out the warm skin you knew would be under there. Your nails scraped over her skin, the noise she made gratifying when she shoved you against the shelving harder. Her leg, still between yours, pressed against you until the throbbing heat felt like it would overwhelm you.

You whimpered when she pulled away. Her thumb ran along your lower lip, eyes dark and smouldering, but her lips were pulled up in a smirk. Your tongue flicked over the pad of her thumb. Her low chuckle was throaty, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You certainly know how to deliver on your promises,” she said.

“What do you mean?” you asked, breathless and desperate to get back to the kissing portion of the afternoon.

“I’ve never had anything as sweet as you,” she replied.

You could have melted right there.

“Do you want to get dinner?” you asked.

“Yes, hon. I do.”

You slid your arms around her neck, drawing her back to you. Your lips ghosted over hers, giggling when she tried to strain forward, wanting to press hers to yours.

“I need to lock up,” you whispered, keeping her just far enough that she couldn’t kiss you again.

“Hurry,” she groused, stepping back from you.

You hurried.

[dreamscapeee222]

(I'm new to tumblr, sorry if I'm posting in the wrong place, I hope this is ask box)

I asked you to write about the relationship between the arcane characters and the reader who is very thin due to some health problems?

(Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language)

A/n: Hello!! I did lots of research with your request so I hope my work satisfies what you had in mind ^^

You deal with health problems that affect your weight

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

She’s not the type to pry. But she notices the little things—the way you don’t finish your meals, the way you curl up a little too tightly, like you're trying to protect yourself from the world. She never asks you about it, but she always makes sure you’ve got something to eat or drink when she knows you’re struggling.

She might drop a sandwich by your side, or hand you a water bottle without saying a word. It’s just her way of saying, “I see you,” without actually saying it.

If you ever get quiet for too long, she’ll be there, sitting next to you without forcing a conversation. It’s not about pushing you to talk—it’s just her letting you know you’re not alone, even in those silent moments.

Jinx

Jinx doesn’t always understand why you’re not at your best, but she feels it. She’s a whirlwind of chaos, always trying to keep you distracted, to keep you laughing. She doesn’t always get it right, but she’s trying, you can tell by the way she keeps pulling you into her nonsense, hoping that a little of her madness will rub off on you.

But there are times when she looks at you, and the mask slips for just a second. She sees how tired you are, how empty you seem sometimes, and in those moments, she doesn’t know how to fix it. But she doesn’t turn away. “You don’t gotta do this alone, okay?” she says, voice softer than usual. It’s a rare vulnerability, the one moment where she lets down the wall and shows you she’s scared too.

She might not know what to say or do, but she’ll always bring something to make you smile—even if it’s just a little.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s the quiet type, always paying attention to the little things that others might miss. She watches you—never in a way that feels overbearing, but in a way that shows she’s aware of when something’s off.

She doesn’t press you to talk, but she’ll always offer a gentle reminder that she’s there for you—whether that’s by quietly handing you a cup of tea, leaving a snack where you can easily reach it, or making sure you have time to rest.

She never pushes, but when you catch her looking at you with those soft, patient eyes, you know she’s not going anywhere. "Take it easy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. And for a moment, you actually believe it’s okay to slow down.

Ekko

Ekko’s the type of person who’s there without being too much. He notices when you’re pushing yourself too hard, and when he sees the signs—when you’re too quiet, when you’re too weak to do what you usually can—he’ll just quietly step in.

He won’t make a fuss, and he won’t ask you if you’re okay every five minutes. Instead, he’ll bring you a blanket when he sees you shivering, a drink when you look like you haven’t had one all day. He knows you don’t need someone to tell you what to do—you just need someone to make sure you don’t fall apart while you're doing it all.

Sometimes, he’ll sit beside you and not say a word. It’s just his presence, calm and steady, and it’s enough to make you feel like maybe everything will be okay. “You’re not alone,” he’ll say without looking at you. And it’s not just words—it’s his way of making sure you never feel like you’re fighting your battles by yourself.

Jayce

Jayce doesn’t know how to make things better when it’s you, and that frustration shows. He wants to fix things, to find the right answer, and he’s always throwing himself into research, into getting you the best treatment, the right food, whatever he thinks might help. But sometimes, it feels like he’s pushing you harder than you want, trying to make everything better without realizing that maybe what you need is just some quiet.

He doesn’t always know how to slow down, but there are times when you catch him looking at you, his expression softening when he sees the exhaustion in your eyes. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, and for once, it doesn’t come off as a demand. It’s a plea—something raw and real in the way he says it.

When you’re too tired to argue, he’ll just stay next to you, offering comfort in his own way. It’s not perfect, but you know he’s trying, and that’s enough for now.

Viktor

Viktor doesn’t say much, but his care shows in everything he does. When he sees you struggling, he doesn’t push you to talk about it. Instead, he quietly takes action—he makes sure your space is organized, makes sure you have what you need, even when you don’t ask for it.

You won’t hear him say, “I’m here for you,” but you’ll feel it in the way he adjusts your pillow without asking, or in the way he slides a cup of tea your way without a word. He’s not the type to crowd you, but he’s always making sure you’re okay in ways that don’t demand attention.

When you do catch him looking at you, there’s a softness in his eyes—an unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he’ll say quietly, but it’s not just the words that matter. It’s the way he’s already got your back without needing you to ask.

Mel

Mel is the kind of person who knows how to give space without making you feel like you’re invisible. She’s quiet, observant, and when she sees that something’s not right, she’s there—but never in a way that feels like she’s pushing you.

Her care is in the little things—the cup of tea she hands you when you’re not feeling great, the soft touch of her hand on your arm as she sits beside you, giving you time to breathe. She doesn’t expect anything from you, just that you take care of yourself in your own time.

She’ll always remind you that it’s okay to slow down, to rest. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” she’ll say, and the gentleness in her voice makes it feel like everything else can wait. She’ll be there, waiting, until you’re ready to come back to the world.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[dissapointu]

can you do arcane characters with an s/o with POTS?

Of course! Here’s how the Arcane characters would react to having an S/O with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). This condition, with its symptoms like dizziness, fatigue, and fainting, requires understanding and patience, and each character would approach it in their own unique way, ensuring you feel cared for and supported. Let’s dive in:

Jinx

Jinx would take a chaotic-but-loving approach to supporting you.

• When she first sees you get dizzy or faint, she’d panic a bit. “What the heck is happening? Are you dying? You better not be dying!”

• Once you explain POTS, she’d be full of questions, trying to understand what triggers your symptoms. “Wait, so standing up too fast is your kryptonite? Wild.”

• She’d create chaotic little solutions, like strapping a water bottle to your hip or designing a buzzer to remind you to hydrate.

• On bad days, she’d do everything in her power to distract you, pulling you into her projects or telling weird jokes. “If you’re sitting down, I’m sitting down. Team Couch Potato!”

Vi

Vi would be protective and proactive about your condition.

• The first time you feel faint, she’d catch you in her arms and gently guide you to sit. “Whoa, hey, you okay? Talk to me.”

• Once you explain POTS, she’d take it seriously, making a mental list of things you need: water, salty snacks, breaks. “Alright. We’ve got this.”

• She’d encourage you to pace yourself and wouldn’t let you push too hard. “Don’t be a hero, babe. Rest now, kick ass later.”

• Vi would carry a water bottle for you everywhere, and if anyone made fun of you or didn’t take your condition seriously, she’d step in immediately. “You wanna say that again?”

Sevika

Sevika would handle your POTS like the calm, dependable partner she is.

• When you first explain your condition, she’d listen carefully and nod. “Got it. Just tell me what you need.”

• She’d always make sure you have somewhere to sit, and if you get lightheaded, she wouldn’t hesitate to scoop you up and carry you. “Don’t fight me on this. It’s easier for both of us.”

• Sevika would keep a close eye on you, making subtle adjustments to her pace or plans to match your energy levels.

• On tougher days, she’d be quietly reassuring. “You’re strong, but you don’t have to do this alone. I’ve got you.”

Silco

Silco would take a practical, almost clinical approach to supporting you.

• The first time you get dizzy or faint, he’d calmly sit you down and say, “Explain to me what just happened.”

• Once you explain POTS, he’d immediately start ensuring his office and your shared spaces are optimized for your comfort—plenty of chairs, cool drinks, and opportunities to rest.

• He wouldn’t hover but would always observe you closely, stepping in if he notices you struggling. “There’s no shame in taking a moment to recover.”

• Silco would admire your resilience, occasionally reminding you, “Strength isn’t just enduring. It’s knowing when to rest.”

Vander

Vander would go full caretaker mode the moment he learns about your POTS.

• When you feel faint, he’d catch you with his strong arms and guide you to sit. “Alright, take it easy. What do you need?”

• After learning about your condition, he’d make sure you’re always hydrated and eating enough salt, even gently teasing you about it. “Here, drink this. Doctor’s orders.”

• Vander would subtly keep an eye on you in busy or stressful situations, stepping in if he notices you overexerting yourself.

• On bad days, he’d be your steady rock, holding your hand and saying, “You don’t have to do this alone, love. We’ll get through it together.”

Ekko

Ekko would be thoughtful and creative in helping you manage your POTS.

• The first time he sees you struggle, he’d be concerned but calm, helping you sit down and asking questions. “What’s goin’ on? How can I help?”

• After learning about your condition, he’d brainstorm clever solutions, like designing a portable cooling device or a collapsible stool for you to carry. “If it’s hard, let’s make it easier.”

• He’d encourage you to take breaks, framing it as part of your teamwork. “I’ll slow down if you slow down. Deal?”

• Ekko would never let your condition define you, constantly reminding you how strong and capable you are. “POTS or not, you’re still a total badass.”

Jayce

Jayce would take an enthusiastic, problem-solving approach to your condition.

• When he first sees you get dizzy, he’d panic a little but quickly focus on helping. “Whoa, are you okay? Sit down—here, take some water.”

• After you explain POTS, he’d immediately research everything he can about it, making sure he understands how to support you.

• Jayce would probably invent a gadget to help, like a hydration monitor or a fan-powered jacket to keep you cool. “Check this out—it’s practical AND stylish!”

• He’d always be there to encourage you, saying things like, “You’re amazing, even on the tough days. Don’t forget that.”

Viktor

Viktor would be quietly attentive and empathetic about your POTS.

• The first time you feel faint, he’d gently guide you to sit and ask, “What’s wrong? You look unwell.”

• Once you explain, he’d listen intently and start noticing patterns in your symptoms, subtly adjusting plans to accommodate your needs.

• Viktor would always make sure you’re comfortable, offering his arm for support when walking or reminding you to rest. “Lean on me. I don’t mind.”

• He’d admire your determination, often telling you, “You manage so much with such grace. It’s remarkable.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would take your POTS seriously and approach it with calm efficiency.

• The first time you feel faint, she’d gently help you sit down, her concern clear in her eyes. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”

• After learning about your condition, she’d discreetly carry essentials like water and snacks, always ready to help when needed.

• Caitlyn would plan activities with your needs in mind, ensuring plenty of breaks and opportunities to rest.

• On tougher days, she’d be your anchor, holding your hand and reminding you, “You’re stronger than this. And I’ll always be here to help.”

Mel Medarda

Mel would approach your condition with grace and thoughtfulness.

• When you first explain POTS, she’d listen intently and ask thoughtful questions. “What can I do to make things easier for you?”

• She’d adjust her lifestyle to ensure your comfort, whether that’s slowing down during outings or keeping water and snacks nearby.

• Mel would gently encourage you to rest when needed, always framing it as a way to preserve your strength. “There’s power in knowing your limits, darling.”

• She’d admire your resilience, often telling you, “You handle this with such poise. It’s inspiring.”

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would respect your strength while taking charge of supporting you.

• The first time you feel faint, she’d catch you effortlessly and say, “Sit. Breathe. What do you need?”

• After learning about your condition, she’d make it her mission to ensure your safety and comfort, often taking charge of situations to avoid overexertion. “We’ll move at your pace. No arguments.”

• She’d admire your determination but wouldn’t hesitate to remind you to take care of yourself. “Strength isn’t about pushing through—it’s about knowing when to rest.”

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be endlessly compassionate and supportive.

• The first time you get dizzy, she’d hold your arm and guide you to sit, her voice soft and reassuring. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

• After learning about POTS, she’d quietly learn everything she can to help, always making sure you feel supported.

• Maddie would be patient and understanding on bad days, offering comfort without making you feel like a burden. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

• She’d always remind you of your worth, saying, “You’re incredible, even when things feel hard.”

Lest

Lest would be gentle and caring, always attuned to your needs.

• The first time you feel faint, she’d guide you to sit, her voice calm and soothing. “It’s alright. Let’s take a moment.”

• After learning about POTS, she’d always stay close, subtly adjusting her pace to match yours. *“We’ll take it slow. No need to rush it..”

[honeyedclementine]

you're so lonely, i can fix that

pitfighter!vi x f!reader, smut, stone top!vi mentions of caitvi, act 1-2 spoilers usage of 'good girl' ( one shot, 1.1k words) ageless blogs, minors, and men dni

reply to be added to my tag list ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

vi had almost certainly been your favorite addition to the roster of fighters in this dim arena sat in the lowest pits of the undercity. you were a regular viewer of the fights, you had seen plenty of people come and go. you watched the strongest fighters get cleaned off the floor in bloody heaps. but none of them came even close to her.

you were more than just a viewer, of course, you had your connections that brought you a bit closer to the fighters than most. not that you needed those connections to get close to vi. a few weeks into her stint in the pits, you ran into her at the club, watching her drink herself to death. you wondered how someone like her would end up down here, so down in the dumps. you didn't let her reach the end of the bottle before you offered your... comfort.

there was nothing to it, of course, just blowing off steam after fights and what not, but by gods was it some of the best sex you'd ever had in your life. you thought it was only going to happen that one time, of course, but then she caught your eye after a fight, blood dripping from her nose, and next thing you knew you were back at her apartment again.

now, you linger in the doorway, arms crossed as you watch her submerge her bloodied knuckles in ice water, wraps still on. you both know why you're here, but you find yourself making conversation anyway.

"what do you fight for?" you ask, your voice a low drawl. you wait there in the doorway, waiting for her permission. you watch her back heave as she catches her breath, the dark ink of her tattoo disappearing behind the binding around her chest. you ache to see all of it, to dig your fingernails into the ink.

"to forget," vi says with a huff, turning to face you over her shoulder. "you should know everyone this far down is running from something."

she nods slightly and you step into the room, letting the door slam shut behind you with a resounding thud. "or someone?"

vi turns back around. you approach slowly as if creeping towards a caged animal, hand extended before landing softly on her shoulder. you kneel down behind her, pressing your lips to her shoulder and then her neck, whispering, "you're so lonely, i can fix that."

this is all it takes for her to turn to you, a firm hand splaying across your neck and collarbone, her lips, teeth, and tongue attacking the flesh of your neck. the two of you don't kiss—you honestly prefer it this way. you'd rather be a warm body to her than have her pretending you're someone else.

you kneel on the floor, pressed up against the bench she had been sitting on—the old wood digging into your back as she kisses down your neck and chest, nearing the neckline of your low-cut top.

"fuck, vi," you whimper as her teeth sink into the crook of your neck, a sharp hiss of pain falling from your lips. your hands tangle in the nape of that black hair—every time you do this, your fingers come away smeared with whatever paint or grease she uses for this, but you never mind bearing the mark of her.

the two of you never get very undressed as she goes for your belt, shoving you further down against the hard floor with a hand behind your head to make sure you don't make too harsh of a contact. your nails dig harshly into her back, leaving faint red scratches all along the black ink. she moans against your neck at the pain, her hand dipping into your pants and immediately going for the slick wetness between your legs.

you let out a terse moan as she explores your folds, feeling the roughness of her calloused fingers against you. she only teases your clit for a moment before two fingers dip into your entrance, pushing into you with little warning. your teeth sink into your lip so hard you taste blood, hips arching to her touch as you run your hands along her tattooed back and biceps, feeling the muscles flex as she fucks into you with little mercy.

you never mind the roughness of her, in fact, it only turns you on more. your hands claw at her and she moans at the pain, a noise that coils low in the pit of your stomach as her fingers pump in and out, spreading outside of you as her blunt nails scrape at your inner walls, hitting every spot that drives you absolutely crazy. she sits between your legs, one thigh pressing up against your aching center as she fucks you, only creating more pressure.

"gods," you moan, the word sounding wrecked and broken as it falls from your lips.

"good, good girl," she moans against your neck, adding a third finger on her next inward press. "you take me so well."

the words go straight to your cunt, a wretched moan tearing itself from your throat as you relish in the pleasant burn of the stretch. you already know you're not going to last long, not with her fucking you like this. you can feel her rage, her guilt, her shame. you take it all, content to keep her warm while she waits for someone else.

she hovers above you, dangerously close to your lips as she watches you come beneath her fingers, your orgasm ricocheting around your body like a stray bullet. you clench around her fingers, desperate for her to keep fucking you even as you spill over her palm and down her wrist.

when she pulls out of you, vi brings her fingers to her lips, her tongue starting at her wrist and following the dripping lines of your slick before she takes her own bloodied and split fingers into her mouth, licking them clean. you bite your lip at the sight, head falling back against the concrete floor. absentmindedly, your hands come to your belt, tugging everything back into place. she doesn't ask you to touch her and you don't offer—you learned fairly early on that she won't let you.

"fuck," you breathe out, catching your breath as she stands. you push yourself back up onto your elbows, looking up to see vi offering you a hand. you take it and let her help you up, feeling a bit unsteady on your feet. "whoever broke your heart made a serious—"

"don't," vi shakes her head, sounding defeated. she sits back down on the bench, but you remain standing, just staring down at her. she looks up at you softly and you can see the sadness that resides in those eyes. "see you after tomorrow's fight?"

you offer a half-hearted smile, taking the invitation for what it is. "always."

tag list: @puppyels @njm63522 @fict1onallyobsessed

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 14

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

“Kegs have been secured, so we should be good for tonight,” John B announces from where he’s sitting on the steps of the pool, phone in hand as he shoots off some texts.

“Hallelujah,” Isla sounds blandly yet playfully, as she remains laying with her eyes closed on the floaty, enjoying the warmth of the sun against her skin.

“You’re not enthusiastic enough for my liking,” JJ’s voice comes from next to her and, before Isla can even open her eyes, the floaty she’s laying on is suddenly jerked and a shriek escapes Isla, which is silenced when she’s underwater.

She instantly closes her mouth so she doesn’t swallow any water, which roars in her ears and muffles the sound of her friends’ laughter as Isla pushes herself back up before breaking through the surface. “JJ! I’m going to fucking kill you!” she yells, pushing her hair back and wiping the water out of her eyes before she opens her eyes to glare at her best friend roaring with laughter. Kie is pressing her lips together at the other side of the pool, clearly trying to side with her sister but struggling to stifle her laugh.

“I was trying to keep my hair from getting wet, you ass!” Isla growls, tugging at the hair tie that had been keeping her hair up, but now the wet strands were making it hard until she was able to yank it out. No point in keeping it up now.

Now she’s going to have to wash her hair before the party tonight, and her scowl remains on her face while JJ remains grinning widely. “Just making sure you’re wide awake for tonight.”

Isla throws a few more colorful curses at him, but of course he only laughs in return until she splashes him. She swims towards the steps, walking when her feet can touch the ground and walks out of the pool. “Where are you going?” Kie asks.

“Getting something to eat. You want anything?” Isla asks, grabbing her pink towel and drying herself off as much as she can before wrapping the towel around her hips and securing it there. The metal of her necklaces feel cold against her skin, hair wet against the bare skin of her back thanks to the red bikini.

“Diet Coke, please,” her sister calls back.

“Oh, me too, girl!” Cleo adds on from where she’s laying on one of the poolside chairs. 

Isla gives them a two fingered salute, slipping her feet into her flip flops and heads inside the Cameron house through the back French doors. Sarah’s parents are out at work and Wheezie is up in her room, Isla thinks, as she walks into the kitchen and heads towards the fridge.

She opens the fridge door, whistling a tune to herself as she digs through the various items to grab two cans of Diet Coke and puts them on the counter next to the fridge. Isla reaches back inside and grabs one of the chocolate pudding cups, her sweet tooth acting up.

She straightens, peeling off the top cover and dipping her finger into the pudding, scooping some up and putting it in her mouth, licking it clean and humming appreciatively at the chocolaty taste. And then a pair of large, warm, and familiar hands grip her bare waist right above the hem of the towel, and Isla instantly melts when she feels lips on her neck, a blonde hair ducking into view.

Isla’s pulse quickens, pulling her finger out of her mouth as she smiles and whispers, “My friends are right outside, Rafe.”

“We’ll hear anyone if they walk in,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low as he kisses her neck. Isla’s stomach clenches as she sighs contently and leans her head back against him, eyelashes fluttering when he nips gently with his teeth and soothes with his tongue. “I missed you.”

The breath shudders out of her, cheeks warming as she tries not to tighten her grip on the pudding cup lest she squeezes the pudding out of it in response to what Rafe is doing. “You saw me yesterday,” she reminds him through a breathless smile.

“Truth time? It’s getting increasingly impossible to get you out of my mind, Isla,” Rafe says, the heavy honesty in his words making her heartbeat seize for a moment.

He has the fascinating ability to render her speechless. Biting her lower lip, Isla turns in Rafe’s arms to face him, tipping her head back to look up into those pretty blue eyes with that gentle smirk dancing on his lips. “Who would’ve thought Rafe Cameron could be so romantic?” Isla teases, well aware her friends are right outside, but craving the warmth of his body as his arms loop around her waist once more. He scoffs out a laugh, his cheeks slightly pink, and it makes her grin as she places her free hand on his chest. “I think about you all the time, too, you know. It’s very distracting.”

“Oh, yeah?” he murmurs quietly, smiling down as his gaze dips to her lips, the desire evident in his eyes. “Hope you’re not expecting an apology.”

Isla laughs and rises on her toes to press a kiss to his lips, sinking back to her feet when he leans into her, his hands at the small of her back to keep her close. Despite her friends being just outside, the kiss is slow, dragging, tasting each other and reveling in it.

“Okay, okay,” Isla breathes out, reluctantly pulling away from him and slowly opening her eyes. “Very risky. We’re gonna get caught.”

“Scandalous,” Rafe smirks, their moment at the beach flashing through her mind as she laughs breathlessly. As they pull away, both obviously hesitant as the space between them grows, the mischief remains in his eyes as they dip to the pudding cup. “You’re gonna keep that all to yourself, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. She likes that as much as when he calls her baby. Giving an amused, close mouthed smile, she holds the cup out to him. But then he raises an eyebrow at her when their gazes meet, the expectancy obvious in his eyes, and Isla’s stomach dips as she instantly realizes what he’s—silently—asking of her.

Throat drying, Isla dips her finger into the cup, scooping the cold pudding, taking a step closer to him again and raising her chocolate pudding drenched finger, careful not to let any of it drip to the floor. A quiet, almost thrilled laugh escapes her as she rushes out, “Hurry, before—”

Rafe is swift. His larger hand wraps around her wrist, bringing her hand closer to him. His gaze is locked on hers and Isla’s thighs clench when Rafe wraps his lips around her finger. 

Electricity explodes throughout Isla’s body, the breath stalling in her lungs as Rafe’s tongue slides around the digit, cleaning up the pudding that she scooped for him. When she becomes aware of her breathing, it comes out in labored pants, lips parting slightly as Rafe licks her finger clean in the warmth of his mouth. She feels the tightness travel between her legs, pulsing, breathing shallowing out as the smirk is reflected in those wicked blue eyes.

It’s over too quickly, though Rafe takes his sweet time in pulling his mouth off her finger, now clean yet shining with the sleek sheen of Rafe’s saliva. He slowly straightens, rising to his full height, looking down at her with heat darkening his eyes while Isla struggles to get her racing pulse to calm down.

She can’t process a single coherent thought, though she’s vaguely aware she’s probably standing there like an idiot, slightly open mouthed as she tries to get the world to stop spinning so wildly. 

He’s totally going to be the death of her. And judging by the smirk on his face, he knows it—and is proud of it.

“You should get back to your friends,” Rafe quips, leaning back and taking a step away, much to Isla’s dismay. But he’s right, even if she pouts and scrunches her nose in response, which only makes Rafe break out into a devastating grin. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Isla shakes her head, snatching up the soda cans and tucking them into the crook of her arm against her body while the other hand holds onto the pudding cup she won’t be able to eat now without picturing him. “Asshole,” she hisses, trying to bite back a smile as she moves around him and out of the kitchen, throwing him a grin over her shoulder at the last second before disappearing from his view. She swears she hears him chuckle.

*****

Five hours later, when the sun is gone and the moon has made her appearance, Isla is surrounded by drunk peers at the Boneyard. A few bonfires are scattered around, music playing and drinks being poured. Some take advantage of the kegs, while others brought their own drinks. Isla sits with her sister around one of the fires, her beer cup between her legs but the two of them more so enjoying the joint they pass back and forth.

The party started a while ago and Isla’s only one drink and half a joint in, but it doesn’t stop her gaze from wandering, looking for Rafe. She doesn’t risk trying to be sneaky by pulling out her phone and texting him, not with Kie sitting right next to her. So she just tries to enjoy the party, watching people play games or dance. Her immunity, so to speak, to weed keeps her from losing all of her faculties—unlike Sarah, who takes a few hits and gets lost in her own world filled with giggles.

The summer night chill is drawn away by the warmth of the fire, and Isla enjoys the sound of people talking and music playing mixing with the crash of waves on the shore. The salty breeze dances through Isla’s hair, tickling her cheeks as she passes the joint to her sister, slowly blowing out a puff of smoke as her gaze wanders.

Unsurprisingly, her gaze glances over faces familiar and not, smiling when she spots Pope and Cleo dancing as he twirls her around. Isla’s tongue pokes the inside of her cheek as she searches and is disappointed when she doesn’t spot Rafe. He had said he would be coming tonight, but Isla hasn’t seen him yet. She lets out a quiet breath, gazing wandering up to the sky as she distracts herself by counting the stars she can see. It’s not as though she and Rafe could even hang out closely whenever he comes, just admire each other from a distance and let their eyes do the talking without letting anyone in on their secret.

It’s a fucking pain to be in his vicinity and not being able to do anything about it. Her body craves being near his, feeling the warmth of his skin and the solidness of his body, the electricity of his touch and the flutter in her chest when she sees him smile. To feel all of that, so much, and not being able to do anything about it publicly yet. But soon. Someday. She just needs to figure out how the hell to break the news to her friends and when. Either way, she’s not sure she’ll be prepared for the fall out.

Straightening her head from being tilted back, she tilts it to the side and eyes her sister. The fire glows against Kie’s warm brown skin, the light reflecting in her eyes as she lazily eyes the joint between her fingers. As Isla welcomes the warmth in her own chest—from both the joint and thoughts of Rafe—she finds herself asking, “What’s stopping you from telling JJ how you feel?”

She watches as her sudden question registers on Kie’s face, but Isla couldn’t stop from asking. As she swims in her own feelings for Rafe, how this short time with him has thrilled her, made her happy, in ways she hadn’t seen coming, Isla finds herself wondering about her sister and the boy Kie so obviously likes. Kie and JJ are perfect for each other, balancing each other out when necessary, and it’s frustrating that they’re still dancing around the edge of everything. 

Kie lets out a long sigh, head tilting back and as she uses her free hand to brush back strands of hair that escape the bandeau wrapped around her head. “I don’t know if the time is right,” she says lazily. “Don’t know if he’s ready for something like that yet. He’s dealing with some shit with his dad.”

Isla huffs. “He’s always gonna have shit to deal with when it comes to Luke. You might be waiting forever if you’re waiting on that,” she points out with an arch of her eyebrow.

Kie bumps her shoulder with Isla’s. “Why’s it so important to you, anyway?”

Isla pauses for a brief second, reveling in the haze of the weed that lightens her head, before she decides to be honest. “I want you to be happy. I see the way you two look at each other. Everyone sees it, Kie,” she adds pointedly, though with a gentle smile. “It’s only a matter of time, you know.”

Her sister throws her a look, one that is a mix between wary and bemused as she takes another hit. “What about you, huh?” Kiara counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re so obsessed with my love life, what’s going on in yours? Anyone keeping you busy?”

Isla pushes aside the way her heart skips a beat, Rafe’s face flashing through her head upon hearing Kie’s question. Somehow, though, she manages to keep her cool, her smile at ease as she gives a single shoulder shrug. “Nope. I’m just enjoying the summer with you guys before college starts.”

It’s a lie—a big one. It tastes a little bitter, but right now, it’s necessary.

Kie groans, face scrunching and throwing her head back before she shakes it. “God, please, summer only just started. Don’t talk about college.” Huffing out a breath, she says, “But I mean, come on—there’s a lot of potential out here, no?” She spreads her arm out, gesturing around them. “You could find someone.”

Except Isla already has, but Kie can’t know that. “I’m good,” Isla snorts out a laugh, pulse quickening for a moment. “You know me and my very particular tastes,” she adds jokingly.

And as if by some answer from the universe, Isla’s gaze catches sight of Rafe through the crowd of partygoers. She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth, watching from a distance as he smiles while greeting his friends. The sea breeze dances through his hair and he, too, is by another bonfire that makes him glow in an orange-golden light. And there it is—the fluttering in her heart that comes wherever Rafe is concerned. She has to admit, it’s a new development in her life that she’s not at all upset by.

Taking the joint from Kie, Isla takes another long hit that she knows won’t do much, but it’s enough to keep her from launching off the log she sits on and go kiss her boyfriend. Her very hot, very secret boyfriend.

Isla’s neck tenses, physically stopping herself, and only reaching down to grab her cup of beer and taking a swig. She needs a distraction. She had been eager for Rafe to get here, but for what? They can’t be together, can’t dance, without her friends looking at her like she’s crazy. 

If only it were easier.

But it’s not, so Isla looks at her sister and asks, “Wanna grab the others and dance?”

A lazy grin spreads across Kie’s face as she nods. “Hell yeah.”

Minutes later, they have found Sarah and Cleo, joining the groups of people in a mutually decided area that’s designated as the dancing area. Isla’s free hand is locked with Sarah’s, the two of them dancing to the beat of a Rihanna remix with Kie and Cleo, drinks in their other hands. The music makes a lovely cacophony with the rush of waves against the shore, people’s chatter joining in but slightly muted.

Isla’s not sure where the guys are—she wouldn’t be surprised if John B and JJ were caught up in a keg stand somewhere with Pope supervising. But as she twirls Sarah around, laughing, her gaze catches something through the crowd of people. Absently moving to the music, Isla brings her cup up to her mouth, eyebrows furrowing slightly over the rim of the cup as she sips while watching some girl get a little too close to Rafe.

An obvious Kook, by the looks of it. Rafe stands with his usual group of friends, and Isla recognizes the girl as Danielle Greggs, a girl who is closer to Rafe’s age. . . With very little space between the two of them. Isla narrows her eyes, somehow still absently moving to the music with her friends, and watches as Danielle laughs at something Rafe says, clearly swaying closer to him, and suddenly Isla’s chest burns. But then—

She watches as Rafe’s gaze flickers down to Danielle and, without drawing too much attention, takes a step away from her to add some space as he takes a sip of his drink. Isla takes a deep breath, warm satisfaction coursing through her when Danielle notices Rafe’s step back and a quick look of embarrassment flashes across her face as she looks away and brightens her smile while engaging in the group’s conversation. 

Isla finds herself smirking, relieved at Rafe’s obvious display of loyalty, even if her own jealousy still brims. This—this part of a secret relationship is what severely sucks. Watching other people flirt with her boyfriend because they think he’s single, and not being able to step in and show her own possessive side. Isla tries to relax her tensed muscles, subtly rolling her neck as she forces her gaze away from Rafe. Even the sea breeze isn’t enough to cool down her heated skin that erupted at the sight of another girl flirting with her guy.

She’s yanked out of her thoughts when Sarah bumps into her with a giggle, and Isla’s eyes widen slightly in amusement as she keeps her friend upright. “I need another drink,” Sarah grins, looking at Isla and squeezing their joined hands. “Come with?” 

Isla laughs, nodding. “Let’s go, babe.”

She lets go of Sarah’s hand only to throw her arm around Sarah’s shoulders, Sarah’s own arm winding around Isla’s waist as they weave around people to where the kegs are kept. Isla’s face scrunches when they pass by someone throwing up a few feet away, a friend holding the girl’s hair back, but they’ve all been there. 

“Let it out, Stacy! Puke and rally!” Isla calls out to the vomiting girl, earning a chuckle from Emma, the girl who’s holding Stacy’s hair back as Stacy waves feebly before going back to puking. 

“Oh-ho, that’s gonna be me by the end of the night,” Sarah laughs, her brown eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed. Isla has a feeling she resembles more or less the same as Sarah.

“Not if you pace yourself,” Isla tells her through a laugh of her own. “Drink some wa—”

“Sarah, hey.”

Simultaneously, both Isla and Sarah roll their eyes in exasperation, though Isla doesn’t stifle her groan before muttering, “Here we fucking go again.”

They don’t stop, but are forced to when Topper appears in front of them. Isla presses her lips together when she feels Sarah’s arm squeeze around her waist. The wind tousles Topper’s blonde hair as he gives Sarah that half smile that Isla thinks he probably considers charming, but to her it’s just an indicator that he’s about to make a fool out of himself again in front of Sarah.

“Hi, Topper,” Sarah returns, considerably less enthused, as she brushes her hair behind her ear with the hand still holding the empty cup.

Isla’s lips twist to the side, her patience immediately wearing thin. How does Topper not notice how Sarah would rather eat sand than have a conversation with him? Is he truly that oblivious—or does he just not care? Never mind the fact that she’s been with John B for a year now. It’s about time Topper lets the candle he’s still holding for Sarah blow out.

“How’re you doing?” Topper asks her, not even glancing towards Isla, as if she’s not there. Which is fine by her because she could give a shit about being acknowledged by Topper Thornton, but his obsession with Sarah doesn’t just piss off Sarah and John B—it annoys their friends, too. Come to think of it, how is Rafe even friends with him?

“Good, good,” Sarah answers, always polite, offering a close-mouthed smile that doesn’t at all meet her eyes. Isla wonders if Topper notices or cares. It’s just embarrassing at this point. “Isla and I were just getting another drink.”

“Oh, cool, I’ll walk with—”

“Jesus Christ, Topper,” Isla cuts in, groaning as she throws her head back before straightening to glare at him. This time, he finally looks at her, that idiotic expression on his face. Isla gives him a look of her own, as though he just drooled on himself. “She’s not fucking interested—hasn’t been since she dumped you. When the hell are you gonna move on?”

From her peripheral vision, she sees Sarah pressing her lips together, no doubt trying to stifle a laugh. Meanwhile, Topper’s expression quickly transforms into an annoyed glare. “I don’t think this conversation involved you, Isla,” he says evenly with a lift of his chin.

Isla scoffs, her mouth curving up in a sardonic smile. “Thank God for that, because I don’t think Sarah wants to be involved in that conversation, either,” she counters. A glance at her friend tells Isla that Sarah is definitely trying to smother a smile. With a shake of her head, Isla says to Topper, “Dude, just let it go. She’s not into you. She’s moved onto bigger and better things—”

“What’s happening here?” John B suddenly appears out of nowhere on Sarah’s other side. But his gaze, hardened, is fixed on Topper, who immediately straightens, like he’s trying to puff out his chest.

Isla glances at Sarah, who suddenly looks like she has sobered up now that John B has made an appearance. Isla can’t blame her for that, because whenever John B and Topper are in the same space, people need to be on their toes because no doubt a fight may break out.

Gaze darting, Isla tries to see if JJ or Pope are nearby—preferably the latter, because while JJ is more liable to join in on the fight, Pope would try to pull John B away. Isla watches as John Be steps in front of them, staring down Topper, whose chin lifts as he says, “Nothing, man. Just chatting.”

“Okay.” John B gives a single dip of his chin. Isla, standing behind him, can’t exactly see his expression, but she knows there’s that special glare on his face that he reserves just for Topper. “Find someone else to chat with. Not my girlfriend.”

Oh, Isla sees the flash of anger in Topper’s eyes when John B utters the g word. No doubt rubbing salt in the wound that Sarah left Topper for John B, but who could blame her? Then again, Isla may be biased since John B is one of her best friends, but whatever. 

But that anger that Topper shows has him switching gears, Isla realizes, when he scoffs and spits, “You know, it’s only a matter of time she leaves you the way she left me.” Isla feels Sarah stiffen, while her own eyebrows slant down in a glare as Topper steps up to John B. The air is immediately tense with the anticipation—or dread—of something about to happen.

Over the sound of the party, Isla hears John B scoff. “When are you gonna let that go, man? It’s embarrassing at this point,” he says, giving voice to Isla’s own thoughts from seconds ago. “Move on—and back the fuck up.”

Those last few words are harshly spoken because Topper had, indeed, stepped up to John B. Around them, Isla can see others taking note of what’s brewing; everyone knows fire is bound to erupt when John B and Topper get into it. “Oh, God,” Sarah mutters next to Isla, her grip around Isla’s waist loosening as she takes a step towards John B, her hand reaching out to gently fist the back of his shirt. “John B—”

“Why’re you getting so defensive?” Topper asks John B, arrogantly tilting his head to the side. At this rate, more and more people are gathering, watching the scene unfold. When Isla glances past Sarah to her right, she sees JJ and Pope shoving their way to the front, Kie and Cleo right behind them. The girls look unsurprised about this confrontation, though wary, and while Pope looks like he’s trying to calculate the fastest way he can pull John B away, JJ looks like he’s ready to jump in and join. 

Topper’s mouth curves up into an almost cruel grin. “Is it ’cause you know it’s true?” Isla’s jaw clenches, and then Topper goes for the killing blow with a scoff. “Once a whore, always a whore, am I right?”

That does it.

Isla has a split second to pull Sarah back from John B, the blonde yelping in surprise as Isla yanks her away from her boyfriend, right when John B lunges forward and cracks his knuckles against Topper’s jaw. Gasps sound from the surrounding crowd, Isla’s eyes widening and holding Sarah’s hand as she tries to go after John B, but Isla doesn’t want her friend to get caught in the crossfire as Topper recovers and goes after John B.

“Shit,” Sarah curses as Isla moves her to the side, watching as John B and Topper crash onto the sand, fists flying viciously. “Topper, get off of him!”

“You son of a fucking bitch.” John B’s words are spoken through gritted teeth, in between punches thrown at Topper. He’s on top of Topper, one hand gripping the front of Topper’s shirt while the other throws another punch. “Keep her name out of your mouth, you fuck.”

“Oi, stop them!” Isla hears Cleo say, glancing over to see her talking to Pope. “They’re gonna kill each other!”

“My money’s on John B,” JJ says from the other side of the crowd from where Isla and Sarah are, looking far too entertained to put a stop to what’s going on. By the sight of his lazy yet excited grin, he’s not too worried about stopping the fight.

Somehow, through the struggle, Topper ends up on top of John B, and Isla’s heart drops to her stomach when she sees with widened eyes that Topper has his hands around John B’s neck, right on top of his bandana. And Topper’s grip is tight, judging by the way John B struggles, his face turning a dangerous shade of red to purple.

“Oh, my God,” Sarah panics, fear stricken.

“Topper, let him go!” Isla yells, muscles tight as she stops herself from launching at the blonde to pull him off. “You’re gonna fucking kill him!”

Her heart is racing, pounding in her ears, but it’s as though those words trigger JJ, because suddenly he’s there, too. He grabs fistfuls of Topper’s shirt and yanks him back, JJ’s teeth obviously gritted as he uses all of his strength to shove Topper off and onto the ground. He falls on his ass with a heavy thud, but isn’t down for long.

“Oh, you want some too, Maybank?” Topper taunts, getting to his feet. 

John B is gasping for breath, Sarah racing to him after she breaks out of Isla’s grip and crashing to her knees next to her boyfriend, fussing over him. Isla’s gaze is wide and darting, going from John B and Sarah to JJ, who shouts at Topper, “Think you’re forgetting this is our side of the island, Top! You can fuck right off back to Figure Eight.”

Isla crouches on the other side of John B, wincing when she sees the bleeding cut on his lip and the discoloration already starting on his jaw. Sarah, meanwhile, goes back and forth from worrying about him and admonishing him for getting into a fight, her panic still evident as John B calms her down while trying to catch his breath at the same time.

“Oh, God,” Isla mutters, catching Sarah and John B’s attention. They follow her gaze ahead, to where now it’s a confrontation between JJ and Toppers. People surrounding them are either egging one or the other on, or recording on their phones. 

Isla bites the inside of her cheek when she sees Rafe and Kelce break through the crowd to get to the front, behind Topper. She watches as Rafe’s narrowed eyes find Sarah, looking as though he’s searching her for any sign of injury, before his gaze locks with Isla’s. She widens her eyes at him, gaze flickering to Topper, a silent plea for Rafe to pull his friend back. 

In the past, Rafe has always been eager to jump into a fight against Isla’s friends; it’s one of the reasons why JJ, John B, and Pope hate him, and it’s as good of a reason as any. But it’s been months since her friends and Rafe physically got into it, since before she and Rafe started seeing each other. And Isla hopes that tonight that streak isn’t broken. It’s not as though she doesn’t have faith in Rafe, because she does. But as much as she loves her friends, Isla is fairly certain that they won’t have an issue picking a fight with him.

She sees Rafe’s jaw clench, his chin subtly dipping once, and a semblance of relief pours through Isla to know that Rafe is on her side on this. But the situation needs to be deescalated fast, because Topper sneers at JJ after hearing his words. “Yeah, your side of the island,” Topper scoffs with a shake of his head, that sardonic smile back on his now bruising face, since John B had gotten some good hits in, too. “But you freaks took our girls, didn’t you? First Isla and Kie—” Isla stiffens when she hears her name, noticeably catching sight of Rafe’s eyes narrowing even further, this time at his own best friend. “—and now Sarah. What, the girls here aren’t good enough for you Pogues? You gotta take what’s ours and screw them, too?”

Isla’s face scrunches up at his gross words, exchanging a look of disgust with Sarah, who looks like she’s wondering, for the hundredth time, how she dated Topper in the first place. 

“Take what’s ours?” Oh, no. Isla freezes, watching wide eyed as Kiara steps away from the crowd and storms up to Topper, shrugging off Pope’s attempt of trying to pull her back as a look of indignation fires up her dark eyes. Even JJ is suddenly not very interested in Topper, looking at Kie and putting an arm out to keep her from getting too close to Topper. “Could you be more arrogant? That is some disgusting patriarchal bullshit, Topper.”

Isla rises to her feet, watching raptly to see if she needs to step in and pull her sister back, despite the truth of Kie’s words.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, here we fucking go,” Topper groans with a roll of his eyes before shooting Kie an irritated look. “This has nothing to do with you, Kie.”

“Um, you mentioned my name, so it kind of does,” Kie snaps back, taking another step forward, JJ right next to her as Isla’s heart thumps. She’s hoping that as shitty as Topper is, he wouldn’t lay a hand on a girl, but tension still tightens Isla’s muscles. Her alarmed gaze flickers to Rafe, who is watching with that same look of concentration furrowing his eyebrows—but he’s also slowly approaching where Topper stands. Kie, however, isn’t done. “Just because you haven’t moved on from being dumped, doesn’t mean you can come here and pick fights just because your pathetic ego is hurt.”

As much as part of Isla wants to cheer at Kie’s words, her heart jumps to her throat when that previous anger flashes across Topper’s face and, to Isla’s horror, he narrows his eyes and takes a step towards her sister. Isla finds herself instantly moving forward, too, JJ growling a low and warning, “Hey,” at Topper and the threatening step he takes towards Kie.

But then before anyone else can do anything, by the time Isla has reached Kie’s other side, Rafe is right behind Topper, his hands gripping Topper’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, man,” Rafe says to Topper, his voice calm yet Isla detects the thread of edge creeping into his tone. Topper stops in place under Rafe’s grip, and Isla inhales sharply yet quietly as Rafe forces Topper to take a step back, his gaze on his friend. But Rafe’s eyes—she’s seen that look in his eyes, previously directed towards her friends. Rafe is pissed. “Forget about it, alright? Let’s get out of here.”

Isla’s narrowed eyes watch Topper’s jaw work, her heart thumping wildly and having practically forgotten about the audience around them. But they’re all silent, watching, as Topper finally raises his hands up and takes a step back, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Fine, whatever,” Topper scoffs, shaking his head as he shrugs Rafe’s hands off of him and turns. But not before muttering, “Fucking Pogues, man.”

Isla watches as Rafe watches Topper go and join Kelce, before Rafe glances back at Sarah for a split second, who has helped John B up to his feet. Rafe’s gaze then flickers to Isla and she presses her lips together, offering the slightest bit of a grateful smile. She wishes she could hug him for pulling Topper away, from putting a stop to this before Topper went after JJ and, worse, Kie.

But he gives her the tiniest of smiles before he turns and goes, and Isla feels stuck either way, between him and her friends, with one foot in both worlds and wishing they’d collide sooner rather than later.

[liviawildrose]

𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

it’s a hard pill to swallow, but sometimes, you’ve got to step into a role you never signed up for. maybe your mom wasn’t the nurturing, protective figure she was supposed to be. maybe your dad let you down in ways that left scars. maybe your friends only stuck around to take, never to give. the truth? you can’t wait for someone to come and save you. you have to become your own mother.

ask yourself:

if your child was in your shoes—stuck in a bad relationship, getting treated like crap— would you tell them, “stay”? or would you say, “you deserve better than this”?

if your child was chasing their dreams but struggling, would you mock them? no. you’d guide them, push them to be their best. you’d discipline them with love and cheer them on with pride. now, apply that same energy to yourself.

be that mom who says: “get your shit together because you deserve the best life possible.”

but also the mom who says: “it’s okay to rest, i’ve got your back, and i’m proud of you.”

start showing up for yourself the way you needed someone to show up for you. and yes, it’s sad. sad that we even have to do this. but it’s also empowering to realize you can.

personally, here’s my story.

my mom never cared to take my pictures as a kid nor cared if a haircut made me happy or not, it was literally everything up to her convenience. it hurts now because i would’ve loved to look back and see those memories. but i don’t have them. i can count the photos of my childhood—20 pictures in 17 years. insane, right? so, i made a promise to myself: from now on, i will document my life. i won’t delete my photos. i’ll make sure there’s a record of who i was, what i felt, what i achieved. and when i have kids? you bet i’ll take pictures of them. i’ll curate their childhood with care because i know what it feels like to not have that.

but being your own mother isn’t just about the pictures or the memories. it’s about analyzing everything you missed out on and providing it for yourself now. it’s about being selfless enough to let go of bad habits that hold you back. it’s about kicking toxic people out of your life the way a mom would protect her child from bad influences. it’s about prioritizing your healing, even if it’s messy and uncomfortable. you have to heal your inner child. that 5-year-old who was bullied, that 13-year-old who was treated like shit in her first relationship, that 7-year-old who dreamed big but was told she couldn’t they’re all still inside you, waiting for someone to nurture them. and unfortunately, no one else is going to do it for you. no one else is going to come and fix the damage.

i made a pact with myself: when i have kids, i will raise them so well that they won’t ever need to “heal their inner child” at 17 or 18. they’ll be whole. they’ll be loved. they’ll know their worth from the start. but for now, i’m doing that for myself. and you need to do it for yourself too. because at the end of the day, the only way to heal is to become the person you needed all along. become your own mother.

what is the inner child?

the “inner child” is the part of you that holds your early experiences, memories, and emotions. it’s the 5-year-old you who loved to laugh but was scolded for being “too much.” it’s the 10-year-old you who dreamed big but felt dismissed. it’s the teen you who felt heartbreak for the first time but didn’t know how to process it. your inner child carries the wounds, fears, and unmet needs from your past, but also your natural creativity, curiosity, and joy. healing your inner child means reconnecting with this version of yourself, giving it the love and understanding it never received, and releasing the pain it has carried for years.

how do you heal your inner child?

1. journaling: dialogue with your inner child

dedicate a journal specifically to your inner child. write letters to them, like:

“dear [your name at 5/7/13], i remember when you felt [insert memory]. i’m sorry you went through that, but i’m here now, and i’ve got you.”

let your inner child respond. write as if you’re that younger version of yourself—pour out your fears, dreams, and questions. this process can uncover emotions and patterns you didn’t realize were affecting you.

2. therapy: safe exploration with a professional

a therapist (especially one trained in inner child work) can help you identify wounds and patterns from childhood. they’ll guide you in understanding how your upbringing shaped your beliefs about yourself and the world. therapy also gives you tools to reframe those beliefs and meet your emotional needs.

watch “dear zindagi” lol

3. look at old photos and memories

revisit old photos, journals, or artwork from your childhood. don’t just look at them—analyze them. (i wish i could d this but im stuck with 20 photos so… 😭) what do you notice in your younger self’s eyes, body language, or expression?

• ask yourself:

• what was i feeling here?

• did i feel safe? loved? excited? scared?

• what did i need in this moment that i didn’t get?

• use this reflection to understand your inner child’s unmet needs.

4. create new positive memories

your inner child is still alive within you, and they crave fun, love, and freedom. do things your younger self would’ve loved but never got to do: buy yourself a toy you always wanted. go to an amusement park or build a pillow fort. dance around your room like no one’s watching. this isn’t childish it’s healing.

5. practice reparenting

treat yourself as if you were your own child. when you feel sad or scared, don’t ignore it.

ask yourself: what do i need right now? and give it to yourself.

be the loving, supportive, and protective parent your inner child deserved.

6. identify triggers and patterns

notice when you’re acting out of a place of childhood wounds.

for example: do you get overly anxious when someone’s mad at you? do you seek validation in toxic relationships? trace these behaviors back to your childhood.

were you taught that love is conditional? did you have to “earn” attention by being perfect? once you identify the root, you can start rewiring your responses.

7. inner child meditations and visualizations

find a quiet space and imagine your inner child sitting across from you. visualize yourself comforting them, hugging them, and telling them they’re safe. remind them: “you don’t have to be scared anymore. i’m here for you.”

8. nurture yourself daily

make self-care non-negotiable. eat foods you love, sleep well, move your body, and spend time doing things that make you happy. when you treat yourself with care, you show your inner child they’re worth it.

9. forgive

healing isn’t about excusing those who hurt you. it’s about releasing the hold they have over you so you can move forward. write a forgiveness letter—not for them, but for yourself. (they don’t deserve the love i’m sorry)

“i release the pain you caused me so it doesn’t control me anymore.”

10. promise to break the cycle

vow to yourself (and your future children if you want them) just cause your grandma bleed on your mom and then your mom passed it to you does not mean you will make your future kids life miserable too. the generational trauma must break with you. your future child does not deserve it and so your inner child protect you inner child and when you have a child of your own be the best mother possible, i personally would love to make my future kids childhood so memorable and happy that they will feel the need to comeback and relive their childhood that’s the kind of childhood i want to give them

“i will not let this pain define me. i will create a life of love, joy, and freedom.”

healing your inner child isn’t easy, but it’s life-changing.when you reconnect with that innocent, wounded part of yourself, you’ll find that the love and peace you’ve been searching for has always been within you.

11. foster your inner child’s dreams

when you were a child, your dreams weren’t influenced by fear, rejection, or societal pressures. you dreamed with your heart wide open, purely and authentically. reconnecting with those dreams can heal the part of you that felt unheard or invalidated back then.

a. reflect on your childhood aspirations

• sit down and ask yourself:

• what did i want to be when i was 5? 10? 13?

• what made me happiest back then?

• what did i lose interest in because someone told me i wasn’t good enough?

• write down every dream, no matter how “unrealistic” it seems.

hint: those childhood dreams often point to your soul’s calling.

b. start chasing those dreams now

• even if your dreams have evolved, find ways to honor the essence of them.

• wanted to be a singer at 13? start singing lessons or recording yourself.

• wanted to help people? explore careers like psychology, teaching, or coaching.

• don’t hold back.

it’s not about being perfect, it’s about reconnecting with the passion your younger self had.

c. create small wins for your inner child

• maybe 8-year-old you always wanted to paint but never got the supplies. buy yourself a beginner’s set and paint, even if it’s messy.

• maybe 6-year-old you wanted to be a dancer. take a fun dance class and twirl like no one’s watching.

• small wins send the message to your inner child that they are finally being prioritized.

e. validate your inner child’s feelings and failures

• remind yourself:

“it’s okay that 10-year-old me struggled with making friends. i was just a child trying my best.”

• instead of shaming yourself for past actions, honor them.

every mistake was a step toward becoming the incredible person you are now.

f. use your dreams to shape your future

• your childhood passions aren’t just hobbies—they’re roadmaps to your authentic self.

• align your current goals with your inner child’s desires.

• if 7-year-old you dreamed of making people smile, maybe your career or side hustle should reflect that.

• if 12-year-old you loved storytelling, find ways to write, act, or share your voice.

fostering your inner child’s dreams doesn’t just heal the past—it builds a future that feels authentic to you. every time you take a step toward those dreams, you’re telling your inner child: “you were always worthy. your dreams always mattered. and now, i’m making them come true for you.”

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Anderson pt. 2 - Abby (Tlou2)

NSFW tags- pure filth, sub!abby, needy!abby, thigh-riding (a!receiving), finger-sucking (r!receiving), kind of public, i think thats it, 18+

authors note: short follow up for my previous abby fic!! gang i want to write for sevika again, lmk what we want to see and i'll make it happen 😼

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abby had been eyeing you all patrol,

her gaze was burning into your back while you joked with manny and checked for infected

you knew abby was still worked up, every time you spoke to her you saw her cheeks flash pink

and you absolutely loved it

you loved having her blubbering, knowing you had more power then her elated you

"no jokes today, abby?" you asked innocently, smirking over at manny

"shut up." her tone was intense, you for sure struck a nerve, and you definitely wanted to keep pushing it

"that's too bad, normally you're so loud"

suddenly, you felt her big hand wrap around your arm, pulling you into the closest room

mannys chuckles could be heard outside the door, and you heard his steps depart up the stairs, probably to keep watch

not that you cared, it was hard to care about anything except abbys hands desperately roaming your body,

her lips met yours, and her tounge aggressively explored your mouth,

normally, you would urge her to slow down, but you knew she needed it today considering how badly you'd denied her

that's why you weren't at all surprised with how needy she was being

abbys hands trailed down your arms, wrapping around yours, and bringing one of your hands down to her cunt

your fingers landed directly on a wet spot soaking through her jeans, much to your surprise

"jesus, anderson." you teased, wrapping your arm around her waist

"shut up, just fix it" she whined, sending a jolt straight to your own pussy

"that's not how we ask nicely, is it?" the condescension in your voice drove abby crazy, but she was too smart to deny you

"fix it..." she sighed, clamping her eyes shut "please."

the smirk plastered on your face would've pissed abby off if she wasn't so horny.

her back hit the wall as you pressed her up against it, slotting your thigh in-between hers

pleasure coarsed through her as your thigh rubbed perfectly on her clit,

the friction was just enough to pull needy mewls from the muscular woman

you felt your whole body shiver as she rested her forehead on your shoulder, bringing her lewd sounds that much closer

pawing hands landed on every inch of your body as abby tried to find purchase on you

eventually, her hands ended up in your hair, pulling it every time you moved your thigh

she took it upon herself to grind her hips down, desperately trying to increase the friction on her clothed cunt

abby was already close to her climax, her moans increasing in pitch as she moved her hips faster

"gonna cum for me, anderson?" you spoke into her ear, eliciting a particularly loud moan that you had to stiffle with your hand

her grip on your hair tightened as she pulled you back, choosing to smash your lips together aggressively

her hand traveled from your hair to your jaw, gripping it tight and pulling you back

she watched with furrowed brows as she moved her free hand up to your mouth, curiously placing her middle finger on your tounge

your eyes met hers as you wrapped your lips around her digit, starting to suck it into your mouth

abby swore she was going to cum right there, watching you suck her off while she rode your thigh

her finger moved in and out of your mouth, practically fucking your face,

so you made sure to put on a show, sloppily taking it all in your mouth and swirling your tounge

abbys eyes practically rolled to the back of her head at the sight, and you watched as she unraveled on you,

her pretty face twisted up as she came, feverishly grinding down on your thigh to get herself through it

her finger pulled out of your mouth with a pop, and abby made sure to maintain eye contact while she put her digit in her own mouth

"oh my god.." you whispered, too turned on at the sight to try and maintain the dynamic you had earlier reveled in

she smirked as a heavy hand landed on your ass, staying as she guided you out of the room

her lips tickled your ear as she whispered "im gonna need you to meet me in my room tonight"

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guys this was 3 am filth that i just now finished, i hope you love it. need a buff woman's fingers in my mouth while i fuck her whattt who said that

made a pt 2 for my gang : @ghgygd and @honeygiii123

[slutforwwewomen]

Marked

Summary - speculations of you and Rheas relationship finally come to an end as now everyone knows it's true, due to you walking out to your match with black lipstick prints on your body.

RheaRipley X Fem!Reader

Warnings - Pure Smut, Fingering, Oral (Reader receiving.) Strong Language and all that stuffs yk. 😉

Hope you enjoy! <3

“I think you’re gonna love thisss!” My makeup artist, Amanda, says to me. I told her to try something new, anything she wanted that would match my new gear I was debuting tonight.

As Amanda finishes up, I hear footsteps creeping behind me and then two hands on my shoulders, meaning it could only be…

“Guess who.” I hear from behind me.

“Hmm…I don’t know..Samantha? Liv? Rhea? I mean, I have so many girlfriends it’s hard to guess!” I say in a joking manner, suddenly feeling a hard thump on the back of my neck and the sound of a slight giggle.

“Alright! Finished!” Amanda says.

She spins my chair around, facing me towards the mirror. “Oh my god! Mandy, I love it! Thank you!” I say, standing up out of my chair and hugging her tightly. “Okay, Loosen the grip up, Azmina!” Amanda says, slightly breathless due to my grip.

I let out a small laugh and mumble a sorry.

As I turn around, I’m met face to face with my girlfriend, Rhea.

“Damn.” Is all she says.

“What? You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I more than like it. Makes me wanna fuck it off you.” She says..loudly. My response ends with me slapping her arm and my face turning completely red.

“You look good too I guess…” I say to her with a smirk on my face.

Amanda comes up behind us. “Personally, I’d rather see this than LivDom.”

That sending Rhea and I into a laughing spiral.

Amanda is one of the select few who know about Rhea and I being together.

Everyone knows me and her are super close, but they don’t know the full extent.

Rhea and I have tagged together numerous times, which is where the rumors started at to begin with.

Oh, but that’s not just all!

Rhea is very…touchy. She physically can’t keep her hands off me when we’re near one another, so during our matches, when rhea was helping me up, she’d slide her hand across me someway, or she’d hold onto me, pick me up or carry me out, whilst keeping a certain grip on my…lower half.

Always making sure to touch me.

I’ve always had this attraction to her, I mean…just look at her. How could you not?

“Hey. Come on.” Rhea whispers to me, reaching a hand out for me to grab.

“I need to put my gear on anyways.” I take her hand as she leads me to the locker room. Shutting the door behind her after she lets me go in first.

She turns around, walking slowly towards me.

Slowly inching me closer and closer against the far wall.

As she slowly made her way over to me, her eyes not leaving me, she gently pushed me against the wall.

She placed her hands right beside my head, trapping me against the wall, as she leaned in even closer.

Her breath, hitting my neck. Sending chills down my whole body.

I shut my eyes for a moment before opening them back up, my eyes meeting hers as she hovers over me looking down at me.

“Please” I murmur out, barely even understandable.

“See how I make you feel? See how I’m not even touching you, and you’re just begging me to fuck you?” Rhea says in a low tone.

She gently runs her index finger along my jaw as she whispers in my ear.

"See how you shiver when I touch you lightly?"

She then gently touches a sensitive spot on my neck.

“See how your body is telling me just how much you need me? You just can’t help yourself can you? I mean, all I’m doing is standing over you and you just can’t contain yourself. What’s to be done about that, huh?”

My mouth begins to open, but nothing comes out. I look down at the ground in slight embarrassment. I can only think of one thing right now, and that’s how badly I need to feel her.

“Oh come on…use your words baby. Tell me what you want.” She says as she moves her finger and traces under my chin.

“M-my match. I need t..to put my gear on.” I finally get out, slightly jerking to try to get out from under her.

Rhea's smile widens as she notices my attempts to get away from her.

“Oh, is that what you're worried about at the moment? Your little match? Trust me, that's the last thing you need to worry about right now.”

She grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Her eyes, now intense and full of desire.

“You're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you.”

She moves her hand from my chin to my throat, applying just enough pressure to make sure I stay right where I am.

“And I'm still just getting started.”

My eyes, tearing up from the pressure she’s putting on my neck.

She finally crashes her like into mine. Kissing me with the most passion I’ve ever felt. Her lipstick, still slightly wet, as I can feel it imprinted on my skin. She removes her hand from my neck and snakes it down into my shorts.

I feel her smirk against my lips as she feels how wet I am, her fingers slowly teasing my folds.

She lets out a soft chuckle and breaks the kiss. Starting to leave a trail of hickeys down my neck and shoulder, all while her fingers still work at a painfully slow pace.

I let out a soft whimper, signaling I need her to move faster.

“Be patient darling.” She whispers before biting down gently on my shoulder, her fingers now moving only slightly faster than before.

She pulls back to look at me, watching my reactions while her fingers still rub against my clit at a painfully slow pace.

“Look at you, covered in my marks.”

She leans in, and whispers into my ear again, her voice low and sultry.

“Everyone will know who you belong to.”

She moves her other hand to grip my hip, helping hold me against the wall as she continues to move her fingers, now going at a steady fast pace.

“Shit! Rhea- Fuck! Oh my god- I’m..I’m gonna cu..” I’m cut off by her smashing her lips back into mine. Biting my lip hard and pulling on it with her teeth.

Moans begin to slip out, one after another like a broken record player.

She swallows the moans that slips from my lips, biting down on my lip again as she keeps pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

But then she stops.

She pulls away from my lips and looks at me, a smirk on her face.

“Ah ah ah, not yet…”

Rhea looks down at my legs, wobbly and shaking, barely being able to hold myself up.

She gets down on her knees then looks back up at me, a smirk still on her face as she pulls my shorts and underwear all the way down and hooks my leg over her shoulder.

She presses a kiss to the inside of my lower thigh, slowly making her way closer and closer to my core.

She finally reaches my core and runs her tongue up my folds, teasing me slowly as she keeps my leg over her shoulder.

She repeats this action a couple more times, licking and teasing me with her tongue, purposely avoiding my clit.

She finally gives my clit some attention, flicking her tongue over it quickly before sucking it into her mouth.

I feel her insert her 2 fingers deep inside me. Curling them at a slow but harsh pace.

I let out a loud moan, which almost could be mistaken as a scream.

My body begins to tremble. Knees beginning to give out again.

“You’re such a good girl for me. taking my tongue so well.” She says between licks, her voice muffled against me.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you baby? I want you to scream my name. She gives my clit one last hard suck before pulling away slightly, her fingers still moving inside me, but she fastens the pace.

“Come on, Az, be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

And that’s what sent me over the edge.

My eyes stay shut but I can feel her smirk as I cum, she watches as my body trembles in pleasure. I open my eyes and watch her beneath me as she slowly licks up all of my cum, savoring the taste.

She finally completely pulls away from me, picking me and my shorts up and carrying me to a locker, sitting me down on the seat of it.

My body still hot, panting and out of breath.

And I still hadn’t gotten my gear on.

“Rhea…please. I need my gear.” I managed to pull out.

She stepz away from me, reaching into the locker and pulling out my gear.

“You better get dressed fast, baby. You have a match to win.”

I grab my underwear from right next to me, as I struggle to put them on, rhea snatches them from me and decides to take matter into her own hands.

She moves her hands down to your waist, slowly pulling my underwear up my legs, her fingers brushing against my still sensitive skin.

I decide to just push through, I stand up, obviously tired, and put my gear on. Which takes me a whopping almost 10 minutes.

I pull my phone out of my bag to check the time.

“Shit!” I yelled.

As i continue putting it on, I notice the marks all over my body.

Her marks.

Black lipstick imprinted all on my thighs, neck, and arms.

She looks at me and sort of giggles.

“Oops?”

I take of my shirt and bra, putting on my top to my gear aswell.

When I finish with that, I grab the mirror from my bag, looking at my messed up lipstick.

“Really, Rhea?”

“You’re just so hot I couldn’t help myself.” She says, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes.

I hurry up and finish up putting my boots on and then I turn to Rhea again and kiss her.

“I love you. I’ll see you after my match!” I say quickly as I run out of the room as I then go to find Amanda.

I find Amanda and ask her to give me a touch up on my makeup.

She sits me down and begins to touch it up. Wiping the marks on my arms and neck off, but clearly unable to remove the permanent ones that Rhea left.

“I don’t even wanna know.” Amanda says.

I just give her an awkward smile and laugh.

After we finish up, I have about 10 minutes before I go out.

I stand in the back behind the entrance curtain, talking with some other superstars just to pass time by.

Then, it’s time for me to go out.

My entrance music hits and I go out like I normally do.

Rhea and I are currently in a feud with Damage Control, so my opponent for tonight is Iyo Sky.

As I’m doing my entrance, I catch a glance at my legs.

Shit.

I forgot the marks on my legs, and if it didn’t help, I forgot my fishnets that go underneath my gear.

I just continue on with my entrance, making my way to the ring, pretending like nothing is different.

After I finish it, RAW goes on commercial.

Leaving me to stand in the ring for a couple of minutes to prepare.

Of course people in the crowd are going to take pictures, but little did I know that I was in for a rude awakening when I got to the back.

Backstage, Rheas phone was blowing up. Messages from many different people, noticing the black marks left on her “tag partners” legs.

I stand in the ring, awaiting the ad break to go off, but I do notice all the phones in the crowd pointed at me, taking videos and pictures.

See, I wouldn’t think nothing of it unless I didn’t have these marks on my legs.

It’s truly not a bad thing for people to find out we are dating. We have to come out with it soon enough, but i didn’t really take this being the way the fans found out.

The lights come back on and it cuts to Iyo Sky coming out.

After Iyo finishes her entrance, we both stand in our corners and then the bell rings.

Iyo looks at me for a second, not moving, but looking me up and down and then slightly laughing whilst rolling her eyes.

I think I know what she was laughing at.

We put on a hell of a match for the crowd, but, during the match, Iyo puts me in a compromising position…really showing the marks on me as she bends and twists my leg in this hold she has me in.

I’m sure the camera had a direct view of the marks now, but I’m almost 99% positive there hasn’t been a point where there wasn’t already a direct view of the marks.

At the last couple seconds of the match, I hit Iyo with a missile dropkick, the impact knocking her across the ring and me falling ti the floor in exhaustion.

We both get up at the same time, having an intense stare down with one another. She runs the ropes but I end up catching her with a punch of my own.

I decide to do something interesting.

I pick her up, preforming the Riptide on her.

Pinning her, with Rheas famous pin.

1.

2.

3.

The bell rings, and I stand up.

Referee, holding one of my arms up as I lick some of the blood from my lip off with my tongue.

The match goes off air and I make my way to the back, stopping to take pictures with people and signing posters, etc.

And when I reach the back, I’m met with a grinning Rhea Ripley.

“How bad is it…” I ask her.

“Let’s just say we’re trending now, and everyone knows about us.”

She runs her hand down my body until she reaches my thigh, her fingers tracing the red marks from the match and the black lipstick marks she left. She brings her mouth up to my ear, whispering to me and making sure her breath tickles my ear.

“Don’t forget the fishnets next time.”

A/N - HIIII! This is probably my favorite fic I’ve written so far. I hope you guys enjoy it! I had so much fun writing it! All feedback is appreciated lovely’s! 🫶🏻🩷

[bloomzone]

Feeling Overwhelmed? You're Not Alone. Let's Talk About It..

I know we all go through it. You’re balancing school, friends, family, and everything else, and suddenly, it feels like you're carrying the weight of the world. Lately, I've been feeling burned out, overwhelmed, and like everything is piling up at once. With school stress, exams, and the constant pressure to keep up, I sometimes feel like I can’t breathe. It's exhausting, and I'm sure some of you feel the same.

It’s so easy to get stuck in the cycle of trying to do everything perfectly. Every time you think you’ve got it under control, something else comes at you, and you’re back to square one and YES THIS IS ANNOYING!!!. It's like there’s a never-ending list of things to do, and no matter how hard you work, you never seem to catch a break.

And the worst part? The pressure from others. Whether it's friends, classmates, or even family, there's always someone asking you for help. Sometimes I feel like I’m the go-to person for everything—assignments, questions, last-minute requests. And don’t get me wrong, I want to be helpful, but it can get draining. Especially when you're trying to hold it together and just need a little space for yourself

For example:Today I couldn’t catch a break already stressed about exams, and in desperate need of rest. Just as I sat down to breathe, the calls and messages started.

One of my classmates began spamming me with messages, asking about a history and geography exam date that we ALL already knew. Then, another classmate began asking for English assignment answers. She wouldn’t stop. She kept sending, “Hi, hi, hi, hi…” over and over until I caved and responded.When I finally sent her the answers, her response? “Ahh, what would I do without you? You’re a lifesaver!” And while I know she meant it kindly, it felt so heavy I feel guilty. What about MY life? What about my peace?

In that moment, I realized how much I was giving to others and how little I was leaving for myself. I was pouring all my energy into helping everyone else while I was running on empty

And plus I’ve been in those moments when you’ve studied hard for an exam, thought you’re finally catching up, and then suddenly—a change happens. A test gets rescheduled, an assignment gets pushed to the last minute, and it feels like everything you worked for was just... wasted. I get it. And it’s okay to feel frustrated and angry about it. You’re allowed to feel this way. It doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.

But here’s something I’ve been reminding myself lately: I am not responsible for everyone else's stress. It’s okay to say no, it’s okay to take a break, and it’s okay to not always have everything figured out. Taking care of yourself isn’t selfish; it’s necessary.

Here 5 Tips That Are Helping Me Cope with Stress and Burnout

1. Set Boundaries and Protect Your Energy: I’ve learned that it’s okay to say no. If someone’s asking for help, and you’re already feeling stretched thin, it’s okay to tell them, “I can’t right now.” You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you deserve your time and energy as much as anyone else does.

2. Don’t Overload Yourself—Take It One Step at a Time: Break your tasks into smaller, more manageable chunks. Don’t try to do everything at once—focus on one thing at a time. It makes the workload feel less daunting and more achievable. One task, one hour at a time.

3. Rest is Not a Luxury, It’s a Necessity: Sometimes we push ourselves too hard because we think we’ll get behind if we take a break. But if you don’t rest, you’ll burn out. Give yourself permission to step away, even for just 10 minutes. Watch a comforting youTube video, take a walk, or close your eyes. A little time for yourself can give you the energy to come back even stronger.

4. Talk About Your Feelings—Don't Bottle It Up: If you’re feeling overwhelmed, don’t keep it inside. Talk to someone, whether it’s a friendu trust family member, or even just writing in a journal like I do ..Putting your feelings into words can make a huge difference. It clears your mind and helps you see things from a new perspective.

5. Make Time for Self-Care: It’s easy to forget to take care of yourself when everything is going wrong. But self-care isn’t just about face masks and bubble baths (although that helps!). It’s about doing things that recharge you—reading, listening to music, or even just doing nothing. Find what makes you feel lighter and make time for it.

Let’s Take the Pressure Off Ourselves.

I know the world often tells us we have to be constantly productive, constantly moving forward. But the truth is, you don’t have to hustle all the time. It’s okay to slow down, take a breather, and focus on your well-being. The world will still be there when you're ready to take the next step. You are not a machine pookie. You are human, and you deserve peace.We’re not alone in this, even though it sometimes feels like we are. Everyone’s going through something, and sometimes just knowing that you’re not alone in your struggles can make a huge difference.Remember, it’s okay to not have it all together. It’s okay to be tired, to feel burnt out, to not always know what’s next. Life is hard, but you’re still here, still fighting, and that’s something to be proud of. I'm so proud of you

© bloomzone

[lady-ashfade]

Mha Characters; Waitress/Waiter Au!!

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Characters: Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo

WARNINGS: Waitress au, cute, I love this job but it sucks, smoking[Bakugo and you]

GENRA: Hcs/Concepts

Izuku Midoriya

He’s the type of co worker to be the helper if you need it, like working twice as hard along side of you. Not the half ass ones. Will sweep so hard and quickly- “Just trying to get us home as soon a possible.”

You honestly are jealous of his people skills, he smiles and it’s like money just appears in his pockets. He barely messes up, and some of the times he is even getting the plates off of the tables you are to busy to get.

“I can’t believe it’s so dead in here,” you whisper as you look around at the empty tables, only one table in the past hour.

“I enjoy it, gives us a break.” Izuku leans on the counter, sighing as he relaxes himself.

you stare at him. he is so pretty, uncanny how one person could be so perfect. You often find yourself messaging him, using random things for excuses to, and when you are paired together it makes the night so much easier.

You blink twice before looking away quickly to not get caught, clearing you throat before make sure everything is straightened and in place. “I didn’t know Superman needed a break.”

Izuku titled his head and opened his eyes, giving you a questionable look, “Superman?”

“You are unstoppable, Izuku. Honestly sometimes I swear you are too good at your job, makes the rest of us look like newbies.” you chuckle and grab the check for the table.

“So you think I’m charming?” He teases with a blush creep on his cheeks.

“Nauseously so,” you walk away with a giggle.

Katsuki Bakugo

You trained him, or at least partially. You have been there since a teen, and he joined when he entered college. He had no people skills, and even though he has grown he still gets prissy with costumers.

You still find yourself pushing him aside and talking to his table, then going up to him and yelling at him. But he makes it up with cleaning, like I mean he can carry so much and it’s so helpful.

Maybe you forget what comes on a meal, he will just walk by and say it, and walks back off. You write a order wrong? “Dumb ass, it doesn’t come with onions” since he knows the kitchen well, you are trying to get him to work back there.

“What the hell was that?” You shout as you push the door open, the cold air hitting you hard. Katsuki is leaning on the hard wall, a cigarette in his hand.

“She was a bitch, who yells at their waiter/ress for things you have no control over?” you groan at his words and glare at him.

“Katsuki, I can handle them. I’ve worked here a lot longer then you. Not only will you get in trouble later, i could also get in trouble. I appreciate you trying to help, but we can’t cuss at costumers.”

“I got it, don’t worry about getting in trouble. I will gladly get fired for cussing her out,”

You slap his shoulder, “I wouldn’t let you get fired, because I’ll miss you too bad.” You smile slightly up at him.

He chuckles deeply and rolls his eyes, “Yelling at me, then tell him you’ll miss me…You’re so confusing sometimes.”

you swipe the cigarette from his hands and take a drag of it, feeling the intoxication and burning, “Not exactly you, more like how much plates you can carry. My own personal bus boy.”

[artist-issues]

It sounds like Stitch but it just doesn’t have the Stitchiness of Stitch. His mouth is too small. His nose is too small and too low down.

His ears are too furry. There’s too much teddy-bear-bunny, not enough insect-shark.

His ears should look almost-translucent, with fine fuzz, like bat ears! His nose should look stamped onto his face with gigantic nostrils, like a bulldog’s. His eyes should look bigger and blanker.

His mouth should make you think shark, like his whole head is resting on the hinge of his jaw. And the fur around his eyes should be much thinner and more peach fuzz like so that you can see the wrinkles in his flesh when he squints or makes snarly faces.

Why

Why is that so hard

he’s not cutesy and only-pretending-to-be-fierce. he’s not a kitten. He’s not made to appeal to the Minions and Toothless-but-only-Toothless-in-HTTYD-3 crowd.

There are NO BLACK LIPS. He’s not a dog. There are NO CAT-MUZZLE-UPPER-LIP-MUSCLES. He’s not a kitty. OR a bunny. Why are those two-front-teeth so so much smaller than the rest of his teeth? Why are all of the teeth so small??

Don’t you guys understand why he’s supposed to look more than just cute-but-acting-naughty?

He has to be able to look convincingly disgusting, and genuinely fearsome.

Look how whip-thin his eyes and eyebrows are. Look at how, like a snake mid-eat, you can see some of Pleakley’s head swelling Stitch’s throat. It is important that he look like a monster when he needs to because he is a monster.

If Stitch doesn’t look like the kind of small monster that can take big disgusting bites out of you, with jerky, spider-like movements and tiger-scrunched eyes then the whole emotional weight of the movie looks flimsy. We’ll forgive a cat for scratching us and giving us cat-scratch fever because it’s cute. If Stitch looks too cute, then the human brain goes, yeah, he pushed that little girl down and laughed at her pain, but look at his wittle face, he’s a babydoll, who could stay mad at him

We can easily see why Lilo puts up with him.

When the point is, we shouldn’t be able to see why Lilo puts up with him—not in and of himself. Stitch does nothing to deserve Lilo’s love, including being cute— actually, he’s gross and unsettling. He’s not even cute enough to want around as a snuggle-buddy. He’s certainly not cute enough to look unthreatening. Nobody in the movie runs up and asks to pet him. Nobody even looks like they want to. He’s not appealing in that way. The dogcatcher screams at him on sight. The tourists just stare when he walks up dressed as Elvis. Her friends immediately think he’s the ugliest thing in the world and don’t want him anywhere near them. David is sure it’s not a dog. Even the aliens in an intergalactic council find him not-appealing, on sight. They take him, as a threat, seriously, even before Jumba lists his powers.

All of that is not because Stitch really looks outrageously ugly.

⬆️ THAT is ugly. Can we all agree? That’s ugly. Whereas this:

Less ugly. Obviously I know that. But there are a couple things about Stitch that are not traditionally appealing, when the filmmakers could have made him traditionally appealing. If they wanted his nose to look muzzle-y, they could’ve. If they wanted his spine to bend at the hips like a human toddler’s they could’ve. If they wanted his mouth smaller and more cartoon-y, with kitty-cat lips, they could have done that. They chose to do the slightly more ugly thing instead. He’s still appealing. But he can look and be convincingly threatening, unattractive, and disgusting when he needs to be for the story.

The cuteness was a by-product. It was an artfully-done side. It was not the main course of what he’s supposed to look like. Again I say to you—he is not your Minions-loving Facebook Mom’s bumper sticker. He is supposed to walk the line between most-disgusting-pet-you-could-have and Gremlin-meets-E.T.

These teasers are totally catering to the people who like Stitch T-Shirts from WalMart but probably couldn’t explain the first thing about him as a character. And whatever, that’s fine. But the design affects the story, and the original story was so good.

This does not bode well.

[taintandviolent]

Thankful ; Jimmy Darling x Reader

summary: 🦃 It's Thanksgiving, and the troupe is enjoying a collaborative dinner. You're sat next to Jimmy Darling, who you've been flirting with on and off for the past week. After dinner, you discover that he's still hungry.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.9K! | food mention, mentions of arousal (both male and female), semi-established relationship, semi-public making out and cunnilingus.

a/n: requested by @american-horror-whore! I hope this was everything you wanted bby!! thanks for the request, I so so so missed writing for my boy. also happy early thanksgiving to my followers!! i'm super thankful for all of you guys! divider by @/strangergraphics

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re feeling mighty thankful. That was for sure. You scoop the last bit of sweet potato casserole into your fork, smiling over at Eve as she recounts one of her favorite stories from days past. You’d been a member of the show for a month now, but they’d wasted no time in making you feel like you’d been there since the beginning. You’d found a specific sort of camaraderie there, the kind that only comes from shared experiences and understood feelings. It must be similar to a sort of sorority or something.

Jazz drifts from the record player in the corner, serenading everyone with a relaxed romanticism. The wooden table is stuffed with dishes; almost everyone had pitched in to make something for the dinner. You’d made the stuffing, and helped Ethel with the turkey. As a little extra decoration, you’d gathered some of the fall leaves and scattered them along the table, which paired nicely with the candles that Elsa had brought in from her tent. Everyone was in good spirits, but especially Jimmy Darling, who, like everyone, had been indulging in a little of his mama’s hooch.

He’s drunk, his complexion flushed and healthy. He keeps leaning into you, letting one of his large hands make a fist in your skirt, hiking it up and tugging it towards him. You scoot closer – as close as you can without being on his lap. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, but you can’t help it; the butterflies that he gives you take control of your system the second he’s in the room.  

“Hey dollface,” Jimmy suddenly murmurs next to you. “Pass the pie, would ya’?” 

“Only if you cut me a piece too, Jimmy…”

You don’t wait for an answer before pushing yourself up off the bench just enough to reach the plate of pumpkin pie, carefully sliding your hand underneath the ceramic dish. Desiree had baked it along with the sweet potato casserole that afternoon and you were fairly certain that everyone had been eyeing it the entire dinner. The top of the pie was a perfect orange, glazed and delicious, while the crust was a delicious looking golden brown. To top it off, it was still warm. 

You set the pie in the space between you, smiling politely at Jimmy as he got to work cutting out a slice with his fork. The first one goes to you with a bright, crooked smile; he was always such a thoughtful, handsome gentleman. Admittedly, that was part of the reason that you two had been courting each other for a week now, secretly meeting to kiss and explore each other’s warm bodies in the dead of night. You weren’t embarrassed of him, nor shy, but he was very aware of the rest of the troupe’s prying eyes, specifically Elsa’s and thought it better if for now, you two kept things quiet.   

Eve’s eyes flit to yours, a tender smile on her lips. You think she knows, but she’s got enough sense not to say anything. You blink slowly and turn your attention back to Jimmy, who has his hand on your bare thigh now, fingering the silky hem of your nylons. Underneath the table, you toy with Jimmy’s ankle, rubbing your own against it and lifting the pant leg. He lets out a little moan through closed lips – inaudible to everyone but you – and squeezes the meat of your thigh. With a mean poker face, Jimmy takes a forkful of the pie and shoves it into his mouth. To everyone else, he just looks a little buzzed – which he is. But to you, he looks buzzed and horny; from the way those brown eyes are half-lidded and heavy to the way his jaw hangs slack every time he looks over you, scanning your body and kneading your thighs like dough. You pick up the tiny nuances of his arousal and gobble them up as quickly as you do the pie. 

The rest of the dinner goes on with laughter and shared stories until Elsa announces that she must get her sleep. Ethel stands up to begin clearing the empty dishes. You get to your feet and help her, knowing full well that she intended to do it all herself. 

Once you finish, you head out of the main tent, wiping your hands on the back of your dress. Everyone’s dispersed. Jimmy’s gone – probably stumbled back to his trailer in a drunken food coma. You laugh to yourself and head back to your caravan. 

Just as you pass his trailer, Jimmy emerges from the shadows, a flash of skin as his conjoined fingers wrap around your smaller wrist with ease. “No, no… where do you think you’re goin’, sweet face?” He tugs you back towards his trailer. “Baby, c’mere…” 

His back hits the metal exterior of his caravan with a thud and he pulls you atop of him, wrapping both his arms around your lower back. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was coincidence. Whatever it was, had put your trailers next to each other the day you’d rolled in. That made it very easy for you two to canoodle whenever you wanted without attracting too much attention. 

Hidden in between the two trailers, amongst the sound of rustling grasses and distant cars, you press your lips against his plush, pink ones and dive in. Kissing Jimmy is like licking the inside of a honey pot; it’s addicting, warm and the saccharine notes of his kisses coat your tongue. Every single time. You fall into the familiar rhythm of kissing him, grinding your hips back against his as he urges them into yours. You’ve been here before, many times in the last seven days, but it hasn’t gotten old yet. 

Your nimble fingers reach up, pulling the shirt buttons from their slits until you reach his belly button, and stop, too distracted with the way he’s kissing you to continue. “Oh, Jimmy,” you say against his skin.  The chill of the November air contrasts with the heat that rolls off his bare skin.

“I’m still hungry,” he growls into the curve of your ear, peppering feverish kisses along the nape of your neck. You can’t help but chuckle softly as you lean your head to the side, amused that at a time like this, Jimmy’s thinking of food. With your hands planted firmly on his pectoral muscles that are exposed through his half-open shirt, you gently push him off and look into his coffee black eyes. 

“Well, Jimmy, there’s plenty of leftovers – you should’ve eaten more! We can –” 

“No, baby. Not that kind of hungry.” His hips punctuate his sentence as he drives them into the soft flesh of your upper thigh. 

Feeling the rigid bulge against your thigh, your breath catches in your throat. You reach down and pull his head off of you, his lips still poised to kiss. You let out a giggle and move your hands down his neck. 

“Yours or mine?” You ask, flipping the collar of his shirt between your fingers. 

“We’re facing yours.” 

Bracing yourself against his trailer, you push yourself off of it, and grip the collar of his shirt like a leash on a dog, towing him in the direction of your quaint little caravan. You carefully walk up the steps and throw open the door, muttering a word of warning to not trip. He does anyway, too drunk and too horny to watch his feet. 

As soon as you’re inside, Jimmy’s got his hands wrapped around your waist and he doesn’t hesitate before lifting you up onto the small kitchen counter. Giving you room to sit, he pushes the tins of coffee and tea back against the wall. His hands slip underneath the fabric of your dress, ghosting along the curve of your ass and to the roundness of your thighs, his fingers leaving trails of heat everywhere they go. 

“Mmm, baby, you feel like you’ve got a fever. Your body’s on fire…” 

You hum, adjusting your hips on the counter. “There ain’t a single person to blame for that besides you, Jimmy….” 

He chuckles and lets his hands continue their journey, sweeping around to the front of your kneecaps, which he gently pulls apart. His inky hues connect with yours as he slowly lowers, getting to his knees in front of you. You watch him with quirked lips, indicating amusement, though your eyes are bleeding lust. 

Jimmy takes your dress in his hands, lifting it up to expose your center. The satin of your panties is already stained with arousal. It’s leaking into the fibers and creating a wet spot.

“Hooo’, baby… look at that.” His smile is proud, delighted that he’s responsible for it. 

“I hope you saved room.” You tease. 

“Oh, honey…” Jimmy runs his thumb along the clothed slit, and you shiver. “I always have room for dessert.” 

His fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and yanks them down. He leaves your garter belt on, as it poses no nuisance to him. Now free of fabric, your cunt clenches visibly as he nears her. His lips part, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your slick folds. Your hand snaps to his shoulder, gripping it hard. “Fuck, Jimmy… I…” 

Your hand moves to gather the dress of your skirt up, pinning it in place. The other hand finds a home in Jimmy’s soft, brown locks, pulling tight as his tongue laps at your cunt with a flat tongue. You mewl happily. What a sight; your nylon-covered legs over the shoulders of the most handsome man you’d ever met, his head buried between your thighs. 

His tongue flexes, points, and flicks at your quickly swelling clit. You shudder and clamp your legs around his head, a full body reaction. “Huh… Jimmy… oh my god.” 

He kisses her again, his tongue stretching down to meet your leaking entrance. Now he’s the one vocalizing; you’re sweet, pink and wet and he can’t help himself. Another kiss, but he closes his lips around your clit to suck on it gently. 

He pulls away, just for a second to ask: “Feel good?” 

You nod hurriedly and tighten your grip in his hair, pulling his head back and forth onto your cunt. Your middle finger twirls around a single curl and you hum a string of expletives, forcing his tongue deeper into your folds. 

“Mm! – yeah! – baby! –” Jimmy says in between your forced thrusts. He’s not used to you taking control like that, but like hell he’s going to complain. 

The white hot coil in your stomach winds tighter, creating an inexplicable pressure in your lower abdomen. Jimmy’s relentless, as if he knows this, and keeps at it. Not that you had any plans of loosening your grip on his locks. Mirroring your strength, Jimmy’s hands grip your thighs tight, pressing them open as far as they’ll go. You throw your head back and a deep moan escapes your lips, expelling some of the built up tension. 

“Fuck, fuck… Jimmy… right there… right there….” 

Jimmy suckles your swollen clit, and brings one hand to your entrance, teasing an intrusion with the tips of his fingers. They breach it, just enough to make your whole body tense up, and the coil snaps. All at once, you buck your hips forward, forcing Jimmy’s digits inside your cunt, his nose bumping into the flesh above her. He feels every shuddering clench, and rides it out, lapping at her like an ice cream cone. 

Once the slick pulses subside, he pulls back and brings his palm to his face, wiping his glistening chin. For a second, he admires it, tilting his hand back and forth, watching as the collected spit and arousal catches the light. 

“Mm-mm-mmm! Now that’s something to be thankful for, baby.”

Through labored pants, you mutter a response. “Oh, I’ll show you thankful, baby. Get on the bed.” 

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I can't stop fucking thinking about premature ejaculation today, literally, I've been so distracted from everything, and it's probably definitely K's (@howdoyousleep3 's) fault with this fucking post (plus her broader, totally understandable, fixation with it 👀) that will haunt me for the rest of my days. So. Evanstan filth.

Chris was slotting his key card into his hotel room door but he isn't anymore and he doesn't know, honest to god, how he got from standing outside the room to lying flat on his fucking back on the plush, tightly made bed of that same room without remembering even a single rushed step but he is, he is, it's not even been a full minute, he swears, and ohhh--

Sebastian is here.

He's not supposed to be is the thing, though, he's got a thousand other places he's all but contracted to be right now; their schedules have been hell the last few months between their competing, demanding press tours for movies with such laugably different tones. Sebastian is doing two fucking press tours at once for Christ's sake, he doesn't have time for even a quickie. Chris feels like they've hardly heard each other's voices, seen each other's faces--they've not been calling, certainly not FaceTime-ing, just texting back and forth between the circuses of their limelight lives, just trying to keep it together while the world spins too fast around them.

Chris' head is spinning off his shoulders now. He's slammed his head back into the overstuffed pillows, his hair fanning out around him with a strand of it sticking to his forehead, sweating when, shit, he can't have been in the room for more than a minute or two, tops. He doesn't know if he pushed or Seb pulled--who led who to the bed? How'd they get here? How'd it become this?

Not that he can complain, he doesn't know and he doesn't fucking care how they ended up on top of each other, tangled together, knotted and beyond coming apart easily. He can't care because he's not even fully out of his shirt--it's half unbuttoned, pulled apart and pulled down to expose the upper half of his chest, flushed, normally pale skin and dark ink and a forest of hair, his necklace left astray, heated to his feverish body temperature and sizzling where it rests in the pit of his neck. That's not all, though. His shirt is rucked up to display even more of the scattered art across his skin, his abs clenching tight. He lost his slacks somewhere. Shoes, too. He was wearing shoes when he got in here, right? He had to be. Definitely. He wouldn't've--

It doesn't matter.

A moan comes tumbling out of Chris' mouth, and it doesn't fucking matter. His toes curl without even half of a muttled thought spared to investigating the sensation to rediscover if he's still wearing socks or not. And, oops, his boxer briefs are gone, too, now. Sebastian is stripping him of them impatiently, his hands frantic, greedy, as they slide down over his skin.

Bared, his cock hits his exposed stomach and Chris makes a sound that doesn't even make sense.

His mouth is open, somehow both too dry and wet with spit--almost drool. His bearded jaw has dropped so fucking wide it would be embarrassing if he could comprehend such a concept as embarrassment at a time like this.

This--

One leg bent at the knee, foot flat against the mattress, and the other leg curled indecently over his lover's shoulder as Sebastian's lips glide, slick and hot and unfairly erotic, against his cock, he's so hard so fast--responding to Seb's mouth like a subject of Pavlov, a damn dirty dog--that he's not even sure he was ever soft. How could he be soft when Sebastian is tilting his whole head into it? Getting fucking into it.

Woof.

He's merciless, mouthing at his dick, moaning like he fucking missed it. The weight. The taste. The mouthful. He must've missed it bad with how he's going at it, licking, dragging his tongue over it broadly, outrageously, then resting it heavily on his tongue, mouth open, sloppy, letting the tip slide against the soaked velvet inside of his cheek, bulging out pornographically, moaning, sucking on the tip, letting it slide deep shiveringly, impressively quickly. He's hungry--starved even.

And Chris' entire body clenches, uncontrollably, his muscles tight, helpless to not be swallowed up by it all. Then, just as involuntarily, Chris' hips buck up jaggedly.

Sebastian lets them, only groaning messily as Chris is enveloped deep in that lush mouth, deeper into that wicked throat.

Seb hardly even gags.

Fuuck.

Chris' neck arches harder, fighting and losing the battle against the flood of pleasure, feeling the sweet, hurting pull in his muscles and tendons past their usual use. Gasping, he can't get in enough oxygen to feed the bonfire Sebastian has sparked from just a match but grew impatient with, dumping gasoline on the whole fucking thing instead. Lighting. him. up.

Shit.

God, fuckin'--

It feels sofuckinggood.

His mouth.

Chris missed his mouth desperately, he missed him so badly, he was going crazy without him, now he's here and Chris can't understand it, did he take a plane? Did he drive from whatever fucking stop he was on with press? When? How long do they have? How is Chris supposed to think, to ask, when he can't even shut his fucking mouth. Groaning and gasping, then moaning. Endless. It's pure adrenalin and shock. Pleasure coursing through him so suddenly that it fractures him into a million tiny pieces.

Guh.

Sebastian is going to fucking suck his soul out of his body, going at him like that. It's not just the way he slurps and swallows and moans on his cock, though, it's how he's bobbing his head, taking it gorgeously, an inescapable, dire rush to every action, gagging, choking a little with his recklessness. He's filthy. He's gorgeous. He's--

"Oh. Oh," Chris can't stop any of the embarrassing sounds that are, just, coming out of him, spilling over, dripping down his chin, making a mess of his throat and chest. He's wet. Sweating. Spit. Dripping. "Wait," he's panting, moaning sharply, Sebastian's mouth is leaving scorching kisses down his shaft, his tongue flicking out to lewdly trace the throbbing veins, prominent on him visibly and psychologically, Chris' heart throbs in his chest, its beat pounding through his dick and rushing in his ears.

And Seb's just going, going, going--plunging deeper, getting to the base of his cock, slurping at his balls gluttonously, grazing them with his lips and teeth, sending tingling danger rushing through Chris like static.

"Baby-!"

He just keeps getting lower, using every weakness Chris has without even thinking about it, he knows his body too well, it's too, too good, so much, pulsing, rushing, boiling over.

"Baby, nno," he scrambles, his hands finding their way to Sebastian's gorgeous hair, pulling until he shivers and groans at the scalp-pin-prick pain, debauched, "I'm gonna," Chris struggles to use his mouth for something understandable, "oh, no, no-nnnghh, ugh, oh, I'm, w-we just st-AH-started! Wait!" He whines, "if you--'m gonna--"

His words turn from whining words to something entirely useless for communication, incoherent sounds of pleasure too good to not be afraid of it, razor-sharp around the edges, treacherous, all-consuming as Sebastian doesn't heed his strangled attempts at warning, burying his fucking face in him. He feels so fucking close to him that he might as well be inside him--reaching up through his gut to his chest to squeeze his racing heart--his nose pressed right up against that hypersensitive, intimate place behind his balls while his lips and tongue ravish his hole. He has no hesitation. No shame. He just--

Eats him.

He eats him out so fucking good, ravenous with that wet-dream mouth, that there's nothing Chris can do to stop it, even with his fist flying to the base of his dick to squeeze and choke off his embarrassingly early orgasm--it's all in vain. He can't stop it.

He's fucking cumming.

Spilling hard over his quivering stomach in all-consuming pumps that crash over him like storm-charged waves against the shore. His hips are pushed up so far--fighting it, squirming, trying to get away and get closer, and, shit, he doesn't even know what his body is doing as it's ripped out of him--that he nearly makes it to his bearded chin with his own release. It's wet and hot over his stomach, his chest, and his collarbones, almost his throat.

Christ.

With his chest fucking heaving, his lungs rasping, audibly struggling to get each breath out of his throat, Chris quakes through the aftershocks. Barely able to keep his eyes open enough to see Sebastian, buried between his legs, shuddering, and, oh fuck, thoughtlessly squirming against the bed, rubbing himself off against it, caught up in the same indulgent mood.

After another short, blurry, fast-motion moment, when Chris whines--again from too much pleasure, wishing for it to stop so he isn't so mortified, except for that last part, the mortification has already come, spreading itself out over his face like a proud, deep sunburn, then--Sebastian pulls away. His lips are swollen. Puffy, wet, and red. He looks as wrecked as Chris feels. Chris feels fucking scrambled. He's still half-humping the bed, whispering, heady, "Chris, Chr--" his voice catches in his throat "--Chris, Jesus," he spreads his legs wider, getting more friction, making Chris' sensitive cock jolt painfully at the obscene picture he makes, "you're so hot."

Chris feels hot. The blushing and embarrassed and squirming kind of hot, though. He kind of wants to fucking melt into the bed, it's been fucking years since he's cum with that little action and he usually prides himself on how he goddamn pleasures his partners first, then takes his, sometimes not even his own, he loves making others feel good and he's fucking good at doing it, bringing them to their knees, he's not like this, not normally; but, also, he really wants to surge forward, wrestle Seb flat onto his belly and get him back to tear into him. Right now, the best he can do, though, still recovering from the quick and dirty intensity of his shattering orgasm, is mumble, "your mouth," his face must be swollen with all the blood rushing into his tingling cheeks, "can't fuckin' help it, you drive me crazy," he excuses himself, shaky.

"Cr-crazy, nngh, yeahh," Seb echoes, losing it, melting from cocky and confident and in control to plain needy with all that good friction to his dick.

God, what a fucking sight he is, down there, between his legs, frenzied.