#I just think there's. problems. with the pacing

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Saying this as someone who's 37, likes to read physical books when they can, and fully understands the criticism that modern media is expecting increasingly short attention spans from it's audience...

I'll be real with you I was in the world's worst fit of adhd when I first wanted to watch the flash tv series as it was coming out, but I figured 'it's the flash, it'd be hilarious to watch at 2x speed..."

I was right. My commitment to the bit was rewarded. It was easier to sit though. I had a great time.

Problem,

I got used to watching TV at that speed and even started talking faster. My partner was not impressed.

I eventually got back to watching everything at normal speed, I was in my 20's at the time forgive me, but to this day sometimes I'll occasionally remember, when there's something I want to watch, especially on youtube, that's just going a little too slow or has some pacing issues, or I am willing to watch it for 15 minutes but not a half hour... I'll remember I can literally just make it go faster...

And I will shamelessly do that.

But the thing is that it's a lot like speed reading. You do it when you want to absorb the content for yourself, all of it, but aren't looking to savour something. There are lots of reasons to do this. People speed watch for a list of similar reasons to why some people sometimes opt to speed read. I think it's important we try not to judge.

But I do find it a little head tilt inducing when someone habitually watches everything they watch for enjoyment at 2x speed like that's just how they prefer to consume everything at all times.

Like there is a certain percentage of stuff you might expect to consume for the cultural reference, or to try to get into it when you aren't yet, or for the information and visuals but not the whole experience of sitting with it... But at some point you have to just spend less time consuming things just to consume them rather than for enjoyment?

My excuse is I have adhd and other quirks and CAN'T be medicated for them... I'm not sure what they're doing or why.

"good enough to watch at 1x speed" is a thing i see people occasionally mention on social media and it's always like. oh okay your perspective here is completely alien to mine. okay

[daphwritesworld]

#11 A. Putellas— Go Fuck Yourself.

content: Top!Alexia, Bottom!Reader, hate sex, impact play (R receiving), fingering (R receiving), orgasm denial, breath play, oral (r receiving)

warnings: public sex, bathroom sex, choking, degrading language (being called a bitch lol), impact play (literally one whole spank)

synopsis: You and Alexia have this toxic cycle of fighting in public and then fucking it out in private…what happens when those worlds start to blur?

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here’s a little something i found at the bottom of my google docs. my heads been feeling a little better, so hopefully tomorrow i can get some writing done!! the new Keira content is making me go into OVULATION btw 😮‍💨 the part 2 fic ideas have been steady BREWING my friends 😩

!! 18+ MINORS DNI !!

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“Go fuck yourself, Alexia!” Those four words led you to exactly where you are right now…Bent over the sink of a nightclub, your captain behind you as her fingers piston in and out of your pussy. The LED lights of the club above you drown you in a sea of red. The color suits her, that’s all you think of as you watch her through the mirror before you. You’re drooling at how her muscles bulge out of her dress, and her hair cascades down, framing her face perfectly. Her lips reach for the back of your neck, leaving some bites in her wake as she starts fingering you faster. You swear you can feel the shake of the bass of the music inside your cunt, pushing back onto her thick digits as you chase the feeling. She’s got you wholly at her disposal, the rage burning through your veins turning into pure desire. You two always end up like this, and the girls have started taking bets on how long it’ll take you both to just finally get together.

No one can give the same spitfire back to Alexia…no one except you. She doesn’t intimidate you like most. You have no problem laughing in her face and calling her an idiot. You’ll gladly tell her off for being a bitch or going too hard on a certain team member during practice. When everyone is quiet and respectful, there you are with a smirk gracing your face and a smart-ass reply ready to be fired off your tongue. It’s like you see a challenge in getting away with pushing her buttons and driving her to the edge…Well, until she fucks you back into submission. It’s a vicious cycle that you both keep dancing around– but a welcome one at that.

“Segueix muntant els meus dits com una gossa en calor,” it comes out raspy and ends with a bite to the lobe of your ear. Her teeth pulls your skin for a second, a sharp sting settling in as she trails her lips further down.

(keep riding my fingers like a bitch in heat.)

“i’m not your bitch— ahh!” She cuts you off with a harsh thrust of her wrist. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you how your tits start bouncing from the force. Your hips are digging into the counter so hard you know there will be bruises there later. Little reminders of her for you to reminisce about later.

She keeps up this rougher pace, harsher words spilling from her mouth before she gets distracted by marking the back of your shoulders with hickeys. “C-Can I cum?” It comes out in a desperate plea, one Alexia can’t help but laugh at.

A deep laugh that sends vibrations through your spine. Her free hand lands a sleep on your ass before it finds home making a ponytail of your hair. She yanks it until your back is against her front, her fingers somehow reaching even deeper inside of your pussy. You can’t hold back the whimpers this time— tired of being vowed to silence by the blonde behind you. “Say it,” it’s whispered against the back of your neck.

Your brows furrow as you search your brain for what she wants, “P-Please?”

Her pace starts to slow, a smirk growing on her face shown to you through the reflection on the wall. “How nice of you, bebita. But I mean admet que ets la meva puta.”

(admit you are my bitch.)

Your wide eyes meet her sharp ones in the mirror, watching your every reaction as you process her request. “No!”

She fakes a pout at you, cooing as she kisses your shoulder before pulling her fingers out of your pussy. “That’s too bad— tenia moltes ganes de veure’t venir.”

(I was really looking forward to seeing you cum)

You turn around now that you're freed from her grip, turning her back towards you. Your arms go up around her neck, pulling her down until your lips meet. She tries to back away at first, but your lips are like a drug to Alexia. Always there to drag her back down into this spiral of fighting, fucking, and repeat. She groans into your mouth when one of your hands pulls at the hair around the nape of her neck. She responds with a bite to your lower lip, dragging it away as she pulls back to put a hand back around your neck. Her other one falls to your waist, pushing you until your back hits the counter. It takes about 0.2 seconds for her to lift you up and set you on it, your legs spreading to make room for her on instinct. Her fingers find their way back inside you, three slipping in this time instead of two.

A shuttered gasp escapes you as she stretches out your cunt. You can hear the sounds of it now— the wet noises filling up the space over the music as Alexia uses her body weight to help her pound her fingers into you. She squeezes her hand around your neck, cutting off your air as she fucks you stupid. Your high is approaching faster this time, hurling towards you at the spread of light. Your legs start to shake and your pussy tightens around Alexia’s fingers.

You don’t even have to say anything for her to know you’re on the edge, she knows your body better than you at this point. Every flinch, twitch, grind, gasp, or whimper has a special code that only Alexia knows how to crack. She leans your foreheads together, “Say it or i’ll leave. Et deixaré aquí gotejant i necessitat.”

(I’ll leave you here dripping and needy.)

You find your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, trying to use every muscle in your body to hold back your orgasm as you debate the decision in your head. But as you feel her starting to slowly pull out, a loud declaration falls from your lips. “I’m your bitch! Sóc la teva petita puta!”

(I’m your little bitch!)

She surges forward at that, crashing your lips back together. “Go ahead, Cariño.”

Alexia swallows up your moans as you two keep kissing, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as she fucks you through your orgasm. You’re about to stand up and put your panties back on when she pushes your chest back. She slides your panties off around your ankle and tucks them into her purse sitting beside you on the counter. “W-What are you doing—”

“Shut up!” She growls out as she starts lowering herself between your spread legs, hands wrapping around your thighs as she keeps you held in place. “Estic intentant menjar el meu sopar.”

(I’m trying to eat my dinner.)

She licks a teasing strip up between your folds, avoiding your clit as she leans forward to press a gentle kiss to it. Alexia can feel your pussy throbbing against her puckered lips and she can’t help but groan. A hand tangles in her hair as she dives into your cunt, pulling at the perfectly styled strands as she works your overspent hole with her tongue. And as she pushes your hips further back onto the bathroom counter, your back hitting the cold glass of the mirror, you can only think one thing:

I really am Alexia’s bitch.

[ryescapades]

rin itoshi + nsfw + "don't act so shy now" please!!! thank you sm <3

→ EVENT OVERVIEW  

prompt: 11 - “don’t act so shy now,” characters: itoshi rin (bllk) x f!reader contents: nsfw mdni !! overstim, fingering, squirting, implied multiple orgasms, petname (baby), use of y/n once, teasing, lmk if there's more :') wc ~ 1k (not proofread!)

a/n: tysm for participating anon! wrote this as an expansion to this little brainrot i had yesterday

itoshi rin is getting restless.

the heat on the practice field is oddly suffocating, the clothes sticking to his back feels strange and icky, his goals aren’t hitting, his passes are lukewarm at best and impractical at worst, his teammates are more irritating than usual… among other things.

he’s fucking restless, and the aforementioned issues are not even the source of it.

rin slouches on the bench, leg bouncing as he reigns in the urge to literally bite his infuriating teammate's head off who’s sitting beside him and has been prattling on and on about the match. his coach had told him to sit the second half out, considering how much of a joy he had been acting the past almost half an hour.

his phone buzzes again in his duffel bag by his feet, the vibration sending his teeth grinding against each other in agitation. he pulls it out and immediately opens the message app to your contact just as another text from you comes in.

and there it is. the root of all his problems.

‘have i told you i missed you today? no?? i miss you rinnie :))‘ the text reads. and it would’ve sounded completely innocent if not for the image attachment you’d shared along with it.

it’s a selfie of you in the mirror, looking all pretty and absolutely his while wearing one of his jerseys. no pants, no bra, and no underwear. rin found that out from all the other– how many was it again? probably seven or eight pictures you’d sent prior to this one.

a wave of feverishness rushes inside his veins, flowing down south and making his blood boil until he can feel his pants tightening at his groin. his control is persisting on a fine thread, waiting to snap just at the right moment–

his phone vibrates in his hand. one text of ‘i think she misses you too lol’ and another scandalous photo that insinuates the heaven between your ridiculously sinful thighs later, rin thinks his mind has blacked out from that point on. the last of his control splinters and fractures into bits, and he’s already gathering his stuff from the ground before he heads towards the exit with no more than a muttered “i’m going home,” towards his coach.

the drive back feels like a nonexistent event to his brain, and so is the moment he steps through the threshold, teal hues darkening when they connect with your pair of frozen, unblinking eyes as if resembling a deer caught in headlights. “r-rin? you’re back early… how was–”

everything passes by in a blur and the next thing you know, rin has you sat with him on the bed, back against his chest and jersey bunching on your navel as he pulls another earth-shattering orgasm out of you with his fingers. “come on, baby. you can give me one more, can’t you?” he murmurs against your ear.

tears clump your lashes together, and the hitched breath erupts into a broken whine when rin starts another ruthless pace, his middle and ring fingers thrusting in and out of your sopping cunt to make you fall over the edge again.

“rin–” your hips buck in his hold as you barely notice the drenched sheets underneath your ass from how much you’ve been coming. “‘s too much, i can’t–” you whimper, thighs shaking from the overstimulation and threatening to close before rin hooks one of them beneath his and keeps a firm grip on the other, hindering you from hiding away.

“should’ve thought of that before sending those pictures to me,” he tuts against the side of your head and relishes the way you squeeze around his digits, soaking them with your slick and cum even more. his own arousal grows, digging further into your back and pushing against the constraint of his pants as your hand weakly tries to push him off.

wouldn’t be surprising if there’s already a wet patch there but he’ll take care of that later. for now, you need to be taught a lesson first after teasing him like that.

there’s a dirty cacophony of wet squelching sounds, your moans and his grunts that continues to echo in the room. rin pays it no mind, moving his thumb to rub harsh circles on your swollen clit instead. your eyes roll to the back of your head, the constant drag of his deft fingers against your sensitive walls making you delirious and drunk in an unstable cloud of maddening lust.

another broken sound spills from your parted lips as more slick visibly gushes out between his fingers, causing you to turn and hide your reddened face in his neck. “don’t act so shy now. didn’t you say this pussy missed me? i’m just giving her what she wants,” he gruffly says before gripping your chin to make you watch him play with your body as he pleases.

that familiar heat pools in your stomach, burning up your entire body in a flame of carnal desire as your next climax approaches. rin, however, is becoming impatient. he did mentally decide for one last time before he fucks you on his cock, after all.

desperate now more than ever to get on to the latter part of his decision, his fingers keep the relentless pace on your poor cunt as he rests his palm on your lower belly and gently presses down.

there’s a slight pause in your labored pants, the air getting stuck in your throat before you keen, a sharp and dizzying sense of pleasure colliding against your very mind, body and soul like a tidal wave. you’re once again thrown off the cliff, shattering and coming undone with a ruptured cry of his name tearing from your mouth.

“shit, y/n.” he curses, unable to take his eyes off the sight of you squirting on his fingers as his cock throbs even harder, your cum dripping down to his wrist in an obscene trail.

holy fuck, that might’ve been the hottest thing rin has ever experienced in his entire life.

i’m ovulating don’t look at me taglist open !

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 3)

Agatha and you have a talk about the future

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 69, oral, smut, angst (hopefully not as much), why would you ever talk about feelings/problems when you could just fuck instead

“What? What part?” you ask, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. “If it’s the City, it’s fine, that’s not far away, you could even stay here.” 

Agatha purses her lips. “It’s in Albany.” 

Your stomach drops. Two hours away by car on a good day, about four by train. Agatha has a pitiful look on her face and you want to scoff. 

Of course she’s feeling sorry for you. 

“Honey,” she starts, cool and calm as ever and it makes you fucking enraged. She reaches out to touch you again — why does she keep trying to do that? why doesn’t she realize that she isn’t going to fix anything? — but you shove her aside and scramble off the couch, beginning to pace with your head in your hands. 

Is this better than the affair? She still lied to you. She still didn’t tell you about it, she’s still looking to get out. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you demand, pausing to look at her. 

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t — I didn’t want to before it got real. I wasn’t even sure I was going to go, but my friend reached out and it’s a really good opportunity. The company took me out to dinner last night as an informal interview and I ended up staying the night. I didn’t think you’d come here, I thought you were mad at me or something. Baby, I was really worried about you.” 

In any other situation, you’d feel touched by her concern, but it really just pisses you off even more. This isn’t about you. “I thought you were having an affair,” you say again and her face falls. 

“I would never—”

You don’t even want to hear it. “Look, don’t change the subject, okay? The point is, you did this huge thing without even telling me and now — what? You’re moving to New York?” 

Now she seems unable to meet your eyes, an uncharacteristic shyness radiating off her. “I haven’t even gotten the job yet.”

Your mind starts to whirl with the possibilities. “If you get it, are you going to take it?” 

There’s a thick silence that hangs over you two for a moment and you can see the vein in her forehead pulse as she thinks about it. But her hesitation is all the answer you need. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You don’t even know where your head is at — you’re so fucking mad, but you’re also so relieved that she isn’t cheating, but then now there’s this wrench that could possibly mean the end of things. You’re not going to let that happen. Dropping to your knees in front of her and finally touching her of your own accord with your palms flat on her legs, you earnestly look at her. “We can…we can figure it out, we will figure it out. I can come down on the weekends or you can come here or — I can transfer! I’ll transfer to somewhere in New York and we can get an apartment, just the two of us, and obviously I won’t be much help with the rent because it’s expensive as shit there—”

Agatha pulls you up by your cheeks and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. You lose yourself in the feeling of her lips against yours and you moan softly, everything slipping away for just a moment. In these five seconds, it’s just the two of you and nothing else can come between you. 

But then she breaks away and sighs heavily, resting her forehead against yours. “You just started school here,” she says gently. “I can’t make you give that up. Don’t you like it?”

You shrug lazily. “It’s the first week. I’m not too attached. I’m sure somewhere there will be just as good.” 

“What about your parents? What would you tell them?” 

Why does it feel like she doesn’t want you there? You can’t help the frown tugging on your lips. “I’ll just say that I don’t like it at Westview. I’m sure I can come up with something. They’ll just want me to be happy.” Agatha makes you happy, but there’s a flicker of doubt growing in your stomach.

She cups your cheek and leans back so you’re able to see her eyes. They’re blue as the ocean, full of emotion, and glassy. “Why don’t you give it a few months, hm? I don’t want you to throw away your school and your family just for me. If you really don’t like it, then we can talk.”

“What if I just drop out of school and become your trophy wife? I’ll be such a good one, I’d wear nothing but an apron all day and make your favorite foods and then I can sit on your strap while you eat dinner.” You play it off like a joke, but deep down, you would be more than willing. You hope she says yes. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh and sniffs, tracing a finger down the skin of your face like she’s trying to memorize it. “Wear a short little maid outfit that just happens to ride up and show off your bare cunt when you’re on your knees cleaning the floor?” 

You hum and close your eyes in pure bliss at the thought. “See, now you get it. It would be so perfect, right? 

“So perfect,” she agrees, but her smile lingers until it’s wistful. There’s a longing pang inside you, one that threatens to tear you open, but you push it down. “I know I haven’t gotten it yet, but I won’t take it,” she says quietly after a moment and your brows furrow in confusion. “If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t.” 

Every single morsel of your body is screaming for you to ask her to stay. It would be so easy, and then you could just pretend that none of this — the suspicion, the lies, the sneaking around — never happened. Everything could go back to the way it was before. 

But the slightest fear that she would start to resent you for it creeps into the back of your mind. Sure, she might not mind at first, but over time when her job here gets old and she’s unhappy, she’s going to blame you. She’s going to start to hate you for holding her back, and what if you’re not worth it? 

The last thought hits you like a punch to the gut. Are you enough to keep her content if she stays? Are you enough to keep her happy? 

You’re paralyzed and she’s looking at you expectantly, like it’s an easy fucking decision. You want to complain that it’s not fair for her to put this on you, that she should want to be with you so badly that she willingly gives up the new position for you, but maybe she’s having the same doubts.

The only thing you know is that you don’t want to end up like your parents, with a loveless marriage and a cold, empty house despite the family living in it and the bitter silence of words left unsaid haunting every moment. You don’t want this to become an open wound that festers until Agatha hates you for it. 

“If it’s a better job and if you want it, you should take it,” you say, almost surprised by how eerily calm your voice sounds. 

Agatha looks taken aback for just the slightest moment but nods. “You’re sure?” 

No! Stay with me! I fucking love you! 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she bends down to kiss you again, so sweetly that it hurts. She murmurs something against your lips but you don’t even think to ask what she says because you can’t stop the nausea climbing up your throat. 

You jump back and run to the bathroom before vomiting in the toilet. You sink to the floor, shaking and sweating and trembling, and you’re vaguely aware of Agatha’s hands in your hair, holding it back, and telling you that everything is going to be alright. Is it?

She gets a wet washcloth and holds it against your head while you don’t move from your position, waiting to see if you have to puke again. 

“Had too much to drink last night,” you mutter, feeling like you’re drunk all over again, when she asks if you’re feeling okay. “Thought you were cheating.”  

You hear a heavy sigh behind you and tears prick your eyes. Is she disappointed? Does she think you’re being just a stupid kid? “I wouldn’t, honey. I wouldn’t do that. I promise. I—” She stops and strokes your hair instead.

It feels like there’s something she’s not saying, but maybe you’re just reading into it. 

And then there’s your I love you while she was fucking you, still fresh in your mind. Do you say it again? Do you ask if she heard it? Or just wait until she says it first?

If she does. You can’t get these stupid insecurities and doubts out of your mind and it’s killing you. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?” she asks gently and you shake your head. “Come on, why don’t we get you into the shower and then into bed?”

You want to protest just to be petulant, but you’re just so fucking tired. “Okay, mommy,” you say and she sharply inhales, but pretends to be unaffected. Good to know that you can still get to her after you look like you’ve just been through hell. 

She turns the water on and you numbly wait until she guides you up and helps you undress before you step into the shower. You almost buckle to the ground but Agatha holds you up, the sleeves of her blazer getting soaked, but she doesn’t even notice it. 

It’s an awkward position, her on the outside of the tub and you barely standing up inside it, but she rubs your skin and you slowly feel warmth returning to your body. 

You’re about to ask if she’ll get in with you — you see the way she can’t stop looking at your tits and you’re suddenly longing to feel her on you, a reminder that she is yours — when a phone rings. 

Definitely not yours; your phone is always on silent. 

Agatha curses and tells you she’ll be right back before disappearing from the bathroom. The cold feeling starts to grow back in your stomach, creeping up to your throat and gripping tightly. 

“Yes — this is she!” you hear her say from the other room, her voice getting louder as she comes back into the bathroom. You look at her with wide eyes and she gives you a tight smile. “Oh, I did? Well, thank you very much, that is wonderful news.”

The person on the other line starts talking and you can only catch quick muffles of it, but from Agatha’s face, you already know. 

“Of course, yes, hang on just one second,” she says and presses her phone against her shoulder to give you her full attention. Eye contact with her feels like a stab to the gut. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay with this? You can say no.” 

Can you? 

It’s on the tip of your tongue — it would be so easy to ask her to turn it down, so easy to ask her to choose you. She’s waiting for an answer but each drop of water on your skin feels like a chant: no. no. no. You know Agatha’s trying to remain neutral, but you can tell she wants the job, by the way she’s twitching her fingers and the barely concealed pleading look on her face and the way she’s holding her phone so tightly it’s making her veins pop out all bluish and purplish. 

It’s clear that you cannot say no. 

You’re not sure she would ever forgive you, and you’re not sure you would ever forgive yourself. You can’t ask her to throw away this opportunity, not for you. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you say hoarsely, feeling a lot like you just signed a death warrant. 

But plenty of people do long distance, and two hours really isn’t that bad. Plus it just means that with all the waiting, the sex will be even hotter. Her moving away doesn’t mean anything. 

And you can transfer at the end of the semester, so really you just have to make it a few months. 

Agatha’s beam is one of pure gratitude and you know you made the right choice, but she’s back to talking on the phone and your little moment is interrupted. “Oh…two weeks? Of course, I can totally do that.” 

A flash of panic bolts through you and you mouth two weeks? at her. She purses her lips and shrugs apologetically, like that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

The rest of her phone call is blurred out by your sudden inability to hear anything but the rush of the water that has suddenly become so loud it’s taken over all your thoughts and you don’t even realize that she’s hung up and cleaned you off and gotten you out of the shower until you’re shivering and naked and Agatha’s wrapping a towel around you. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she murmurs because you’re now uncontrollably shaking and you think you might be crying a little. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She presses kisses to your forehead and cheeks and nose, muttering the same sort of sentients, while the towel around you slips to the floor when you throw your arms around her and cling to her like she’s your lifeline, like she’s everything you’ll ever need, and she holds you back so tightly you think you might fuse into one being. 

The two of you stand there like that until your skin gets clammy and pruney and your eyes are raw. When you finally pull back, your muscles ache and the front of Agatha’s clothes are absolutely soaked, so you tug on them until she gets the message and begins to strip. 

Her blazer comes off, and then she untucks her blouse from her pants and slowly begins to unbutton it, each time revealing more of her perfect pale skin. You can see the faint outlines of her ribs and then her stomach, the red bites from two days ago still there, albeit faded. 

There’s no mistaking the “M” though. A hot thrill runs through you despite the solemn air between you and a fire starts to flicker to life in your stomach. You reach out to trace your mark as if in a trance and Agatha’s breath hitches. 

Swallowing roughly, your eyes dart up to meet her already-dark ones. “We should talk about the job, right? Figure out what it means for us?” you ask, but even as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the atmosphere shift into something else. 

“Right,” Agatha nods, but she can’t stop looking down at your pebbled nipples — from the cold or from her? 

When she surges forward, clasps your cheeks, and pulls your mouth to hers, you know that it’s both. The kiss is messy, teeth knocking against each other and her tongue invading your mouth and breathing each other’s air, and you wrap your arms around her neck to bring her even closer. She didn’t get to take her pants off yet, but it feels absolutely delicious when she slides a thigh between yours and you grind down onto it. Your nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and you can’t help but moan into her open mouth. 

Fire roars beneath your skin, spreading to all over your body, and you suddenly just need more. You need her to overwhelm all your senses until you can’t fucking think about anything else, not the job, not her moving, not the fact that you could’ve stopped this but didn’t — you just want her. 

She grabs onto your hip to guide you against her leg and you whine as she sucks on your tongue. Her other hand comes up to cup your right breast and roll your nipple and you mewl and jerk against her. She tugs and it feels directly connected to your cunt because you pulse and it only gets worse when she flexes her thigh underneath you. 

“Bed — bedroom, please,” you choke out and her mouth doesn’t leave yours, walking you backwards into the bedroom and not stopping until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

Agatha pushes you down onto it, the duvet beneath you instantly getting wet from your dripping pussy, and she shimmies off her pants and underwear and sinks to her knees in front of you. It’s a sight to behold, her looking up at you from the floor like she wants to devour you, like she would hang the stars and the sun in the sky for you and it still wouldn’t be enough. The power running through you from the heat in her eyes and the ragged heaving of her red chest and the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder is enough to drive you mad. 

“You’re so perfect,” she breathes and it only makes you wetter. You buck your hips against the bed, trying to get some stimulation to your now-aching clit, but it’s not even close to enough. 

But it’s not even five seconds later when she leans in, inhales the scent of you deeply, and then drags her flattened tongue through your folds, making you keen and arch your back. She is so good with her mouth and she never fails to remind you. 

“Fuck, Agatha,” you gasp, and you usually don’t call her by her name during sex, normally opting for mommy, but you need the intimacy right now. You need to feel like this is real. 

She groans into you and teases her tongue around your clit, never quite touching it, and you bury your fingers in her hair and gently pull on it. Her eyes flick up to yours as a warning and you loosen your grip. Agatha gives you an almost imperceptible nod and rewards you with one long lick to your clit and your head falls back. 

You can no longer hold yourself up when she thrusts her tongue inside you, and you fall back onto the bed, instantly clenching around you. She feels so fucking good, her tongue curling inside your cunt and her nose brushing against your clit, and you angle a leg up on the bed so she can reach deeper inside you. “God, yes,” you sigh, and your orgasm is slowly starting to build up with each roll of your hips and each time your stomach tightens. 

But something is missing — you can’t help your thoughts from straying and you just need more. 

So you stop her and she looks up at you, the entire bottom half of her face and nose absolutely covered with you. Your clit throbs and you sit up.

“I need — I want — wanna taste you too, Aggie,” you whine and you’ve never used that nickname before, but you think she likes it because she lunges up, capturing your lips with hers again, and knocking you straight back onto the bed. 

She nods while still kissing you, whispering, “Fuck, honey, how are you so hot? How are you so perfect for me?” 

You clench around nothing and you claw at her shoulder blades frantically, knowing what you need but not how to ask for it. 

But Agatha knows — she always knows what you want, except for when it really counts apparently. She gets off of you and scooches on her knees until she’s situated behind your head, facing your body. And then she moves to frame your face with her thighs, her glistening cunt hovering right above your face, and she bends over to pry your legs open before leaning down and sucking on your clit roughly. 

You squirm and palm her ass to pull her down to your mouth, and at your first lick through her folds, she moans right into you, the vibrations making you jump. Eating her out while also being eaten out is an experience like no other you’ve ever had. Every single thing you do to her affects her, which in turn, affects you. 

The positive feedback loop has both of you sloppily mouthing at each other’s cunts, mimicking motions while also losing all sense of rhythm, and when she digs her fingernails into your thighs and scrapes her teeth against your clit, you let out a high-pitched sound that has her riding your face furiously. 

Agatha is getting louder too — you can feel it more than hear it, and you are completely drunk on her smell and her taste and how good she’s making you feel. You dip your tongue into her entrance, stroking against her convulsing walls before swirling around her clit and she pauses what she’s doing for a moment to just breathe heavily against your pussy before diving back in. 

All thoughts of anything else are completely out of your foggy mind and you feel like you’re floating, not able to focus on anything else besides Agatha. 

If you would’ve known that your dad having an affair would have led to you having the hottest sex with the hottest woman ever, you definitely wouldn’t have been so mad about it. 

“Oh, god, baby, you’re so good,” she says into your cunt and it only makes you grind up harder. She matches your intensity, riding your face fast, her clit dragging against your tongue. You groan in agreement and her stomach glides against your nipples while hers do the same and you know that it won’t be long before either of you cum. 

She nips at your inner thigh before plunging her tongue inside you and it has your hips bucking. “Fuck — Agatha,” you cry, barely able to keep eating her out because of how stimulated you are. Pleasure is racing through every ridge of your body and your head is spinning. 

“That’s right, honey,” she pants, lathering her tongue all over your clit. “Cum for me.” 

The tension inside you snaps and you cum, riding out the immense wave as she continues lapping at you and you suck on her clit, triggering her own orgasm. There’s a gush of wetness all over your face and she keeps rolling her hips, chasing the last tendrils. 

That was one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, you think, and when Agatha flops down onto the bed next to you, breathing heavily, you think she might agree. 

“Fuck,” you say, completely wiped out, and Agatha chuckles weakly in response, reaching a hand out to rest her fingers against yours, not quite interlocking them. The two of you lay like that for what feels like forever, just soaking in the silence and the comfort of being right next to each other. 

You’re not sure who moves first — maybe it’s a mutual decision, but eventually you slide up to the pillows and Agatha turns around and moves next to you. Rotating onto your side, you hear the sheets rustle behind you and right on cue, Agatha’s arm snakes around you, holding you close enough to her that you can feel her heartbeat against your back and her breath on your neck. 

She kisses the top of your ear and you snuggle back against her. You know that you should put on clothes and clean up your mess, but for right now, you just need to feel her against you. 

“We’re going to be okay?” you ask timidly. It seems like it was so long ago that you were spiraling out of control because you thought she was cheating. 

Agatha’s arm tightens around yours. “We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

And you think you might actually believe her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg

[mikkeneko]

Do you feel shy about "bothering" emergency personnel with problems you don't know are serious or not? Let me tell you a story.

When I was in college, there was an on-campus emergency line, including on-campus poison control. I was doing the usual student thing -- stressed, sleep-deprived, in a new environment, generally just floundering to establish a structured life. My dorm was noisy so I slept with earplugs, but not well. One night, around 3 AM I woke up, realized I had something in my hand, thought "ah, this must be medication I should take," and swallowed them.

Reader, I swallowed my earplugs.

In retrospect this was not a serious problem, but at the time it was 3AM, I was young, sleep deprived, away from home for the first time -- I panicked. Sat bolt upright and thought OH NO. I SWALLOWED MY EARPLUGS. WHAT IF I CHOKE? WHAT IF THE CHEMICALS IN THEM POISON ME? WHAT IF THEY CAUSE A BOWEL OBSTRUCTION AND I DIE?? I paced around a little bit hysterically and eventually decided to call campus poison control. Just in case.

Now, I want you to switch perspectives a bit. Imagine you are a dude working a poison control hotline at a university. A panicked young woman calls in at 3 AM and says she took something she thinks she shouldn't have. You are bracing yourself for the worst -- party drugs, meth, cocaine, tide pods, it could be literally anything, you've seen all sorts of shit in this job. You are grimly preparing a dispatch to this young woman's dorm and the possibility of an obit in the news.

And then she says, in a quavery voice, "I swallowed my earplugs."

I remember there was a distinct pause. I remember that the young man in poison control very politely did not laugh at me, but there was definitely a supressed smile in his voice when he came back on the line, and told me that I would probably be fine, to just monitor my digestion for a few days and go to urgent care if I felt any abdominal pain.

No disasters tonight, no hospital visits, no catastrophe; everything will be fine.

So in conclusion: Call poison control. Even if it's not serious, they won't be upset to hear from you. If anything, hearing a nonserious story will brighten their night.

Life-changing OCD hack is learning that you can literally call poison control to check if you fucked up and took medications wrong in a way that could kill you instead of having a panic attack while reading reddit and quora threads for an hour. They won't even be mad at you. Like obviously don't do it every day or something but genuinely you can do this if you need to

[7ndipity]

Their S/o Has Social Anxiety

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How the members would handle their partner having really bad social anxiety(sometimes to the point where they can’t leave their house)

Warnings: mentions of anxiety and agoraphobia, not proofread

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this! As someone who also suffers from anxiety issues, I hope this will bring you some comfort and make you smile

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Jin: Jin also has a bit of social anxiety, so I think he’d really understand your struggle and try to help make you as comfortable with him as possible. He’d happily come to your house to hang out for date nights instead of you coming to him or the two of you going out somewhere, without ever making it feel awkward or like an inconvenience. He would gladly help try and help you broaden your comfort zones if you wanted, but he’d never pressure you to do anything you aren't fully ready to do.  

Yoongi: He’s mentioned in the past about having anxiety issues as well, so he’d definitely understand your struggles to a certain degree. He would do his best to comfort and reassure you to keep you from feeling pressured or overwhelmed if/when you go out together. He would be really good at reading your cues and knowing when you need a break to breathe and recenter yourself, and would sit patiently beside you through any attacks or low points that you might go through. All he cares about is you feeling safe and supported.

Hobi: As I’ve said before, this man is comfort incarnate. He’s so kind and understanding about your anxieties and fears and is more than happy to keep date nights just between the two of you at home to make you comfortable. On the days you do feel up for going out, he stays close by your side the whole time, hyping you up and keeping your attention at least partially focused on him so you don’t get overwhelmed as easily. He just approaches it all with a very light, loving energy that instantly puts you at ease.

Namjoon: Honestly, despite him being quite extroverted, I could see him being super understanding of your anxieties, though he might struggle at times to understand your perspective on certain situations. Lowkey, he becomes your bodyguard whenever the two of you go out, lol, making sure your not overwhelmed and feel calm and secure in your surroundings. When you’re struggling or having a bad day, he’d be soo comforting and calming, even if all you need is a realllly tight hug(his hugs have healing powers, I’m sure)

Jimin: God bless this sweet boy, he would be soo patient and gentle with you, talking softly and keeping a hand in yours the whole time whenever you go out together. He would have no problem with date nights just being cozy nights in, or even just talking on the phone instead on the days when you’re really struggling and find it hard to be around even him. Whatever helps you feel more comfortable and allows the two of you to spend more time together is all he cares about.

Taehyung: Though he seems to enjoy being around people, he’s quite empathetic and would be soo comforting and soothing to have around when you're feeling anxious. He’d be great at combating the guilt/embarrassment that sometimes comes with the fear of social interaction, giving you a reasurring squeeze(if you’re comfortable) and remiding you that it’s okay to take your time and do things at your own pace. He’d set up date nights at home that are so cute nither of you miss going out.

Jungkook: He may not understand the full extent of your anxieties, but I think he would be really sympathetic and acomodating to your needs. Like this dude’s more than happy having a cozy night in, building y’all a pillow fort and bingewatching whatever show or movies you want. He’s super protective whenever you do feel like going out, making sure that you’re as comfortable as possible and taking breaks to make sure you don’t push yourself too far and get drained or overwhelmed.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

[frillydolle]

hiiii !!! so i dont know if it was u who wrote an arthur x reader fic where reader wears their fathers glasses to read? im pretty sure it wasnt, but i thought of it as a good idea. so, what im asking is, would u be comfortable writing something with reader wearing glasses but instead of not seeing things near they don't see things far away. so they're going through life blurry and arthur notices because they keep bumping into things bc they have no sense of depth without their glasses. offers to make them an appointment for eye doctor and helps them choose the glasses and everything ? thought it would be cute (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

arthur morgan x blind female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ wearing my glasses right now as i write this :)

“sweetheart, 'm right here— no, 'm here—... y'alrigh'?”

“... i think so.”

that was probably the fourth time u have walked into something? no one else wasn't really sure why, but only because u didn't tell anyone. it was like a secret of urs that u have kept for a long while.

arthur was really the only man who knew u struggled with ur eyesight for as long as u can remember. shooting was a huge problem that u avoid as much as u could despite living in an outlaw gang, arthur would do best his best to help u, but it never went well. u couldn't even hit a bottle!

shooting was definitely not in ur skills. no matter the number of times that arthur willing helps u shoot a gun or help u aim better, nothing worked. u always still managed to shoot a tree or shoot at.. basically nothing, u always missed the three empty bottles he placed for u to gun at.

“mr morgan, i can't— i can't see that bottle, 's too far.”

“want me to bring it closer?”

of course he did. undeniably, he's always had a soft spot for you, but it's not like he'd admit anyone else in camp or you, especially. he treated u like a fragile girl, which u weren't too far from. having bad eyesight did make u feel more vulnerable and fragile, and arthur knew this. makes him just a little protective with you as he's often seen with his fingers intertwined with urs or his arm rests around ur waist. it gave yoy sense of safety and.. comfort.

sometimes the silly man might forget just how blind you really are:( he'd never mean to! he'd just be so so focused on something and he'd bring you with him and it just slips his mind simply!

“arthur, wait—!” you'd say as u try to catch up to his pace, ur hands slightly out just in case u fall. “oh, 'm sorry, sweetheart. 'm right 'ere.”

but now, he decided to help you, proper this time. the two of u are on his horse whike trotting away, your hands around his torso tightly incase you fall or anything like such. you had no idea where he was taking you though, his words being “'s a secret, but nothin' too big, y'know?” nonetheless, you were just glad that he out if camp, noticing how stressed he would be until his blue-green eyes would set on you:(

“... saint denis? what do you have planned, arthur?” you say with a small giggle, looking at him while he's looking straight onto the road in front of him. “jus' a nice day out. you 'n' me.” he replied. huh. a nice day out. just a day out. but days were him were never often that simple, usually ended with someone recognising from blackwater or another robbery, or you talking him out of beating a man for making you uncomfortable. you thanked him regardless, making sure you're safe and well.

then he hitches off his hourse, you follow suit...the doctor's office? what was he doing here? i mean, he's fine, right? you're fine too except your eyesight, of course. wait, was he—

“c'mon, darlin'. yer fine, i promise ya.” he says as he sticks his arm to you, waiting for you to hold his arm before walking into the building. he knew you were slightly anxious about it, but he was willing to help you in any way he could.

a man like him... blood on his hands, lives taken because of him, rough and callous from hard work, a man like him with all bite and bark like a violent dog. that man bring a sweet girl like you to the doctor's office to get you sorted out with a new pair of glasses. ♡

[00valentina-writes00]

Grayson fingering you in her office? Plaplspslslsmbxnsms I need it.

♡♥︎Hold It Together♥︎♡

Warnings: NSFW (18+), semi-public sex, fingering, Mild orgasm control, praise, office setting, established relationship, Grayson being in control.

The walls of Grayson’s office are thick—sturdy, built to muffle the sounds of confidential conversations, urgent reports, and the weight of justice being debated behind closed doors. But they aren’t soundproof.

And right now, that’s a problem.

You bite down on your bottom lip so hard you can taste copper, your fingers gripping the edge of her heavy wooden desk in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. The room smells of parchment, ink, and the lingering scent of Grayson’s cologne, a scent that clings to the fabric of her crisp uniform. It’s heady, comforting, and dizzying all at once.

Especially when her fingers are buried inside you.

“You’re trembling, sweetheart,” Grayson murmurs against your ear, her breath warm, teasing. Her voice is always so controlled, so composed—but there’s an unmistakable edge of amusement in it now.

She likes this. Loves the way you’re struggling, the way your body betrays you even as you fight to hold still, to keep quiet.

You gasp when she curls her fingers just right, pressing against that spot that makes your knees weak. Your body jerks, but she holds you in place, her other hand resting heavily against the small of your back, keeping you right where she wants you.

“Did you think you could come here, spread yourself over my desk, and walk away unpunished?” she muses, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

You shake your head, but words fail you. You can’t think—not when she’s moving her fingers in slow, deliberate strokes, her palm pressing firmly against your clit with every motion.

Your breath stutters. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Outside, the muffled sounds of the precinct hum around you—officers talking, boots against tile, the occasional crackle of a radio. If anyone knocked right now, if anyone stepped inside—

You don’t get to finish that thought. Grayson withdraws her fingers, just enough to make you whine, only to press them back in with a steady, unrelenting force. Your walls flutter around her, struggling to accommodate the thick digits that know your body better than you do.

“You need to be quiet, sweetheart,” she warns, her lips against your jaw now, pressing the softest kiss there before pulling back just enough to watch you struggle. “Or do you want them to hear?”

You shake your head again, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

She hums in approval. “Then hold it together.”

Easier said than done.

Your thighs are shaking, your body wound tight as a bowstring. Every drag of her fingers, every deliberate press of her thumb against your aching clit sends you spiraling further, making it harder to stay still, to stay silent.

“Please,” you whisper, barely audible, but she hears it. Of course, she hears it.

“Please, what?” she asks, still in control, still composed, despite the undeniable heat in her voice.

You squeeze your thighs around her hand, hips stuttering in search of more friction, more something.

“Please let me cum,” you beg, breath hitching as she curls her fingers again, teasing the edge of your release without quite letting you tip over.

Grayson chuckles, the sound low and knowing. She could make you wait. She should make you wait—draw it out, make you squirm, make you work for it. But she’s not feeling particularly cruel tonight.

“Be a good girl, then,” she murmurs, her pace quickening just enough to make you see stars.

And fuck, you try—try so hard to hold it together, to stay silent, to obey. But when she presses her palm firmly against your clit and grinds down just right, the pleasure snaps through you with ruthless efficiency.

A sharp, choked sob escapes your throat before you can swallow it down. You slap a hand over your mouth too late, your entire body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of unbearable pleasure.

Grayson doesn’t stop. She fucks you through it, coaxing every last tremor from your body, milking your release until your legs threaten to give out beneath you.

Only then does she slow, withdrawing her fingers with a teasing final stroke that makes you whimper.

You slump forward, panting, your forehead resting against her desk as you struggle to catch your breath. Your body feels boneless, weightless, as the aftershocks pulse through you.

Grayson takes her time fixing your wrinkled skirt, smoothing it down with deliberate care. Then, she lifts her hand—still slick with your release—to your lips.

“Clean up your mess, sweetheart.”

You shiver, but you obey, parting your lips to take her fingers into your mouth, your tongue gliding over them, tasting yourself on her skin.

Her dark eyes burn with something heavy, something possessive as she watches you.

She pulls her fingers away with a soft, pleased hum before pressing one final kiss to your temple.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, she steps back, straightens her uniform, and smooths a hand over her hair as if nothing happened at all. You on the other hand, shake as you pull your underwear and pants back up.

A knock on the door makes you flinch, your stomach twisting with residual panic.

Grayson? She doesn’t even blink.

“Come in,” she calls, her voice as composed as ever.

You swear you see the ghost of a smirk tugging at her lips when she watches you try to compose yourself.

She did that on purpose.

And you love her for it.

[zuzu-tries-to-write]

Katsuki Bakugo X Reader

Summary: Bakugo has spent years bullying you, masking his true feelings behind insults and harsh words. But when he finds out you’re dating someone else, something inside him snaps. Fueled by jealousy and frustration, he finally confesses—his way. With heated words, desperate kisses, and a possessiveness he can’t control, he makes it clear: you were always his. And now, he’s never letting you go.

(This one bakugo is a bit possessive but please don’t mind that)

Bakugo had always been a problem in your life. Since the first year at U.A., he had made it his mission to push your buttons, belittle your victories, and scoff at your every move.

At first, you thought it was just his personality. He was an ass to everyone. But as time went on, you noticed things—how he only seemed to get truly pissed when you outshined him in training, how he always had a comment about your friends, how his teasing was relentless when it came to you.

You had no idea why he was like that, and frankly, you had stopped caring.

Which was why, when Daiki—one of the second-year students from another class—asked you out, you said yes. He was sweet, kind, and most importantly, nothing like Bakugo.

The moment Bakugo found out, everything changed.

You weren’t expecting the confrontation to happen so soon.

It had only been a few days since you started dating Daiki, and already, your phone was full of texts from Ashido and Kaminari.

Ashido: Girl, I just saw Bakugo nearly murder a training dummy. WTF did you do to him?

Kaminari: Bro’s been pacing like a damn tiger in the lounge. He’s gonna explode.

You ignored the texts. It wasn’t your problem. If Bakugo was being a moody asshole, what else was new?

But you weren’t expecting him to grab you right outside the training hall and shove you against the wall, his arms caging you in before you could react.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “Excuse me?”

He scowled. “Don’t play dumb. You and that extra.”

Your stomach twisted. “Daiki?” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s what this is about?”

He let out a harsh scoff. “Of course it’s about that. The hell are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I finally found someone who isn’t an asshole to me,” you shot back, frustration bubbling up. “Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

His jaw clenched. “Like hell it isn’t.”

“Why do you even care, Bakugo?” You pushed harder against his chest, but he still didn’t move. His whole body was tense, his crimson eyes blazing. “You’ve spent years making my life miserable, so why the hell does it matter to you who I date?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, his fists clenching at his sides. “Because it should be me, damn it!”

The words hit you like a shockwave.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

His breathing was ragged, his chest rising and falling like he was barely holding himself together. “You think I just fuck with you for fun?” His voice was lower now, rougher. “You think I spent all this time chasing after you just to piss you off?”

Your heart was pounding. “What—”

“I didn’t know how to fucking say it,” he snapped, his hands slamming against the wall on either side of you. “I didn’t know how to—fuck—I didn’t know how to deal with you!”

You stared at him, stunned.

“You make me insane, okay?” His voice was raw, like the words were being ripped straight from his chest. “Every time I see you, every time you smile at those idiots, every time some loser gets too close to you, I wanna—” He exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping against yours. “I wanna fucking destroy them.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, but it was so much more intense. “I should be the one with you. Not him. Me.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

Then, before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down into a kiss.

It was desperate, messy, needy. The second your lips met his, Bakugo let out a low, guttural sound, his hands flying to your waist as he slammed you back against the wall. His grip was firm, possessive, his fingers digging into your skin as his mouth devoured yours.

You barely had time to process before his tongue slid past your lips, claiming you completely. Your head spun as he kissed you harder, deeper, like he was trying to burn himself into you.

One of his hands slid up your side, gripping your jaw as he tilted your head back, giving himself more access. You moaned against his mouth, and he growled, pressing his body even closer to yours.

“Mine,” he muttered against your lips, biting down gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. “Say it.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him back in for another bruising kiss. “Yours,” you whispered breathlessly. “Only yours.”

His grip on you tightened, his breath hot against your skin. “Damn right,” he growled, before kissing you again, harder, deeper, like he never planned on letting go.

Bakugo’s breathing was ragged as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm like he was afraid you’d disappear. His crimson eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding.

“You’re not going back to him,” he said, voice hoarse but certain. “I won’t fucking let you.”

Your chest was rising and falling just as fast as his, your lips still tingling from the heat of his kisses. And the worst part? You didn’t want to go back.

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into his shirt. “Then what happens now?”

Bakugo let out a sharp exhale, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them like an anchor. “You’re mine,” he repeated, like he needed to hear it again. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you never doubt it again.”

His lips found yours once more—slower this time, but just as deep, just as needy. His hands moved over your body, memorizing every inch, every curve, like he was staking his claim. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair as he pressed you back against the wall, letting his kiss say everything his words couldn’t.

When he finally pulled away, his smirk was cocky, but his eyes were softer—warmer.

“You should’ve known, dumbass,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your swollen lips. “You were always mine.”

And this time, you didn’t argue…

[nudijsmos]

stalker's tango.

pairing: stalker!bangchan x female!reader.

what would you do if you had a man spying on your most "intimate" moment? surely everything except letting him corrupt your body like a rag doll. or not, no one judges you.

warnings: explicit content, mentions of cnc and mask kink, knife kink, female masturbation, blowjob (male recieving), riding a knife like it’s the end of the world, sadistic bangchan, mention of blood while orgasm, reader it’s a whore for everything he does, petnames, degradation kink.

a/n: i swear i'm not so normal about him. 🙏🏼

your saturdays were certainly the most boring days of your week: no parties, no hanging out with friends, no alcohol and especially no one to spend the rest of the night with.

it was certainly a very niche wish of yours but there were times when you locked yourself into books to feel something new, even if it was fictional. the pleasure that these erotic books generated for you was too ecstatic for anyone else who will not be able to understand the reason for the great fascination with them.

especially if you use it as a method of self pleasure, mostly to reward you after a rough week.

your fingers lay between the folds of your cunt, opening their way with parsimony in a tortuous swing that left plain sight how weak you manage to put yourself to all kinds of touch, your chest uncovered just so that one of your nipples will remain on the paradise of lust that was building in your body. the wet feeling of your throbbing lips against each touch was music to your ears, coming to rub you more and more on them as if it were a sex toy; you wanted to remove all frustration in them for the most pathetic of what was seen.

the viscous sensation of your fluids invading, staining every end of your digits could get you drunk if it was scientifically possible, gently squeezing the apex of your clitoris only for the purpose of turning yourself into a bunch of moans. it's too inappropriate for an explicit scene to have put yourself like that.

your lips parting to let out another sultry moan that echoes the room, it’s actually a relieve that you have the house completely alone ‘cause if you were with your parents in the other room those slutty groans and gaps would get you grounded as fuck. even though what you are doing it’s risky, you still want to keep that tortuous pace on your vulva.

it’s difficult when you suddenly gasp louder, your fingers picking up speed. your pumping is getting sloppy and you constantly shift on the mattress like a greedy puppy, hungry for more.

your knees buckled at the near feeling of your orgasm reaching, pleading to be released when suddenly a noise distracts you.

on the side of your window, the shadow of what appears to be a person begins to become visible, a robust figure that slowly becomes more present: those eyes observed the apex of your thighs with desire, a heavy breath that fogged the glass. the only problem was that you couldn't see his entire face.

fear invaded you, a strange combination along with your denied orgasm made you beg with your eyes for two things. your liberation or that he wouldn't kill you.

tears falling from your eyes, thinking that this must be just a bad nightmare and that's it.

while on the side of the dark stranger, saying that he was enchanted from the moment he slipped through the balcony window was an understatement... almost nothing.

under curses around his plump lips he holds back the urge to pull out his erect member from his denim pants. It wasn't the first time he followed your steps, but it was the first time he saw you in such a deplorable and exciting state.

his hands gently forced the lock of the window, slowly opening it and as he went up your groaning heard sharper, making his sanity gradually disappear. the sound that comes out of your mouth was like an invitation for him to take advantage of it, as if you were doing a show just for him to see. or at least he wanted to believe that.

with the agility of a cat, broke into your room without any warning and searched his way through your body like a desperate man. the hands of that mysterious elder were placed in your mouth to make it impossible for any complaint to come out of you, bringing you even closer until those dark eyes connected again with yours almost in a plea not to stop.

"mhm.. what we have here?" she says in a flirtatious tone. his voice was deep and rough, as if his throat dried up when he saw you please her. "a dirty whore who thinks no one can see her being so fucking provocative."

your hum was vibrating against the palm of his hand, and tears were running down your rosy cheeks. you were scared - even terrified, this was too real to be just a dream of yours. his hand was so big. he hugged your face in such a way that it covered your nostrils as well, making it harder to breathe. his face was covered with shadows and a black mask hid his mouth, only one of his darkened eyes visible in the night.

your eyes roamed your room, trying to find something to use as a defense mechanism for escape. the man noticed your attempts immediately, "what are you doing, my dear? nah.. you won’t walk away from this."

his free hand was going down to the top of your underwear without too much haste since he wanted very internally to drain all your energy in what remained of the night. the thin fingers of the masked man seemed to know your body from beginning to end, outlining the folds of your intimacy as if he had memorized them, pressing his thumb against your clitoris causing a gorgeous and sharp moan to come out of your lips.

"how noisy you get to be sometimes, you’re going to blow my head if you keep this way," again the boy’s voice overwhelmed you and promptly you only deigned to nod while his nimble hand was getting rid of your underwear, the lace rubbing your thighs as it slid down your skin almost like a cut. sharp and painful.

the gloved hand of the chestnut bathed in your fluids, going up and down between your folds and listening to that characteristic sound of it. your eyes were still on that handsome man, half-closed for pleasure and your mouth just babbling overflowed prayers to the contrary.

"just look at you. you look so insultingly pathetic." he muttered between his teeth as he moved to the side of the bed, standing on the ground at the perfect height for your watery face to be millimeters - if you could say so of his crotch.

from his trousers he pulled out a red-handle leather knife, the edge of the weapon shone with the light of your room lamp. "what would you do if i used this on you? would it be right to put the edge inside you and watch you kill yourself while riding it alone or should i use the handle as a dildo?"

the edge of the knife would go in? what, that would be too much and no matter how hot you are you wouldn’t let your parents see you dead from an orgasm. "please." you sounded so pitiful, even the elder was pleased to see you in spite of not knowing what to choose. "choose m'lady, the edge or just the handle of the knife."

another breath of pain was heard through the room, without the man realizing you were already a mess; dripping your thighs and nipples slightly erect with only the sight of him waiting for some answer from you. your eyes were turned to his crotch and back to his right hand, which with agility held the knife, you did not know where to put all your attention.

"the handle, use the handle." god, he could die from just hearing you say that. his left-hand was unbuttoning his pants without lowering them at all, the same with his boxer that marked on his elastic calvin klein on his waist.

the handle of the knife was rubbing against your vulva as if it were a sex toy of those you kept somewhere in your room while suddenly the boy’s dick went inside your mouth, not giving you any choice but to pump your head and try not to choke by how it stretched your mouth cavity looked to him, seeing you as a fleshlight for his cock.

"that is bunny, take my cock just as well. almost seems like you were made for this, being such a cocksleeve for a stranger.. what a desperate thing." the voice of that man was bouncing through the walls of your ears like a forbidden melody, the handle of the knife was penetrating you causing several cries of pain to drown in the chestnut’s phallus. " there you go, take it like a good girl, you’ve grown up so much so i bet you have some kind of experience gettin' sluted out.”

the leather of the knife was moistened inside you, the rubber walls were adjusted to its size as if really your whole body was made so that he can abuse it, hurt it too - of course and hurts as hell compared to the different dildos that you had used on you.. but holy mother who could kick you out of just hearing him curse your own existence by smearing his weaponry with your slick and blood.

you have no idea how men can be saddled with a palate full of sophomoric slapstick. but a dick is a dick, and something tells you that he won’t let you go empty-handed on this one. "you're not tapping out already, are ya’? cause you looked so pretty with your mouth full of my dick.. use your tongue just a bit more and keep the fucking pace or i'll stab your stomach.” he demanded, fuck he sounded so hot saying that.

the masked man’s hand was gradually bathed in blood surrounding the material of his glove, each cut that made the girl’s movements only left him more stunned at the sight of the young woman being raped in pleasure. who would say that the facade of a sweet and well-dressed girl could be destroyed in one night by him. the assaults became much faster and deeper, the splashing of material against the intimacy of the female became more noticeable along with the obscene expressions that were ripping from her rosy face.

under the mask the man could say that he was worse than his companion; drops of sweat falling down his forehead and his meaty lips were wounded from the number of times that their canines killed them with careless bites, tearing the skin of these on purpose to feel the metallic taste of his blood rub his palate. “how does it feel having a complete stranger arranging your guts with a knife? huh?.. what i even ask you if you can even look me in the eye while you're blowing me out.”

“i fuckin' hate you.” you spat, getting his cock out of your weeping mouth. his hand began to move from the base to the tip of his member, masturbating it over your face without stopping the previous movements that were creating a burning feeling in your lower abdomen, your free hand was held from the ends of your sheets being almost impossible this time to shut up, “ you motherfu-.. oh god!!”

your legs weakened and the heat of your lower stomach was increasing more and more, reaching to raise your body from the mattress by the over stimulation that you were subjected to, something that the elder loved, dying inside to see you like this for a while.

“that's it sweet girl, keep struggling, ‘m gonna cum on your pretty face and you're gonna make a mess in my hand.. understood? show me how weak you manage to put yourself into”.

you hated to say he was in fact right but you were close to your limit, you hated with all your soul that the touch of that stranger makes you tremble with pleasure. you hated that especially warmed you to the idea that this would not be the last time he broke into your house. “s-sir.. ‘m close.. bun wants to.. please”, you couldn’t speak - not even say a single word.

that’s how the masked man let out all his seed on your face, smearing your cheeks and corners with his semen just as you burst on the handle of the knife that had made his hand a table full of cuts and drops of blood that combined with your fluids.

this couldn’’t be better, clearly not.. right?.

(...)

"bun.. bun, baby" you heard a familiar voice echoed onto your ears. "baby dol,l you fell asleep again". it was your boyfriend who spoke to you with a worried tone but with some happiness of seeing you again.

"what are you doing here? i..didn’t know you were coming." you mumbled shyly as you climbed into the sheets to check that you were still in your clothes. and so it was, but there was something else lying at the end of your bed: a knife with its blood-stained leather and in the distance the shadow of that man walking away from your window.

it certainly wouldn’t be the first or last time you would see him spying on every move you made in the distance, and that made you more than eager to be used by him again.

and only for him.

[lostsyren]

I have a request where rafe gets into a fight because someone said something about sofia, and later in the bathroom sofia is cleaning the cuts on his hands. (Btw I LOVE ur writing 💗💗)

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 watcher

{summary: after hooking up a couple times, rafe and sofia are no contact, but neither one is happy with the arrangement…}

{a/n: ok so i decided to do something a little different– it still fits what you wanted but i kinda went a different direction. essentially it’s them after 3x09! and thank you for ur kind words lovely, sorry this took so long}

{warnings: graphic violence, mentions of sex, stalking?}

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

After staying over at Tannyhill a couple times, Sofia and Rafe didn’t talk again. She tried to shy away from the pang of hurt that it caused– when he left her on read, when he waited until she was on the other side of the bar to order his drink, when he stopped looking her way with a smile and kind eyes. What made it worse was the fact she had to see him…everyday single day.

Sofia mentally made a note never to sleep with a customer ever again. The prickling shame that coated her skin, the sticky regret that settled in the lot of her stomach– it was all too much. The prospect that Rafe used her, as simply just a warm body he could fuck, a temporary distraction– it made her sick. She knew it was silly of her; they barely knew each other after all. But he was so surprisingly sweet to her. And now it’s like he’d flipped a switch, doused in a sudden and biting apathy.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to her– she knew that, she wasn’t dumb. He was a kook at the end of the day and she was the club bartender (no matter how much she hated that fact, it still remained true). But she liked him. God– she liked him a lot. She thought he was different.

Sofia shook her head vehemently. Stop thinking about him when he doesn’t even give you the time of day.

The Kildare night was dark and balmy, the late-summer humidity stifling. The moon was out tonight, shining like a pearlescent marble on a bed of black tar.

Sofia’s shift had ended, so she was packing up her things. A couple stragglers were left dotted around the outdoor bar and restaurant. One of them was Rafe. He always lingered at the bar, nursing a fleet of never ending drinks. Initially Sofia was worried. She’d seen this before in her father, a drink always in hand, his eyes slung low in a drunker stupor. But eventually she reflected the same frigid apathy back on to Rafe. He wasn’t her problem to worry about.

But it was hard to deny instinct. Sofia had been infatuated with Rafe for a while now, even before he’d noticed her presence. It was like her eyes were magnets and he was metal. So before she left, her gaze brushed over his figure, taking in the broad shoulders, the faint lines of veins skeining down his tanned arms, before trailing up to his face. And that’s when she realised he was already staring straight at her. Fuck.

He looked distraught, but like he was trying to hide it. The lines of his face were deep and the strain of his jaw was tight, blue eyes red rimmed. She quickly looked away, gripping the strap of her purse tighter and scampering out towards the exit.

Sofia got on the bus. Her car was in the repair shop (for the third time this year). So she had to walk half-way home since the bus routes in the cut were all situated a good distance from her house. Her work shoes clicked against the uneven asphalt, her pace brisk and nimble. She didn’t think anything of the footsteps behind her at first, but when she realised how close they were, as if shadowing her movements, Sofia’s heart sank.

She’d heard stories of muggings around and about these streets. So her footsteps quickened, her heart rate a sputtering mess.

Fragments of prayers escaped her lips. Prayers for protection, for refuge and everything in between. But the shadow that stretched like pitch across the pavement just seemed to elongate the closer it got to her.

Sofia swallowed a shuddering breath and chanced a look behind her. She hated that she was right– a group of maybe three or four men were tailing her.

She wanted to run but they were tall– they’d easily outperform her. Sofia reached into her purse slipping out her phone, the white glare form the screen opening on to her contacts. But before she could even call anyone, the looming presence behind her suddenly jolted forward, Sofia jerking up in surprise.

A hand yanked her phone away from her, the device smashing on the concrete. Sofia gasped, the sound shaky and convulsing as she felt two hands grip her wrists.

“Who you tryna call huh?” One guy goaded, as the other three encircled Sofia.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The panic that fringed her nervous system completely inundated her– blood rushing, heart pounding, skin sweating.

“Please, just take whatever you want and let me go,” she pleaded, her eyes wide and watering.

The man let go of one of her wrists, gripping the pliable flesh of her cheeks, squishing them together with sharp nails.

“How about we just take you then?” His words were low and pointed, like a knife being pressed against her jugular. Chitters of laughter emanated from the other guys walling her in. Fear gave way to anger as Sofia spat at him then used her leg to swing a knee in his groin. He grunted in pain, allowing for Sofia to slip from his grip.

“You fucking bitch!” He growled, yanking her back by the hair before she could sprint away. Sofia hissed in pain, her scalp burning from his relentless grip.

She thought she was done for, denigrated to putty in these men’s hands. But suddenly, out of the encroaching darkness of the streetlight, came a figure who threw a punch directly square in her assailant’s face.

Sofia flew back on to the pavement, scraping her knee on the concrete. Grabbing her phone, she scrambled backwards to witness the scene before her. Her vision was slightly blurred so it took her a second to piece together what was happening.

In amidst the guttural yells and sickening sound of fists hitting flesh, Sofia saw Rafe mercilessly grapple with her attackers.

Her brain was so frazzled she didn’t even consider the oddity of his presence in this situation– all she felt was a sudden rush of relief and an overwhelming gratefulness that she didn’t have to find out what these men were planning to do with her.

But worry quickly eclipsed her repose.

They were decimating him.

“Help!” Sofia yelled, her voice cracking and shrill.

One of the men had Rafe in a headlock, his beefy arm clasped around his windpipe. Sofia scrambled on to her feet and grabbed her keys from her purse. With a quiet stealth, she snuck up behind the towering guy before lodging the key in between his shoulder blades. The man shrieked out a string of curse words, dropping Rafe and swinging round to strike her instead. Sofia cowered from his touch, but Rafe didn’t let the guy’s wrath reach her.

“You fucking touch her again and I’ll kill you,” he growled, Sofia’s heart lurching at the sight of his black beady eyes and bloody lip. He looked feral.

Rafe’s swinging punches began to look rhythmic as he hit his knuckles repeatedly against the guys jaw. Sofia’s stomach roiled in sickness at hearing the crunch of bone. The repetitive thwack of skin hitting skin.

Before Rafe could knock the guy in unconscious, the wail of police cars sliced through the violence, distant glows of red and blue dancing around the darkness.

“Fuck let’s bounce,” said one hooded man before all four of them dispersed, leaving Rafe breathless and bloody, barely able to stand.

Sofia rushed towards him, quickly hoisting his swaying body on top of hers.

“Come on, my house is a couple minutes away.”

Rafe didn’t say anything. He just nodded, letting Sofia lead the way.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

Rafe sat on the toilet of Sofia’s bathroom, waiting as she rifled through the cabinet for some cotton wool.

Neither said anything, the tension in the small space feeling like thick fog that clogged their throats.

“You’re different…I like that. You’ll do the right thing– I’m sure you will.”

Those were the last words Sofia had said to him– the last time they’d spoken. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to talk with her. He did. Desperately. But for once Rafe Cameron decided to do the decent thing, the right thing, as Sofia put it, and leave her out of his bloodsoaked life. Because that’s what happened whenever he cared about someone. They got hurt. Like his father leaving on a plane all bloody and maimed, cut by the blade of his son’s betrayal. The reminder of Ward sent a ripple of regret through him.

It has been hard to leave Sofia behind fully. She was addictive. Sweet like candy and soft like silk. He missed the air of her laughter– that easy, wispy sound which draped over him. He missed the warmth of her body– her small frame slotting against his larger one in the massive bed. Though she’d been in his life for an embarrassingly short amount of time, her absence left a hefty lacuna in the sepulchral hallways of Tannyhill. She became just another person who was no longer there.

And Rafe hated it.

So he resigned himself to stolen glances whilst she was working, watching as she danced freely at parties that she didn’t know he was attending, also following her home from work to make sure she got home ok.

And it’s a good thing he did– when he saw those men grope and paw at her, sullying her with their filthy hands, rage burst through his capillaries.

He could see the result of his violent outburst now in the dull yellow glow of the bathroom lights, his knuckles split and hemic, rivulets of blood flowing through the grooves of his skin.

Sofia ran the cotton wool under the hot water of the tap, gently lifting his hands up so she could clean the blood.

Her eyes fixated on the task at hand, as Rafe revelled in the gentleness of her touch. He usually had to patch himself up after fights, struggling alone behind a closed bathroom door, whimpering as he licked his cuts clean like a bad dog.

As she worked to clean him him, Rafe’s eyes dipped downward and saw the graze on her knee, a sizeable red scrape against her golden skin.

With his free hand, his fingers instinctively brushed against it, causing Sofia to jump up in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, retracting his hand away. Sofia just shook her head gently as if to say ‘it’s ok’.

She was close enough so that he could smell her strawberry shampoo– remembering the sensations of her tresses tickling his chest as his face nuzzled up against the crook of her neck. He honed in on the way her fingers skimmed his hands with the cotton wool– mirroring the touch of her fingertips gripping on to his shoulders as he pressed into her warmth. Rafe stirred with a heady desire from this inundation of memories that made him lightheaded, suddenly standing up in the tiny bathroom.

“Is everything ok?” Sofia asked, looking up at him with a furrowed brow.

He nodded quickly.

“Let me clean you up too.” His hands floated over the curve of her hip, directing her to the bathroom counter, lifting her slightly to place her on the flat surface. Sofia let out a little gasp as he suspended her in the air, her eye contact unwavering.

The image of fucking her in her own bathroom passed through his mind, her soft body pressed up against the basin, the mirror fogged up from their combined breaths. Rafe shook away his thoughts but it was hard to do when she was so damn close. Rafe wetted some cotton wool, hooking his hand under the meat of her thigh, before cleaning the cut gently. He tried to control the tremors of his fingers, but it was near impossible.

Sofia’s soft breath fanned his nape, hitting his sensitive skin as he looked down at her leg. He shuddered slightly imagining her lips hitting that spot, her tongue supping away at his neck. The memory of her kisses hit him like a truck, the skilled manoeuvring of her mouth, leaving him trailing after her with inexperience.

Fuck he missed her.

Rafe plastered her knee up, rubbing his thumb up and down the plush of her thigh, before regrettably letting go.

Sofia starred up at him with her big, hazel eyes– they were almost imploring. But imploring him for what he didn’t know.

Their faces were inches a part. Rafe could see her scattering of freckles, each individual eyelash.

As if by instinct, his face hovered closer, the slope of his nose brushing against her cheek. Sofia’s breath hitched, the swell of her breast rising and falling with each uneven pant. Her lips opened, pink and wet and shiny. They looked so inviting. He could slip his tongue so easily between her mouth right now. She was right there.

Rafe could see her hands gripping the counter edge, her knuckles contrastingly white to his reddened ones.

“I should go,” Rafe murmured, eyes flickering over her face. Sofia did the same, her gaze alternating between his lips and eyes.

Sofia’s hands reached over to hold his, wrapping her fingers around his raw skin, “thank you Rafe.”

“No problem.” His voice was a raspy husk.

Rafe moved away from her and his heart clenched at the sudden distance. He left her sitting alone on her bathroom counter, her hair tousled around her pretty face and legs pressed deliciously together.

But despite how badly he wanted to destroy the space between them, pressing her up against the tiles, hooking her leg around the curve of his waist, Rafe still turned and faced the door.

“Wait.” Her voice was small and soft and hopeful.

He stood still, turning to face her slowly.

She jumped down from the countertop. “Why don’t you stay the night?”

Rafe’s heart faltered. Say yes, you idiot.

But he couldn’t do this. The past couple weeks watching Sofia, inhaling her like she was his new drug, he learnt just how different the two of them were. She criss-crossed around Kildare like a saint– dropping her siblings off to school in that scrap metal car of hers, volunteering at her local church, slaving away at her job and plastering a smile on for asshole customers. Even at the parties, she never was selfish or hedonistic. She minded her friends with care, she oftentimes was the designated driver and she smiled at everyone no matter kook or pogue.

Sofia was kind. Sofia was good.

Who was he to use her for his own personal gain? Even now, when he was lauding her saintliness, he couldn’t help but envision her at his mercy, inside of her, her name on his lips, his hands in her hair.

“It’s ok Sofia, I need to be heading home anyway.” He mumbled stupidly, palming the back of his neck.

Her face flashed with hurt– eyebrows stitching together, lips frowning in a pout. But she quickly recomposed herself.

“Ok.”

Rafe turned to leave, opening the bathroom door.

“What were you even doing here in The Cut?” Sofia suddenly asked.

Rafe froze. Fuck. He turned to face her slowly.

“Meeting a friend.”

“Oh,” Sofia intoned, “a friend? I thought you wouldn’t have any pogue friends.”

Rafe smiled, amused at her pointedness. “Then what are you then?”

“I don’t know…what am I?” Her tone took on a meanness that was uncharacteristic.

Rafe swallowed thickly, embarrassment tinging his cheeks, “Sofia–“

“You ghost all your friends? Or just all your fuck buddies?”

“Sof–“

“A text would’ve been nice. You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all he could come up with. One measly apology.

Sofia sighed, running a hand through her hair, “I’m sorry too– you don’t owe me anything. I– I just thought that you…I just thought that we…” she trailed off, a meekness settling over her body.

“You just thought that we– what?” Rafe probed, stepping closer. He wanted her to say more. Wanted her to give him a reason to stay.

“Nothing, nothing. You can go, it’s fine.”

“Sofia–“

“Please leave Rafe.”

His shoulders sagged with that all too familiar weight. And with a brief nod of the head, he left her there, finding his way back to his car parked a couple blocks down, the one he used to follow her down the street in, watching her with an obsessiveness he didn’t know what to do with, monomania seeping uncontrollably from his pores.

Rafe was about to drive the car back home, when he circled back, parking outside the house he was just in. Turning the engine off, the headlights flashed away into nothingness, leaving the car undetected from the street.

His eyes crawled up to Sofia’s bedroom window. She never closed the blinds. She was so naïve. So trusting. He was doing the right thing leaving her out of his instability, his fractured, messed up self. He’d hurt her like everyone else. And he didn’t want that.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t watch.

Watch her slip out of her work clothes, imagining it was her was undressing her. Watch her examine the band-aid he put on her knee, recalling how her supple legs felt under his fingertips.

Watch her unhook her bra, slipping into her pyjamas then into bed, savouring the memory of how it felt to fuck her.

Rafe drove away quickly, shunning away the perverted thoughts that whirled around his mind.

He wondered if Sofia still thought that about him. She said he’d do the right thing– but Rafe didn’t know what the fuck that meant. He told himself he’d stop it. Cut all contact from her. Even the obsessive surveillance.

But the next morning, he made sure to arrive early at the country club, so he could watch her at the bar, like always.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𖦹 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

dressage teaches important skills like control, discipline, subtlety, and connection to the horse. i think every rider should at least know the fundamentals. but people forget that dressage is supposed to be hard, its meant to force you to communicate complex directions with this 1000lb animal. the problem is when people try to find "easy outs" to get their horse to do the advanced moves quickly instead of just starting at the beginning. thats when things like harmful bits, over-bending the neck, etc. come into play.

imo dressage is best at building confidence in intermediate-advanced riders. esp ones who do faster-paced disciplines like showjumpings. and dressage should be started without intention of being in shows for it since that removes a lot of the pressure to be the best. which is a huge problem with modern riding bc people constantly see riders "better" than them online and think they have to advance that quickly too instead of taking things at a reasonable pace.

its the most ethical when it plays on the horse's strengths. things like circles, serpentines, gait work, lateral work, collection/extension are all great for a routine and can be modified based on the rider's skills. they all teach the horse and rider to communicate with each other without putting the horse in pain (and if it is in pain then go to a vet)

(also "dressage neck" is hideous please let your horse use their neck. honestly an extended neck looks so much better or at least a neutral one)

horsethoughtbarn 1 dressage

what are everyones thoughts on dressage ive been very interested in it as late as i enjoy the classical approach to biomechanics and harmony and balance and have been very discouraged by the state of modern dressage vs classical what are your thoughts on the sport and its status and its ethics and also what are your favorite cool ethical dressage moves and routines and riders or your thoughts on the sport as a whole or anything really i just want to learn more about it and talk about it

[specialagentartemis]

like I genuinely agree that there are distinct and unique problems with capitalism - the rapid pace of resource extraction and the production of waste necessary for infinite economic growth is a uniquely capitalist problem, global warming is a pretty uniquely capitalist problem that derives from that, the requirement to find some bullshit work to do in order to fill your mandatory work-hours is a distinctly capitalistic view of work, landownership and land-as-resource-to-be-privately-owned-and-wealth-extracted-from is a horribly destructive system rooted in imperialist capitalism, the thing about time and clocks dictating our lives definitely coincides with the rise of capitalism, the alienation of labor and lack of ownership of anything is like the defining problem of capitalism, employers feeling no responsibility to and having no interaction with their laborers is a pretty uniquely capitalistic problem, reliance on fossil fuels postdates capitalism, the surveillance state was directly promoted under capitalist developments, inequality and oppression are required under capitalism, I do not think capitalism is good and there are certainly really bad problems with it!!!

But like. "Capitalism caused you to labor all day and work hard and have very little freedom or leisure time, and pre-capitalism no one had to work hard and they all had lots of leisure time" is just. not. true.

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Calling the only person she’ll listen to.”

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: mental health struggles,

WC: 875

NOTE: light angst turns into a happy ending.

The sound of chaos was familiar in Silco’s office, but tonight it had taken a darker turn. The shouts were sharper, the crashes louder, and Jinx’s laughter had turned into something fractured—something unhinged. Sevika leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, scowling at Silco, who stood rigid, his one good eye fixed on the scene.

Jinx was pacing, wild-eyed, tearing apart the room as if she was looking for something only she could see. Her hands trembled around her pistol, her voice rising and falling as she talked to the ghosts that only she could hear. The voices.

“You can’t shut me up!” she screamed, spinning to face Silco, her grin pulling tight, painful. “Why don’t you ever listen? None of you do!”

“I am listening, Jinx,” Silco said, his tone calm but strained. He stepped closer, hand outstretched. “But you need to—”

“SHUT UP!” she screeched, firing into the air. The gunshot rang out, and Sevika flinched.

“That’s it,” Sevika muttered, stepping back into the hall and pulling out her communicator.

Silco shot her a glare. “What are you doing?”

“Calling the only person she’ll listen to.” Sevika’s voice was gruff, but there was an edge of desperation in it. “Unless you want your office burned to the ground.”

Silco didn’t argue.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You’d barely stepped into the building before you were being ushered into Silco’s office by Sevika. Her grip on your shoulder was firm as she muttered, “Fix her. She’s getting worse.”

“Fix her?” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “She’s not a problem to fix.”

Sevika didn’t respond. She just shoved you through the door and slammed it shut behind you.

The room was a disaster—papers scattered, furniture overturned, scorch marks streaking the walls. And in the middle of it all, Jinx stood, breathing hard, her back to you, gun still in hand.

“Jinx,” you called softly, your voice careful.

She whipped around, her face twisted in fury, but when her eyes landed on you, something flickered. Recognition. Relief. Fear.

“Name?” Her voice cracked, the gun lowering an inch. “What are you—No. No, you shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“I think I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” you said, stepping closer.

Her hand twitched, the barrel of the gun wobbling. “They… they won’t shut up. They keep saying things, bad things. Stuff I don’t want to hear!” She laughed, the sound high and hollow. “They’re in my head, and I can’t… I can’t make them stop.”

Your heart broke at the sight of her. The girl you loved looked so small, so fragile beneath the weight of her own mind.

“I’m here now,” you said gently, taking another step. “You’re not alone, Jinx. Let me help you.”

She shook her head, stumbling back, her free hand clawing at her hair. “You can’t help me! No one can! I’m broken, Y/N, don’t you get that?!”

“You’re not broken,” you said, firm but soft. “You’re hurting. And I love you, Jinx. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her lip trembled, the gun clattering to the floor as she dropped to her knees. She pressed her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t make it stop!”

You closed the distance between you, dropping to your knees in front of her. Gently, you pried her hands from her ears, cupping her face in your palms.

“Look at me, Jinx. Just look at me,” you said.

Her eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy.

“There you are,” you murmured, your thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Focus on me, okay? Forget the voices. Forget Silco. Forget Sevika. It’s just you and me.”

Her breathing hitched, her gaze locked on yours. You could see the storm in her eyes—the fear, the confusion, the anger. But beneath it all, there was trust.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice so small it nearly broke you.

“I know, hun,” you said, leaning your forehead against hers. “But you’re not alone. You’ve got me. Always.”

Her hands trembled as they found your wrists, clutching onto you like a lifeline. Slowly, her breathing evened out, the tension in her shoulders easing.

“You’re here,” she said, as if trying to convince herself.

“I’m here,” you promised. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The room was silent except for her shaky breaths. The voices seemed to fade, the chaos ebbing away until it was just the two of you, kneeling on the cold floor.

“I hate this,” she murmured, burying her face in your neck. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” you said, wrapping your arms around her. “But you’re stronger than this, Jinx. You’ll get through it. And I’ll be right here with you.”

She clung to you, her grip desperate, as if letting go might send her spiraling again. “Promise?”

“Promise,” you said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Hours passed before Silco and Sevika dared to open the door. They found you sitting on the floor, Jinx curled in your lap, fast asleep.

“She’s okay now,” you said softly, stroking her hair.

Silco nodded, his expression unreadable. Sevika just grunted, stepping aside to let you carry Jinx out.

You didn’t look back. Jinx was safe in your arms, and for now, that was all that mattered.

I HAVE SO MANY MORE DRAFTS TO UPLOAD

I want sleep AND food

[vyletbunni]

A while back you made some tweets criticising Undertale BnP for going off the rails with scope creep and how it would probably have had problems even if the lead dev hadn't turned out to be a creep, but since you've basically deleted your Twitter (and I've abandoned that shithole as well) I can't read them anymore. Would you like to spill the beans on what went down here for posterity's sake?

Cause I never played it but from watching playthroughs of it I was always kinda confused by how much new stuff was getting added (entire new areas in the Ruins, new bosses, a whole side plot with Undertale's version of Susie) for something I thought was just supposed to be an "Undertale with nicer graphics" mod and I was wondering if you knew how far it was going to go ultimately now the dust has settled around it.

It really came down to the fact that Blaize had no real foresight for any of the new features they came up with for the project. They introduced the EN mechanic, which was basically an Undertale equivalent of TP, and it was going to appear outside of the Suzy side story with zero use outside of giving extra gold. They had the connections system that had no purpose, nor did they really think of a purpose for it. It mostly just ruined the pacing of the scenes it was added to; SPECIFICALLY the Asriel scene at the end of the game.

They would frequently add Deltarune elements to the game, some of which would be removed for being stupid (notably the Spamton thing and the Monster Kid proceed thing). The Suzy side story especially was basically a Deltarune fanwork in disguise. You were going to run into Noel and Birdly (who you previously met in Snowdin and the Ruins respectively), and there was legitimately an area of Hotterland that was going to be called the "Meat Factory". That latter part really made me realize how strange the Deltarune additions were. Also, I was told that Suzy would be willing to kill because she didn't know she was killing them, thinking they were running away. It came from the same mind that thought Deltatraveler Obliteration route was bad because Susie went along with it.

Regarding scope creep, Suzy ended up not being the only side story planned for BnP. They wanted to go back to the other areas and give them their own side areas and side stories with the characters you travel with in those sections (Monster Kid and Papyrus). I was told the idea didn't get very far, but it's still like... Shouldn't you focus on finishing the main parts of the mod, first? Especially when all the other team members want to do that?

I always dog on them for the whole Meat Factory thing because I'm of the belief that not everything that is tangentially related to Gaster needs to be used, and "Meat Factory" is such a terrible name for what is allegedly supposed to be a normal area in the Underground. But yeah, that's the tea from my perspective.

[justarandomhelluvablog]

Major spoilers below cut but-

also idk how other people feel about this but as much as I enjoy the animation and songs and story (and vindication on being right about both Vaggie and Husk) the pacing in this show's a fucking nightmare.

6 episodes in and we have confirmed that Husk used to be an Overlord (something a lot of us predicted bc he was a sillhouette in the Overlord lineup) and that Vaggie is/was an angel (also predicted bc of her weapon of choice and general appearance). The extermination has been revealed to Heaven (seriously why tf did they think it was a good idea to hold court with angels who didn't know?? Charlie could have mentioned the extermination at ANY time), that Lucifer is an overall dorky anxious mess of a father who thinks the hotel will fail bc he's already tried to reason with Heaven, that Heaven doesn't even know HOW to get into Heaven, and an angel has been killed (AND we know who did it)? This is infodump. The season should be longer than 8 episodes, and some of this information should have been teased throughout season one and not revealed until season 2.

Loving the Huskerdust content, don't get me wrong, and hoping we see Alastor perhaps actually becoming fond of the Hotel crew (at this point I'm sure he's there for an ulterior motive beyond "entertainment" and I enjoyed his and Lucifer's little competition for Charlie's father-affection so crossing my fingers on the Hotel becoming their own little family with Alastor (and Lucifer, too) as the overprotective father(s) lmao), and I am dying to see Husk get even a fraction of his Overlord power back and help kick Valentino's ass (ultimately I don't think Husk will be the one to overthrow Valentino but y'know I want to see him get a W) but. The timing. And two songs in multiple episodes is too much- if over half of the runtime of your episode is song, it's too much.

Anyway the point I'm trying to make is that the timing is too fast, and if Helluva Boss was fast then Hazbin is a speedrun. If this was Helluva type writing, the Vaggie thing would not have been revealed until season 2, and Husk would probably have been hinted to have been an Overlord once upon a time IN STORY, not just in promotional work, up until it's revealed. And Angel would have actually had a reaction, unless it is well known already, which considering people's reactions to him I don't think it is.

I still enjoy the show, don't get me wrong, but anyway those are just my complaints. They need to slow it down, we're getting too many secrets all at once.

..... Anyway I want to see Husk wipe the floor. Alastor kept him alive for a reason, and I doubt when he first won Husk's souls (and all the souls Husk owned, I assume) he would have given a single damn about a drunk gambling cat demon, so... I wanna know their deal.

At least with how fast this show moves I won't have to wait long to find out, huh?