#IDK if this is even how most people use the site

[thesnackist]

okay Tumblr it's time

time to try and reach Likes = 0

(honestly anything below a hundred)

[calyroco]

Closed species are by far the most interesting marketing gimmick I've seen. Some closed species have distinctive designs but a lot are just Anime Boys but 💖Special💖™️ or a dog but 💖Special💖™️

The species owners will deadass say shit with their whole chest like "I'm gonna make my own original species called 💖Special💖™️ Dog and charge you hundreds for the privilege of owning one and $50 to give this bitch qualities like blue skin with sparkles. Also nobody else is allowed to design 💖Special💖™️ dogs without paying me for the privilege(or being one of my besties)"

And people go along with this. Whole communities form that go "Yeah, sure. Take my money. Also,I will bitch and moan if anyone dares design a 💖Special💖™️ dog without your permission" and the 💖Special💖™️ Dog guy makes hundreds.

You can physically design your own generic💖Special💖™️ sparkle dog. There's just a stigma around doing it without permission. But only in this specific little community because nobody outside of it is aware or cares. The law of the community is enforced primarily through peer pressure because legally speaking they can't actually do shit to you for just designing without permission, especially if you don't attach the species name to your creation.

[icewindandboringhorror]

Hrmm... put together a roommates quiz finally after years of thinking it would be an interesting idea lol.. Though obviously not meant to be taken super seriously, I just like thinking about this aspect of personality compatibility. Like yeah, maybe you could get along with someone just chatting with them, but living together is such a different thing. .. curiouse...

[deus-ex-mona]

we are united in a common cause on this ✨#blessed✨ day

[skitskatdacat63]

I keep thinking abt this one post on r/letterboxd where op was like "why are so many reviews for movies w two male friends always 'they should kiss' 'they're husbands' 'they're gay' etc. There should be real reviews and men should be allowed to be friends."

I keep forgetting that people genuinely use letterboxd for actual film review/critique, I just use it as a way to keep track of what movies I've watched and to see silly comments(if I want to read more constructive reviews, I'll go to the reddit post for the movie.) And also dying bcs I have written at least 5 reviews that are something along the lines of "they should've kissed!"

[prolibytherium]

I do think everyone needs to get it through their heads that there is never going to be a tumblr poll that actually has an adequately sized and sufficiently randomized sample for meaningful data.

[p33p33p00p00]

the new season of The Friends Who Smile is great and ive really enjoyed it so far. but i cant help but realize every character that is fatter than charlie is treated like shit

[oyasleepy]

i miss deviantart so so so so so fucking bad rn

[thatsveryvortex]

Writing Tools for Planning Your Story

I've tried tons of writing apps and sites, so you don't have to. Here's a list of free sites to plot out your novel, with my review and some images of how I use it.

Milanote

Milanote is like having a giant pinboard with folders. You can upload anything onto it [yes even your main doc] and then draw over it or connect things with lines and arrows

Milanote lets you add up to a hundred things for free, not including drawing. This is one of the downsides of the site as I've found myself reaching that limit recently.

For me, the best part is being able to draw over stuff, and the color swatches.

Milanote is a lot less structured than other sites I've used, and personally, I don't think their templates are worth using.

8/10 overall, Milanote is what I mainly use. Here are some pics of how I use it:

Miro

Miro is a flowchart website mainly used for corporate jobs, however, it can be a great plotting tool for that reason

Miro has a lot of great starter templates if you are looking for a more structured freeform experience. It also comes with a blank page as well.

Unfortunately, I'd argue that it's a bit of a hard tool for beginners to use without a template, I've learned copy-paste is my best friend with Miro the hard way.

It's much better than most platforms at making timelines though.

It has a limit of three boards which is a bit disappointing but overall, I think it's worth the try.

5/10 Miro is very middle of the road for me due to the limited ability to customize things and the free limit. Here are some pics:

[I wrote that part weeks ago, I am now fully using Miro and believe it's the best for making timelines and charts, I just wish it let me make more boards 8/10]

Hiveword

This might be someone's jam, I can't really say it's mine though.

First off, the unpaid version is really just a few boxes saying "Write a summary here." which makes it just not worth it in my opinion

There really isn't any way to customise things which is my favorite part of most of these softwares

I've barely used this, so maybe there's something I'm missing but

1/10, Just use Google Docs at this point, here's a couple pics

World Anvil

People like this software, it's mainly used for tabletop, which is just a different way of writing adventure, and I've seen it recommended by authors.

Unfortunately, I'm going to disagree with a lot of people and say it's hard to use and isn't even really good at plotting.

I may be biased on this one as every time I've tried to use it in the past I've struggled. However, it seems like another just write it in a document and create a folder.

I'd say it's closer to an organizing tool, but even then just use something else.

3/10, I have nothing to say about it but maybe you'll enjoy it, all here are two photos

Campfire

This is the one I think I've heard the most about, but have never actually tried.

right off the bat, I'm going to say this is 100% worth it, you'll see at the end with the photos but this is like if Miro and World Anvil had an organization baby.

It's extremely easy to understand, and it makes timelines, it's more for writing your whole book but idk about that yet.

7/10, its themes are really pretty but it limits how much you can do to 20 I believe. Here are the photos

That's all for now, honestly, I think you should use Miro if you are looking to plot things out, and Milanote if you want to collect and organize your thoughts for writing, as that's what I do. Obviously what I like won't be for everyone, but hopefully, this helped you see some options

[goldfades]

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[merowkittie]

Hiii idk if you are still taking requests but Poolverine has taken over MY LIFE haha I would die for a Logan/Wade/Reader where they just worship their tiny lil mutant gf who could 100% kick their asses if she wanted to

hi hii!! i’m always taking requests, as long as my pinned post says ‘requests are open’!

poolverine has taken over my entire being i fear.

Lil Ass Kicker — DP & WV

summary: due to ur size most of the time sometimes people under estimate how strong you truly are. besides your boyfriends; they like when you remind them <3

warnings: none besides canon typical violence =] !

notes: i didn't specify if reader had specific mutant abilities..maybe i'll come up with a specific one laterr for future fics / hopefully this meets ur expectations, enjoy!

at this point, you didn't get offended when people looked at your stature and thought you were some weak tiny human, when in reality you were just as strong as Logan.. maybe even stronger?

you could kick a grown mans ass in seconds! your boyfriends have witnessed it AND have been on the receiving end before. and lets just say,

they LOVE it.

"ohh, come on peanut!" wade yells from your far left in a somewhat disappointed tone, "I'll admit you look hot but that's just disgusting."

you'll admit this wasn't the prettiest site, even though wade just called you sexy. you were sweaty, kind of covered in blood, and had just broken a mans arm and was using it to make him punch himself in his face. it was very amusing to you until wade burst your bubble.

with a roll of your eyes and the slightest quirk of your lips tugging up in the corners you tossed the man to the side and skipped over to logan who was almost covered in blood completely; his knuckles were basically dyed red from his claws coming in and out and with the blood of half of the people he stabbed..

you guys were an odd trio, but you worked!

"looks like yer having fun, huh?" logan looked down at you with a smirk.

he can also admit that you look beautiful right now sweaty and kicking ass left and right. he'd definitely show you how much he enjoyed witnessing this when you three got home.

you nodded in response to his question humming out an "mhm".

once wade caught up to you two, you guys began to wrap up your mission. it went by in a flash with constant grunts, bodies hitting the floors, gun shots, and to many bones breaking.

yea it was a bit over the top but hey! wade wanted to be a 'good' guy today so this is the schedule! what wasn't on the schedule was watching wade get impaled in the head by his own katana.

logan was too busy fighting to come over and give wade a hand so you had to take matters into your own hands.

silently, you snuck over to where he was and took the guy who impaled your boyfriend by surprise. your elbow reeled forward and hit him in the back the head, causing him to stumble. quickly, your leg swept his feet from under him causing him to trip over his own two feet. right before he fell, you took your gun from it's holster on your thigh and shot him in the head just as he hit the floor.

"oh god, i'm so painfully hard right now, babe." wade's voice chimed in from the floor. he still had the katana sticking through his head and you could tell he was feeling that loopy effect of it right now.

with a sigh, you helped him to his feet and yanked the katana out of his head. he shook his head side to side and groaned at the feeling of it being pulled out.

"thank you my incredibly strong, beautiful, and tiny girlfriend." he made kissy noises from underneath his masks, wanting you to kiss him over it. with a bit of a grimace you stood on your toes and pressed a quick kiss over his lips.

"wha' about me?" logan said from behind you, referencing to the kiss.

with an exaggerated groan and playful stomps of your feet you turned around him and gave him a kiss too.

"I hope you guys know this is very unprofessional!" you shouted as you walked away from the two with a huff.

they were definitely going to show you how in love they were with you when you got home.

[olderthannetfic]

No, ppl, VPNs aren't even possible for many MANY ppl in the third world. You can't buy a VPN in a brick and mortar store, and many of us (adults who are parents of kids in schools and everything) don't even own credit cards. Many who do still cannot afford VPN because what is easily affordable to a Westerner could pay my bills for a whole month. It depends on how poorly my currency is performing against the US dollar.

Even Paypal is sth mythical. I mean, I've had pieces accepted in US magazines for what the editors said was a token payment, about 50 dollars. Man, those 50 dollars would've paid off so much! That would be a FORTUNE. But I had to waive the payment EVERY time because Paypal doesn't work in my country. Grrr.

That doesn't mean third world countries listed on the Paypal site can use it either. My country is on it but every time I filled surveys etc and they transferred the money, I couldn't get my bank to let me have it. I know a third worlder in another country who has had that happen to them too.

My heart goes out to fellow readers and writers in Malaysia. Some of the most mindblowingly beautiful fics I've ever read (they were gushed abt by Americans and Brits and Aussies so I assumed the writers were native English speakers) turned out to have been written by fellow third worlders, one of those in my own country! The idea of waking up to find my country decided to ban ao3 is just... unbearable.

I hope the Malaysians find a way around it. And I hope whoever made that horrible decision gets the worst RPF written abt them AND hears about it from their political rival.

--

Yeah, I'm always meeting fans online from certain countries: Malaysia, Indonesia, the Philippines. Some places just seem to produce a lot of nerds. Or maybe more people learn English? IDK. Both a lack of (popular-with-fans) local media and a lack of economic opportunity can incentivize foreign language learning, so I'm sure that's part of it along with a certain amount of randomness.

In any case, part of why AO3 is run on donations instead of having paid accounts with better features is that a lot of core fans who write the fic and make the recslists and make fandom happen turn out to be in situations where they literally cannot pay even if they have the money.

Someone who's popular might be able to get foreign friends to pay for their VPN, but even then, can they actually get access to it? Questionable.

As for the last, it will be with their political rival, and you know it! They'll have to hear from some aide. ;D

[raguonmynieceandnephew]

"It's so unfair to the Rat Grinders that they are killed instantly and the Bad Kids get to roll death saves." SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP

THIS IS LONG, AND HONESTLY FOR MYSELF, SO YEAH READ IF YOU WANT

I swear to god, this discourse is going to fucking be the end of me. Idk what kind of mind boggling spell Brennan Lee Mulligan wove into the fabric of the universe that spread through the data center of Dropout in order to absolutely hijack y'all's brains when it comes to Cocklord Assgape and her ragtag of character foils but whatever it was has made you Rat Grinder stans INSUFFERABLE in this site.

The levels of treating fictional characters as if they were real people have reached a level I honestly have never anticipated, to the point of y'all actually being mad AT THE CAST for "mistreating" them and ACTUALLY QUESTION BRENNAN'S CAPACITY TO DM. Do you not get how fucking insane that is?

We can't make fun of Copperkettle, one of the most pathetic, petty and incompetent villains in D20 history anymore (even though she is masterfully written and developed to generate this reaction from us) anymore because it's bullying apparently. I saw an account flip the fuck out because someone compared her rivalry with Kristen to Drake and Kendrick's beef. KIPPERLILY IS NOT A REAL GIRL. SHE IS A MAKE BELIEVE CHARACTER IN AN IMPROV SHOW SPAWNED FROM THE BRAIN OF A 36 YEAR OLD MAN

And then what truly pissed me off the MOST about this whole hell is the fact that, being chronically online avid consumers of this goddamn show, I would think you would have but a grasp of the main cast of characters' characterization.

Why the uproar about Riz saying they should chop Oisin's head off? The same Riz who tortured that pixie from Freshman year by shooting off their finger one by one? The same Riz who murked a disarmed and unconscious Coach Daybreak without battin an eye? The same Riz who ATE THE CORPSE OF KALVAXUS?

And the whole Fabian vs Ivy debacle MY GOD, THE GIRL WAS RACIST TO HIS GIRLFRIEND AND USED HER LAST BREATH TO CALL MAZEY "OBJECTIVELY UGLY". And the funniest thing is that is not even the most unhinged shit he has ever said.

And finally, Death Save Gate: THE RAT GRINDERS ARE NOT PLAYER CHARACTERS. THEY ARE NPCS! THE RULES FOR EACH WORK DIFFERENTLY, ESPECIALLY THEM BEING BOSS ENCOUNTERS. Imagine having to still hit Ivy or Oisin 2 more times to kill them when there is 14 foot tall Porter throwing legendary actions left and right, with Jace, and other 3 spell casters + Mary Ann and KLCK up and running. It's called balancing the fucking game. Also, game masters are entitled to break, mold and make up any rules they want if they find necessary in order to service themselves and their players. IF YOU PLAY WITH ALL THESE RULES AS THEY COME, GOOD FOR YOU AND YOUR TABLE. THIS IS NOT YOUR TABLE.

Not only is Brennan DMing for his CLOSEST FRIENDS EVER, he is also shooting and producing an ENTIRE TV SHOW. So yeah, i think he knows wtf he is doing.

"But the Ratgrinders had no real development": True. But it wasn't for lack of trying from the players. Everytime they tried to know more, the dice didn't let them, so they decided to focus on the mystery. It simply do be like that sometimes.

"But they are just kids!": And so were Penelope, Dayne, Ragh, Zayn, the Bloodrush Players, Aelwyn and Biz. Why wasn't it a problem then? Because most of them were evil to some extent and were about to bring the fucking apocalypse to the world? Yeah, sounds familiar right? And the ones who were manipulated or had any sort of redemption worked their way into earning it, right? Yeah.

In conclusion, I fucking love the Rat Grinders, I truly do, and not unlike 90% of this website, i'm still holding on to hope that they have any sort of development and redemption in the last episode, because I agree, they ARE children and they WERE manipulated by Porter and Jace, but like, can we also agree that they are fucking assholes and had it fucking coming? Also, the BKs are children too y'know. SO STOP BEING FUCKING ANNOYING.

[lastoneout]

Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

[pixelxgore]

hers a billfold wip as a treat i changed his face bc i have free will

The art is to encourage you to read my silly little insanity (you should totally do it btw)

I'm dyslexic so sorry if anything is spelled grotesquely wrong lol autocorrect sometimes has no idea what i’m trying to spell

Starting with my head cannon because every thing will make more sense with it (or it wont that's entirely up to you) Imma try my best to make this enjoyable

So I head cannon both bill and ford as aspec this is important for the rest trust (I'm Aroace myself so some of my words are based of of experience ) being aroace doesn't mean you can't have a toxic one-sided relationship with a triangle

(most of this is pretty vanilla but I still wanna talk about it)

I believe it started of as a one-sided relationship on fords part (wow shocker) but it wasn't really love because he's ace it was more of infatuation (this stems from the fact he is a science boy and like ooo demon triangle thing) mistaken for love (I'm pretty sure this is common among aroace people or I just had an original experience) and maybe bill had just a little bit of the same feeling but instead of infatuation it was just pure obsession and when they had there little “tragic break up” and bill finally came to realize his obsession and it consumed him (idk i think that how abusive obsession is) and he realized he can’t live with out ford (i man he can but unhealthy obsession) and thus bills one sided relationship with ford where he just tries to get his puppet back but can’t figure out why he needs him so bad so he comes to the (subconscious) cuncultion there in love (because of course that’s the reasonable decision) and then you all know what comes after

I think bill has major will wood music vibes so I have nominated three songs of his for bill ford (cuz I'm genuinely going insane over them)

This is for fun and based off my head cannons

All of my discussions are made purely of the vibes the song gives me and how cool than animation in my head looks so take everything you know about these will wood songs and throw it out the window cuz none of that is relevant :3

i saw someone say “Will Wood songs can really be interpreted in different ways, and most of them seem like wisps of similar thought rather than a concrete narrative, so you're always a little bit right and wrong when you take a guess.” and i think you should keep that in mined

(I'm gonna embarrass myself so hard (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) )

I'm not gonna elaborate much but just trust me ok I put it kind of in chronological order

fords one sided relationship with bill: ...well, better than the alternative

Ok so this one is the least perfect out of all of them cuz it only half what I want (obviously this song is a stretch but hear me out) It's mostly for the like the last half of the song (remember what I said about throwing out the meaning for get that i lied) this song about the struggle ls of growing up and is a heartfelt plea to be understood and accepted for who we are (which obviously ford was a wired kid) and this kinda ties into the one-sided infatuation because it also is about the romanticism of nostalgic love, and the pressure of society telling you to find someone and "settle down" as we get older (witch yk aroace can’t really do that) so he’s grasping at the fact that he is enamored with this demon he just summoned (because science) so he can come up with this narrative in his head of how he is in love and can finally fit at least one of the societal boxes (idk it sounds like something to me probly ooc but I'm having fun)

bills one sided relationship with ford: ¡Aikido!

obsession with someone and how people often use coping mechanisms such as drugs to help with their feelings of uncertainty and helplessness. (yes this is copied not fully of a site this is tumblr not an english assignment) it also explores the idea that love and obsession can often manifest in neurotic and even pathological behavior.(oooo oooo look i’m so smart like staring the apocalyps) i’m not this cool this whole thing started with the first like whit h is “I apologize for playing with your eyes But I’m obsessed with you” witch reminded me of how bill used for as a puppet and then yk fords whole world came crashing down (this one explained its self more i have to do less mental gymnastics) and he’s like im sooo sorry i can’t live with out you

there whole relationship from the deal to the end of bill: Misanthrapologist ("In case I make it,"

Outtake)

ok this one is the one that mostly made of vibes because the song is about an unhappy codependent relationship through metaphors of christianity, nihilism, outer space, and mozart (witch only really encompasses a portion of the relationship) the song stars with “I wanna meet your make Shake him by his ensanguined damask lapel Holler "Look what you've done Gave this planet a sun And made a man to wonder if he's more than the sum of his cells"” which makes me personally think of obviously the deal fore made with bill and how bill stroked his ego all the way through there partnership um you can see where i goes from here just go listen to the song

ok this one’s off topic and only for my imaginary animation but the line “So how could I stand a chance, let alone dance With the way you sweep me off these two left feet?” just like imagine this with me it’s bill (human probably cuz i don’t work with the triangle) and young ford in the minedskape thing and its bill dipping ford and when it goes down it switches to bill and fort in bills pyramid thing with ford chained up do you see the vision ok I’m done now (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

[lipglossanon]

As the Rush Comes

✯´*¨`*•✿✿••✿✿•*`¨*`✯

Sugar daddy!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Hello, I love your stories. Do you think you can make a story sugar daddy Leon x sugar baby reader where the reader has behaved badly and Leon has to teach her a lesson with a section of intense sex with punishments and that? It doesn't matter if it's in the car, a room, at home, wherever you want. Only this idea haunts my mind

Dedicated to anon request above; I hope this lives up to expectations 😘 and thank you for your patience cause you asked a while back!! 🫣 

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, daddy kink (but like daddy dom kinda way 🤭), dom Leon, bratty reader, dirty talk, restraints,  collars, spanking, biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex

Not proofread ✌️ 

Title from As the Rush Comes by Motorcycle

✯´*¨`*•✿✿••✿✿•*`¨*`✯

You feel embarrassment as you scroll through the different links setup on the message board. Most people seemed to be pushing a specific site it seems and you bite your lip as you click on the hyperlink, watching the page load. 

It seems pretty straightforward and kinda basic. In just a few minutes, you setup your profile complete with a (hopefully) flattering picture. You’re going to give it a few days and just see where it leads.. it’s not like you’re obligated to reply to anyone or do anything you don’t want to. 

Nodding to yourself, you drop your phone next to you and hide your face in your hands, nerves running rampant. The thought of having a sugar baby profile fills you with anxiety (and just a little excitement).

You fall back on your bed and drum your fingers against your stomach as you gaze up at the ceiling. Feeling a slight vibration at your side from your cell, you pick it up. Eyes quickly reading the notification from the website: ‘LKennedy has sent you (1) message’.

Nervous, you open your phone and read through the short message.

‘Hi, strwaberry_k!ss. I’m starting to get the feeling I should’ve used a screen name and not my actual one.’

You laugh a little to yourself and click on the user’s profile.

“Holy shit,” you mutter out loud.

The profile pic of LKennedy is hot as fuck. It’s only a headshot, but honestly that’s more than enough. Some seriously gorgeous sea dark eyes followed by a chiseled jaw and a full pouty mouth paired with sandy hair meets your roving eyes. This guy messaged you? You feel a rush  of excitement. 

You go back to your messages. Not really knowing what to put, but not wanting to leave the guy on read, you just jot down whatever pops into your head.

‘What can I say? Just trying to be mysterious ;)’

After hitting send, you groan aloud. Smooth, real smooth. Before you can wallow in any more self pity, your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up.

‘I can tell. What brings you to this site?’

You purse your lips in concentration.

‘Curiosity mainly. You?’

‘Boredom.’

You laugh to yourself.

‘I can believe that. You don’t look like you need any help from a website to find attention though ;)’

‘Same could be said about you’

Your belly swoops as you bite your lips trying not to giggle 

‘Well thanks. Tbh I didn’t expect to even talk to anyone on here’

‘And why not?’

‘Idk.. just seems a bit embarrassing haha’

‘A lovely thing like you shouldn’t feel embarrassed’

Your stomach twists with butterflies as you nibble on your lower lip. This could go any number of ways, but you really want to see how far you can get with this ridiculously handsome guy.

‘You think I’m lovely?’

‘Of course. It’s going to sound like a line, but you’re the only one I’ve messaged so far on this site.’

‘Yeah that totally sounds like a line lol’

‘You were just too pretty to pass up, sweetheart’

A hot flush of arousal surges through your body. Drawing in a shaky breath to calm your nerves, you type out a reply. 

‘Oh well that’s flattering.’

‘You’re pretty too’, you quickly follow up. 

Re reading the message, you mentally groan. Should've put hot or handsome, not pretty! Now he’s going to think you’re a total dork!

‘Ha, well thank you. I have to say that’s the first I’ve been called pretty myself.’

You scoff out loud.

‘Uh highly doubt that. You’re seriously hot AF, like a total dilf’ 

You sent it before you could chicken out and delete the last part of your reply.

‘Dilf? That stand for something?’

What!? You panic internally. How does this guy not know what that means? He’s gotta be pulling your leg, right? Right!? You can feel your brain imploding.

‘Uh haha well have you heard of milf?’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘Kay, well it’s like that but replace the mom with dad...’

There’s radio silence for close to a minute before the text bubble emerged.

‘Ah, now I’m the one who should be flattered. Is that an offer, sweetheart?’

You feel like dying; there’s no way this is really happening to you! You’re going to wake up in the morning and this is all gonna be some weird ass fever dream. 

Sucking up all the courage you have left in your body, your slowly type out a reply.

‘Could be if there’s some interest..’

After hitting send, you close your phone and bury your face in your pillow, to muffle your scream. Your nerves are starting to get the best of you when suddenly your phone goes off, buzzing against your thigh.

‘The name’s Leon. Feel free to contact me here’

You looked down at the notification, dumbfounded, reading the phone number he sends you right after. You seriously got this guy’s number?! Giving yourself a mental high five, you quickly save Leon’s number in your phone. 

Opening up your messages, you shoot him a text saying who you are so he’ll have your number too. Leon texts back quickly. 

‘Hello, sweetheart.’

It seems like no time at all before you guys hit it off and start seeing each other fairly regularly. Leon made it perfectly clear early on that he just wants to take care of someone and doesn’t require anything in return. 

You agree with him until you sweet talk him into visiting your apartment. Then you tease him, rile him up, until he’s railing you seven ways to Sunday, pretty much cementing the fact that you’re more than eager to have some extra benefits with your sugar daddy. 

Today is one of the days you get to spend time with Leon in his penthouse—still blows your mind every time you think about it. You’re excited as always, showing up a few minutes early to let yourself into the suite. 

You hurriedly kick off your shoes and drop your overnight bag down in the foyer. Padding further into Leon’s place, you notice that he hasn’t gotten home yet. You make your way into his bedroom and flop down onto his pristinely made bed. 

You nuzzle your face into the bedspread, sighing as you breathe in Leon’s scent. You wish he’d just keep you here; you know he’d love it, he’s always so stressed and having you here would help him out in more ways that one. 

“Sweetheart, I’m home,” his voice calls out to you. 

“In here!” you yell from the bedroom, listening as you hear his footsteps get closer and closer. 

“Oh, is my pretty baby getting my sheets all messy?” his low voice gives you goosebumps as he joins you on the bed. 

“Mmm yeah, daddy,” you smile up at him. 

“I know a better way to get’em all messy,” he kisses your neck making you sigh and tilt your head. 

“Leon!” you giggle as he noses along your skin to kiss your jaw. 

He places a noisy kiss on your check then pulls himself off of the bed. 

He holds his hand out to you, “C’mon, I got us dinner on the way home.”

You pout as you raise up, “I thought we were going out?”

“I’m too tired, baby,” he pulls you up to your feet and drops a kiss on your head, “let’s just relax at home.”

You try not to show your disappointment; you always love going out to a restaurant with Leon. You love being the one on his arm, watching as other men and women look at you enviously as he pulls out your chair for you or holds the door open. 

You shuffle on sock clad feet into the dining room. Leon has a few take out containers set on the table and you slump down on a seat and pop one open. 

“How was your day?” he asks as he pours you a glass of water. 

You shrug, pushing the food around with a fork, “It was whatever.”

Leon frowns at your tone, but you refuse to look at him. You both eat in silence for a few moments before he clears his throat. 

“Baby, I’m not in the mood today,” he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “we can go out tomorrow, okay?” 

You’re not even mad about not being able to go out, but there’s this itching underneath your skin that you just can’t ignore. It’s making you irritable and as much as you hate taking it out on Leon, it feels like you can’t control it. 

You scrape your fork against your container over and over until Leon’s hand reaches out to grab your wrist. You look over at him to see his lips pressed into a thin line. 

“You’re really pushing it, sweetheart,” his eyes stay laser focused on yours, his grip on your wrist tightening, “I’ve had a stressful day and I just wanted to come home and forget about it with my pretty girl.”

You shrug, “Okay.”

His eyes narrow as he lets go of your wrist, “Go into the bedroom, take off your clothes, and lay face down on the bed.”

Your heart leaps in your chest but you nod and push away from the table. 

“I’ll be in there as soon as I’m finished,” he states, not watching you leave. 

You shed your clothes as you walk to his room, dropping them on the floor knowing it’s just going to make Leon even more angry with you. Your nipples tighten in anticipation. 

Once you finally make it back to Leon’s bedroom, you crawl on top of the mussed sheets and lay out on your stomach. You try to calm your breathing as you wait for Leon. Accidentally drifting asleep, you groggily come to when you feel a pair of warm, calloused hands running along your bare back down to cup your ass.

“Leon,” you sigh, sleepily. 

A loud smack rings out as heat blooms across your skin where Leon spanks your ass. 

Your whole body jumps but Leon ignores it to land another stinging slap to the opposite cheek. He doesn’t let up even as you cry out, spanking your ass over and over again until the skin is nearly hot to the touch. You arch but don’t move away, enjoying how rough he’s being to you. 

“Leon,” you whimper, clit throbbing as your pussy leaks slick down your thighs. 

“My baby just needs to be put in her place,” he soothes his hand down your hip. 

“Uh huh,” you whine, “need it, please, Leon.”

“Sit still, baby,” he presses down on your back as he moves away from the bed, “need to get a few things.”

You shiver, nipples hard against the sheets making you squirm on the bed. A weight dips down next to you and you feel cool silk wrap around your wrists as Leon tugs your arms behind you back. 

“Be good for me, sweetheart, and your punishment won’t be too bad,” he coos at you as he finishes binding your wrists.  

“Want it, Leon,” you sigh, “want daddy to really give it to me.”

“Oh?” he laughs softly, “daddy need to teach that little pussy to behave?”

“Uh huh,” you moan, “please, she needs it so bad.” 

“It sounds like she’s been a naughty little thing,” his fingers slip between your thighs to rub your slick pussy lips, “you say she needs daddy to teach her a lesson?”

“Yes, yes,” you push your hips down, trying to get him to touch you more, “gotta really give it to her tonight.”

He groans, pulling his hand back to spank your ass making you whimper. 

“Daddy’s gonna do a lot of things to you baby, hope you’re ready.”

Your hips rock into the bed as he spanks you hard. Whining, you press your face against his sheets, pussy throbbing with want as he gropes and slaps your ass. 

“Love your ass,” he kneels down behind you, placing a soft kiss on the blood hot skin, “needs spanked more often.”

You cry out as Leon sinks his teeth into your sore ass cheek, sucking and worrying the skin until you kick your feet out. 

His big biceps wrap around your legs to hold you in place. 

“What’d I say?” he hugs your thighs, kissing the skin he bit. 

“T-to behave,” you gasp out, clit pulsing from being forced to stay still.

“Good girl,” he laughs, “daddy’s gonna help you do that. We don’t wanna kick anyone, right?”

“Right, daddy. ‘M sorry.”

“Mmm you’re perfectly fine, baby.  I know you can’t help it, feels good doesn’t it?” he groans, sinking his teeth back into the same spot. 

You whine high in your throat, legs spasming but being forced to stay still making you drip slick all over the bed. 

Leon ignores your sounds and pleas as he sucks bite after bite into your ass cheeks until they’re throbbing in pain. He keeps going back to the same spots to bite deeper and suck harder making you squeal and press yourself against his mouth.    

“Daddy, s’too much,” you drool into the bedspread, body completely limp to the point Leon’s not even holding you down anymore. 

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he chuckles, spanking your ass to watch your body shudder, “look how much your pussy’s crying baby, she’s loving every second of it.”

“Leon!” you whimper as he dips his head down to lick up the slick covering your thighs, tongue teasing across your pussy lips only to pull away. 

“Mm really making me wanna eat her up,” he says more to himself than you but it makes you arch up.

“You want that?” he spreads your thighs even wider, “want daddy to eat your little cunt, baby?”

“Yes yes,” you choke out, “eat my cunt daddy, please.”

He rolls you over onto your side and lifts your leg up, “Wrap theses thighs around my head, sweet girl.“

You moan as he pillows his head on your bottom leg and presses the other one over his head as he licks into your throbbing pussy. 

You love it but Leon’s being so slow. He’s lapping at your hole and teasingly dipping his tongue inside then changing direction and kissing his way up to your clit to lick and suck on the sensitive bud. 

He hums and groans noisily into your cunt, hands gripping your waist to keep you pressed as close as possible to his mouth. Whining, you squeeze your thighs around his head as you ride his face. Leon goes a little wild at that and roughly fucks his tongue up into your dripping pussy, grinding his nose against your clit harshly.  

He rolls you onto your back, hands now digging uncomfortably into your spine but that gets shoved to the side in favor of the electrifying feeling of Leon devouring your pussy like a man starved. 

“Leon, feels so good,” you whine, rolling down against his mouth, “gonna cum.”

You cry out as he pulls away, landing a smack onto your spit soaked clit. 

“None of that til you earn it,” he grins, wiping your slick off of his chin, “roll back onto your tummy for me, sweetheart.”

Your chest burns with embarrassment at his tone as you roll back over onto your front. 

“That little pussy distracted me, but I’m about to paddle this ass til I think you’ve learned a lesson, okay?” you feel him shift on the bed. 

“Almost forgot,” he laughs under his breath making you feel warm all over, “lift your head a bit. There we go.”

He slips the faux leather collar around your neck and fastens it gently.

“Leon,” you whimper, biting your lip. 

“Not too tight?”

You shake your head no as you relax down into the bed, “No daddy, s’good.”

“Good girl,” he pets your hip making you sigh, “you can be so good when you want to be.”

“M sorry, Leon,” you wiggle against him, “I’ll be good, promise.”

“Too late for that, still gotta spank my girl for acting up,” he lightly taps the paddle down onto your sore ass, “gonna give you ten, if it’s too much you let me know okay?”

You hum, “Yes, daddy.”

Leon ghosts his fingertips against your tender skin and as soon as you relax into the touch, he brings the paddle down to crack against both cheeks. 

You gasp out a low moan as Leon chuckles, “Don’t you sound pretty. That’s one.”

He quickly brings down the paddle until he lands on five. You’re sniffling into the bedsheets by then, skin feeling like it’s on fire. 

“Hurts, daddy,” your tongue is heavy in your mouth.

You hear him set the paddle down on the bed as he smooths his palms down your back to softly ghost over your inflamed skin down to your thighs.   

“Okay, baby.”

He grabs around your thighs and pulls you to the edge of the bed making you whine as the sheets drag across your swollen clit. 

Looping his fingers through your collar, he pulls you until your spine’s curved with your ass pushed out. Without any warning, he bullies his fat cock deep into your cunt, not stopping until he’s completely bottomed out. 

You squeal and writhe in his grasp, eyes rolling back at the sudden stretch and fullness of your pussy. Giving you no time to adjust, he’s pulling all the way out until only the tip is stretching you open before thrusting back into your soaked hole.

Your whole body thrums with pain and arousal, gasping as the collar pulls against your neck sporadically with his thrusts. 

“Pussy’s just crying for me,” Leon mutters as he grinds his hips against your sore ass making you clench, “fuck, she’s soaked, honey.”

Drooling, your hands scramble at the sheets to push yourself up to keep from choking on the collar, “D-daddy.”

“Take it, honey,” he growls, “you’re gonna take what I give you and you’re gonna like it.”

You shudder and press back against him. Leon groans and lets go of your collar to shove you face down into the bed, roughly yanking your hips back. 

“Tight little pussy,” he grunts, pushing his palm on the middle of your back to keep you still.

He fucks into you hard, making you scream as he knocks the tip of his dick into your cervix making fireworks explode in your head. 

“There we go,” he laughs, hand sliding up your back to press your face into the bed, “gotta make it hurt or you’ll never learn your lesson, baby.”

You can only make punched out little moans of pain as Leon pounds your pussy, the fat head of his cock pressing against your cervix and grinding against the opening. Your legs kick out weakly but he just laughs and smacks your ass with this other hand. 

“Don’t even need to spit on this pretty pussy she’s so wet,” he groans. 

Leon pulls his cock out making you mewl. Shifting around, he presses the bottom of his foot on your head, the other planted firmly on the floor, and fucks down into your pussy at a new angle.

Using both hands to grab onto your hip, he rocks his dick in and out of your dripping hole, slick messily smearing over your cunt. 

You moan loudly, pussy walls clenching down on Leon, sucking him in deeper. He thrusts his cock harder into your  squelching cunt, making your eyes roll back as he grinds against your g-spot. 

“Leon!” 

“Feeling good?” he presses his foot down harder, smushing your drooling face into the bedspread, “want you to cum for me, sweet girl.”

Punched out ah ah ah’s leave your lips, pussy split in two as he bullies his cock repeatedly into your sloppy wet hole. His cock keeps knocking against your g-spot make you squeal and clench down on him, pussy walls fluttering around his fat dick. That little band of arousal snaps and your body thrashes against the sheets, slick coating Leon’s cock as you cum with a loud cry. 

“There we go,” he coos down at your twitching body, aftershocks pulsing through your cunt making you whine, “such a good girl for me.”

Leon moves until he’s standing behind you again, fucking his cock deep into your clenching pussy. 

“Squeeze down on me, pretty thing,” he smacks your ass making you whimper and grind back against him.

“Gonna cum all over your ass since you don’t deserve it in your cute pussy this time, sweetheart.”

You whine, “Please, Leon, please, I’ll be good, please.”

His laugh ends in a groan as you clamp down on his dick, “Oh I’m sure, but this’s to show you how to behave for next time.”

You whine when he pulls out of your cunt, jerking his cock as he shoots hot spurts of cum all over your lower back and ass. After he finishes, you feel his broad palms rub the sticky jizz into your skin with a low laugh. 

“Pretty baby,” he sighs, undoing the restraints on your arms and the collar around your neck, “you okay, honey?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum as he rubs your chafed wrists, “wanna shower.”

He chuckles and kisses your bare shoulder, “Me too, c’mon I’ll help you up.”

Leon bends and scoops you up bridal style as you giggle and wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I’ll take you out tomorrow night, promise,” he kisses your jaw softly, “now I just wanna take care of you, okay?”

You pet your hands through his hair with a sweet sigh, “Thank you, Leon.”