#It is frustrating to me that the only way I can help is by sharing

[cheralith]

grocery lists | a blue lock smau (pt ii) — feat. itoshi sae

synopsis — when the empty number you've been using to list your groceries finally gets a recipient, your territory gets disturbed in an unusual way. cw : gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, smau, mentions of food, a sorry attempt at crack, fluff, reader is not good at cooking, writing portion at the end (~1.3k words - i got carried away lol) a/n : i may have not based this on me and my own cooking experiences < PREV NEXT > series taglist

Overhead lights were never one in Sae's favor—his eyes always getting strained at the white that gleamed too brightly off them. They reminded him of the stadium lights, too large and too flashy... distracting him from the main objective during his plays on the field.

Much like how he keeps getting distracted by all the laminated signs scattered all over the grocery store. A simple adjustment of an angle and there's a flash of a light's glare from the corner of his eye glinted from the plastic, making his head turn to see what it was—only to be face-to-face with a neon orange sign yelling, "30% OFF ALL VARIETIES OF BREAD."

If it were most signs, then Sae would've kept walking, as he’s not one to be so tempted by deals too good to be true, but reading the percentage and the food whose price it slashed made him stop dead in tracks, rooting him to the linoleum floor. He pauses, reading the little piece of paper again and squinting in suspicion.

His phone feels a little heavier in his pocket.

Sae sighs, shaking the creeping feel of suspicion off before he has time to fully let it settle and fending off to the refridgeration section to grab his pre-practice kombucha.

The vegetables get their occasional shower mist as he passes, making Sae slightly envious of the water they receive that cools them down from the summer air. It's making him more bitter these days, the heat making his irritation boil a little faster than it usually did, and it doesn't help that he'll be facing the sun's rays out in the open for another three hours at practice for the big showdown with Barcha.

Sae's leg suddenly brushes up against something slick and out rolls a stray head of something green from the shelves. On reflex, he immediately traps what seems to be a head of lettuce with his foot before it can get tainted by the floor, going to pick it up and place it back where it belongs before another sign captures his attention.

There's a curtain of dew that falls over it from the mist, but the text is still rather clear.

"LETTUCE, CABBAGE, ARTICHOKE: BUY ONE, GET ONE FREE!"

Sae feels the weight of his phone once again, shouldering him down. He takes it out with the same intuition rising within him again, eyes scanning over the texts with the mysterious Mango in his contacts.

"two heads of lettuce for the price of one AND 30% off all breads 😸😸"

Sae glances back at the bread... then to the many lettuces. Once is a coincidence... twice is a pattern, they say. But it'll take three turns to really get Sae's attention. He shakes his head—bread and lettuce expire fast, it's only reasonable that this grocery store amongst the many others in the city will mark them up. He's sure that the competitors are also doing the same, especially amidst the summer season.

Still, however. The gut feeling has pinned itself down in Sae's consciousness and he feels himself compelled to the bakery section...

And sure enough, another breadcrumb has been offered to him. A blue sign this time, posted right in front of some desserts with a large number declaring the discount.

"20% OFF SELECTED COOKIES & OTHER BAKED GOODS."

Sae's brows furrow in a meld of frustration and confusion. His attempts at being realistic set into play, with his reasonings trying to justify the truth of what he could possibly be thinking—that Mango is much closer in proximity than he realized.

Admittedly, they shared the same area code, indicating that they were in the same city, but Madrid's metropolitan area is home to nearly seven million people. The chances of him and Mango meeting in this city amongst its many citizens should've been nearly zero, especially given his status. He shouldn't try to find a reasoning that doesn't exist for this.

And most importantly, he shouldn't feel this skittish at the thought of that small chance actually happening.

Sae grits it down—he's known this mysterious Mango for less than two weeks. He was only talking to them out of boredom, really, Spain not faring much to offer for him after all these years. For him to feel this capricious about meeting a stranger is a feat he left behind years ago when he moved here all those years ago.

So this feeling to be rising up again for someone so seemingly insignificant makes him almost apprehensive.

Sae shakes it off when he glances at his watch and the reality of his situation sets in. It's not like he had time to dawdle anyway, practice is set to start in nearly thirty minutes. He can't be preoccupied with his thoughts... for now at least.

He shuffles up to the cash register, determined to get out of this grocery store and back into his reality.

In front of him is not too long of a line, only one person behind from the register itself, and the person in front of them only holds a basket of menial items when Sae eyes them when they place them onto the conveyer belt—it's only composed of a sack of flour, a sprig of what looks to be basil, a carton of six eggs, three tomatoes... a box of corn flakes... a wet bag of frozen onion rings...

"Ah! I forgot the chocolate chips!" they exclaim to the cashier, the last item on their list planting Sae's feet back onto the ground. "So sorry, let me get those really quickly!"

They dash out of line quickly, their baseball cap blurring their face from his point of view before Sae can try and seek out what they look like. Sae's breath hitches. When his foot unroot from the floor and he looks back, he only sees the person's backside running off.

"Sir, is that your only item?"

The cashier's voice breaks him from the trance, making Sae look back forward again.

"Huh?"

The cashier points to the lone glass of kombucha in his hand. "If that's it for you, I can ring you up, if you'd like. I can just put their stuff on hold until they come back," she offers.

Sae looks back to where the person in front of him dashed off to, but there's not a baseball cap in sight in the field of other customers.

"Sir?"

The line behind him grows longer and he feels the stares of others burning into him, a quiet urge to get going. Sae swallows dryly, moving up and despondently handing over his kombucha for the cashier to ring up.

He almost hates how quickly she scans it.

The cashier sticks on a red PAID sticker onto it. "That'll be €2.98, sir."

He has an urge to stall, for whatever reason. Use cash, purposefully swipe his card wrong, maybe even fish out some coins—something to eat up his time just until the person comes back.

A gruff voice disrupts his thoughts.

"Hey man, we don't got all day," a middle-aged man grunts, a few other slightly scorned faces from behind him nodding.

Sae coughs out a stiff apology, hands swiping his card a little too fast for his liking. The cashier hands him his receipt and his supposedly-menial pre-practice ritual is done.

The kombucha feels a lot colder in his hands as he grips it when he heads toward the exit. Sae turns back one more time to see if a baseball cap comes into view again, but as he stands amidst the framing of the sliding doors, in the fifteen seconds he waits between them, it never does.

He turns back once more when he's out of the store, viewing in from the window for another thirty seconds. But all he sees is the annoyed faces of the customers behind him, frustrated at the absence of the beholder of the plethora of items on the conveyor belt.

He glances at his watch again. Twenty minutes to go. And it's still a ten-minute train ride to Re Al's facility.

Sae mutters a swear, his kombucha hissing when he opens it as he saunters away from the store.

He takes a sip of it in an attempt to refresh himself, but it only leaves his tongue bitter.

< PREV NEXT >

a/n: i've got good news and bad news. good news is that initially i was only going to make this a three part series, but i think i'm gonna have to extend it to around five parts given the current outline? so yayyy more content <3

the bad news is that i dropped my morning coffee on the sidewalk today and it splattered over my pants boooo....

anyways... thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed (╹ڡ╹ ) ! reblogs and comments are always appreciated and never unnoticed <3!

taglist (link to join is above) : @rashouugue @shironagi @hinanhi @4yyx2 @sinsxo @appalost @shittyclarineted @itoshiholic @highandalive @i-eve-i @nocaffeineallowedtome @dontmindtheevie @jeonwiixard @erzys @puprdou @7leo7 @alana2007 @bubybubsters @littlebugs @oko11n @lunacoll @vayahatesu @leilakaro @chilichopsticks @tacharie @touyasvoid @leonskenn @enamyloveer @ksuckz682 @cloooudmilk @shalnarksantenna @h1sllvr @tetsuhanabi @sloaneki @sus0daddy @yulzsii @stfo4va @/whose-lozer @lorisheaven @estrnrea @burekforsatoru (those with a /, make sure you turn on the ability to be tagged in settings)

[hederasgarden]

Under the Influence (Pt. 1)

Summary: While investigating a suspicious pharmaceutical company, you and Clark find yourselves exposed to an interesting new drug. Pairing: Clark Kent x F!Reader  Word Count: 4.9K Warning: 18+ only, explicit sexual content. Dubious consent (reader and Clark are exposed to sex pollen), unprotected PIV, size kink, humor, and other untagged themes.  A/N: This takes place before the events of the movie. There are no spoilers. Thank you @ryebecca @clairewritesandrambles and @a-reader-and-a-writer for your help with this.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

It’s late, and the glittering skyline of Metropolis stretches out beyond the windows of the Daily Planet’s top-floor conference room. The usual hum of activity is absent tonight – it’s just you, Clark, and an intimidating stack of boxes that seem to multiply with every passing minute. A decent number of your Clark-related daydreams have started just like this. Though in those versions, there was usually a lot less paperwork...and a lot more kissing.

You stifle a yawn, reaching for your coffee, only to nearly choke when you realize it’s gone cold. Grimacing, you set the offending mug aside and try to wash away the stale taste with water. The sound catches Clark’s attention and pulls him from his work. He looks at you over his thick-rimmed glasses, the corner of his mouth lifting into a wiry smile. Even under fluorescent office lighting, he still looks devastatingly handsome. It was unfair. 

“I’ll put on a fresh pot,” he offers, stretching as he stands. 

Despite shedding his oversized suit jacket earlier and with his tie hanging a little crooked, he somehow still looks annoyingly fresh. Like he was immune to exhaustion or just politely pretending not to feel it. You, on the other hand, look exactly like someone who’s had a twenty-hour work day: crumpled, wilted, and one coffee away from a breakdown.

Leaning back, you pass him your mug, your stiff muscles protesting. They ache from hours of sitting and sorting. He gives you a sympathetic smile as one of his large hands comes to rest on your shoulder in a brief, consoling pat. You can feel the warmth of his touch through your dress and sigh. 

“Back in a jiffy,” he promises, disappearing down the hall. 

By now, the two of you have been hunched over documents for nearly ten hours. Half of them are so technical they might as well be gibberish, but you’ve found a few leads in the financial papers. Unfortunately, your current stack of documents is so aggressively redacted that they’re practically useless. You groan in frustration and face-plant onto your arms, silently questioning whether a byline is really worth this much torture.

You remain like that until Clark returns, carrying the rich, intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee.

“I take back all the mean things I was just thinking. You’re officially my savior,” you declare.

You accept the mug eagerly, only to quickly set it on the table when the warmth that seeps through the ceramic nearly burns your fingers. Not for the first time, you wonder how Clark managed to get the ancient coffee machine to percolate so quickly. For everyone else, it typically spewed out lukewarm sludge.

“Regretting volunteering for this assignment?” Clark asks. 

“Not for a moment,” you reply honestly. “You’re still sharing that byline with me, right?” You question, squinting up at him.

“I always keep my promises,” he says with such earnestness that you’re reminded once again why Perry liked to call him a Boy Scout. 

“I’ll hold you to it because this story’s turned into a beast.”

Clark sighs, one hand on his hip as he surveys the cluttered table covered in file boxes and scattered papers. With the other, he lifts a mug to his mouth and takes a deep sip of hot chocolate, the homemade mix something his mom sends all the way from Kansas.

“It really has,” he says quietly.

When Perry asked for a volunteer from the junior editor pool to assist on an exposé about Salvation Pharmaceuticals, you jumped at the chance. And not just because Clark Kent was the reporter assigned to it. Most of your days were spent copyediting crime reports and waging a quiet war over AP versus Chicago style. You were desperate for some real, hands-on investigative work, although neither of you expected an investigation into government kickbacks and dubious congressional dealings to rapidly evolve into something far more unsettling. 

Salvation Pharmaceuticals’ R&D department was embroiled in deeply questionable research, from a gas capable of erasing memories to a potent drug they called a truth serum. All of their projects had frankly terrifying side effects, particularly the latter, which worked by lowering inhibitions but also triggered something they called sexual psychosis. 

Clark’s freedom of information request resulted in your current predicament. Clearly, someone at the company thought they could drown you both in paperwork before you could find anything useful. Unfortunately for them, Clark Kent was one of the most determined reporters you’d ever met, and you were just desperate enough to get out of the editing pool to help him. 

“Well…once more unto the breach,” you quote, holding up a fresh box of files.

As you lift the lid, Clark offers you a small smile, his cheeks dimpling. For a moment, you’re too distracted by him to notice the cloud of yellow dust rising from the box. It quickly expands, swirling into a thick mist that engulfs you both. Immediately, your lungs begin to burn, and you gasp for air. You push your chair back and struggle to stand as your vision blurs. 

A strong arm around your middle hauls you back, dragging you across the carpet. Somewhere along the way, your heels slip off. Clark doesn’t stop until you reach the edge of the room, and you lean into him, trying to clear your lungs. Behind you, he grunts, his fingers spasming against your hip. It takes several moments for the air to clear, but when it does, you watch in horror as the yellow dust seems to melt into your skin.

“What was that?” You ask, voice hoarse.

Clark is silent and looks grim when you turn to face him. “I think that was the truth serum. The reports described it as yellow dust.”

You blink, baffled. “Why would they keep it in those files?”

“I don’t know,” he says with a grimace. “But I can guess.”

You rub your chest and take a hesitant step back. “I don’t feel any different. Do you?”

“No.” He presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw twitching with tension. “Are you sure you don’t feel anything?”

You exhale slowly, taking stock of your body. “Maybe?” Your response is more of a question than a definitive answer. You feel oddly warm, but it could just be the adrenaline from the situation. You also feel a little nauseous, but that might be from the cold coffee you tried to poison yourself with earlier.

“You’re sweating,” he observes, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. The warmth of his touch makes you shudder, and you can’t help but notice how good he smells. “Your body temperature is elevated.”

“Huh?” You look up at him, momentarily lost in his gaze. “You’re hot, too,” you blurt out, mortified when the words leave your mouth.

“I feel fine,” Clark replies, either misunderstanding what you meant or choosing not to acknowledge the slip. Bless that midwestern politeness. 

You step away from him, body buzzing. Sweat dots your brow, and you’re halfway out of your thin cardigan before you can stop yourself. As you pace the room, you realize Clark might be right. The powder could be affecting you, and much faster than documents suggested. You try to shake off the disorienting feeling that lingers, while Clark tracks your progress with sharp blue eyes.

“Should we call someone? Isn’t there, like, a protocol for mysterious powders? Hazmat? Ghostbusters?” It’s hard to think straight when your entire body feels like it’s trying to cook itself from the inside out. “Clark?” you ask.

His nostrils flare, but otherwise, he doesn’t respond until you say his name again. “Yeah. There’s uh, an anthrax protocol. Perry’s got it in his office.”

Time gets weird after he leaves, moving in fits and starts. At one point, you find yourself rubbing your chest, and you have to forcibly yank your hand away. You’re not sure how long Clark is gone, each minute dragging as the heat within intensifies and your thoughts become increasingly muddled. There’s a growing pressure in your stomach, too, something that radiates down. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s persistently irritating, a prickling feeling that needs to be soothed. 

“I made the call,” Clark announces, reappearing. “They said it’ll be 30 minutes until they get here with everything they need. We just have to sit tight.”

“Thirty minutes?” you repeat, voice edging on panic. “What are they doing, walking from Gotham?”

Clark doesn’t respond, and you quickly turn away, not trusting yourself to say anything else.

If it really was the truth serum, and you’re starting to believe Clark might be right, there’s no telling what might come out of your mouth next. Even now, as you pace back and forth, you feel a pressure under your tongue, as though the words are lurking just beneath the surface, eager to spring out. The absolute last thing you need right now is to blurt out your dumb, awkward crush on him. Or tell him how nice he smells. 

“God, it’s hot,” you groan, staring at the window. You press your palms to the glass. It’s cool to the touch, and you lay your forehead against it, almost moaning in relief. If you could peel off your dress and melt straight into the glass, you would. Happily. No questions asked.

“Here.” Clark’s voice comes from closer than expected, and you flinch at the sudden touch of his hand on your lower back.

He turns you around to face him and presses a glass of water to your lips. You grasp his thick wrist as he urges you to drink it all, your gaze never leaving his. The moment you finish, your mouth feels dry and your throat itches. 

“You have the bluest eyes,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t hide them behind your glasses.” You reach for them because apparently, your self-control has left the building. Clark stops you gently, his hand covering yours.

You freeze. Oh god. Did you just say that last part out loud?

Yes. Yes, you did. Fantastic.

You slap your hands over your face, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Or that you could merge with the building and become a ghost who only haunts Perry’s office because this was definitely his fault. Somehow. 

“This is no one’s fault but Salvation Pharmaceuticals,” Clark says quietly.

Your hands slide down just enough to peek at him through your fingers. “I said that part out loud, too, didn’t I?”

He nods, eyes sympathetic.

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’s the drug,” he says sympathetically, pulling your hands down from your face. “It lowers inhibitions. Heightens emotional impulses.”

“Well, it’s doing an excellent job,” you reply, trying not to get distracted by how absurdly big his hands are compared to yours. Or how warm they feel. It takes serious effort to meet his eyes again.

“Why aren’t you affected?” you ask. “You should be blurting out embarrassing things, too.”

“My biology is different from yours,” he says, almost absently, and then immediately freezes, like the words slipped out before he could catch them. He presses his lips together and clenches his jaw. For the first time since you met him, Clark looks genuinely unsettled. 

“The reports said it affected women quicker,” he adds before stepping back.

“What a time to be a woman,” you mutter, hands falling limply at your side. 

Clark tugs at his already loosened tie, stretching his neck with an audible crack that makes you wince. A flush creeps up his neck and stains his cheeks, and okay, apparently you’re now hallucinating too, because the skin around his eyes looks like it’s faintly glowing. He turns away and lets out a harsh breath through his nose.

“Maybe I should wait in the other room,” he says tightly, voice strained.

“Yeah,” you say quickly. It was probably for the best that he wasn’t around for the next wave of weird, unfiltered thoughts that were no doubt waiting in the wings. 

Clark barely makes it to the door before a sharp, unexpected wave of searing pain rips through your stomach, sending you crashing to your knees. The impact jolts your entire body, but that discomfort is overshadowed by a deep gnawing ache between your legs. You pitch forward onto all fours, struggling as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Oh,” you whimper, voice small and panicked, as your brain chooses now to recall the adverse event report in perfect, horrifying detail.

Following an increase in basal body temperature, patients exposed to the drug exhibit symptoms of full-blown sexual psychosis. This condition necessitates achieving climax to alleviate symptoms. Patients who are unable to reach climax experience a marked increase in heart rate and blood pressure, which in some cases progresses to cardiac arrest and death.

Every muscle in your body tenses, as a fierce, relentless pressure builds. Then, like the tide, it recedes, leaving you curled into a ball on the floor. Through half-closed eyes, you meet Clark’s gaze. You whimper his name. 

“I know,” he says quietly, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover at your shoulders for a moment before finally settling firmly on your body and turning you on your back.

You blink up at him, feeling like you might come out of your skin.

 “Help me, please,” you whisper, the words escaping between clenched teeth. 

You’re too hysterical to feel ashamed about what you’re asking him to do. Details from the report keep replaying in your mind. Clark looms over you, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You stare up at him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the need in your core pulses and builds. The ache in your body is all-consuming, overriding everything else. Worse is the feeling of emptiness that you know he could fill. 

“Please.”

Your voice fizzles out as a strong wave of pain slams into you. It leaves you reeling and disoriented. You claw at his arms, fingernails digging into his skin. Somewhere deep inside, the part of you that’s still sane and not a sex-starved maniac convinced you’ll die if Clark doesn’t fuck you, knows what you’re asking is utterly insane. But you can’t stop yourself.

“I can help you.” He says to your relief, his gaze lingering on you as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “If-if you want me to,” he adds, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up inside you.

Of course you do, you’ve dreamed of him since the day you met him in the breakroom. You just never imagined it would unfold like this.

Another cramp rips through you, leaving you panting. You grit out a desperate, “Yes. God, yes.”

His large hand encircles your calf, the touch light as he pulls your legs apart so he can kneel between them. The cool air makes you groan, and you try to curl in on yourself again, but Clark stops you. With shaky hands, he drags your dress up, eyes fixed on your face, expression searching. When he finally exposes your simple black underwear, the sight seems to transfix him, and you watch his chest rise and fall with quick, shallow breaths that mimic your own as he stares.  

“I have to ah, I have to…” He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. When he shakes his head, his glasses slide down his nose. “I need to get you ready.”

“I don’t care,” you pant. “Fuck me, please.”

You’re mortified by how desperate you sound. You’ve never spoken to anyone like this in your entire life, but once it starts, you can’t seem to stop. Even though the embarrassment is there, it can’t compete with the overwhelming need surging through your body. You keep begging, voice wobbly and insistent, your dignity long gone. You sound like a cat in heat, you think deliriously.

“It’s okay,” Clark soothes, the calm tenor of his voice betrayed by the way his hand trembles against your thigh. 

He tears off your underwear with an ease that would give you pause if you were in your right mind. You watch him stuff the tattered fabric into his pocket, too focused on making sure he fucks you to linger on that fact. 

Shame is a thing of the past as you spread your legs even further, allowing his hungry gaze to drink its fill. He parts your folds and draws two fingers through the wetness gathered there, starting with light, teasing strokes that quickly build to more. When his thumb finds your bundle of nerves, he rubs slow, soothing circles until the pain in your stomach eases a fraction. 

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, sounding breathless. “Doing so good for me, honey.”

You moan his name and he shifts closer, bent forward to watch himself work. Soon, one kind of pressure recedes and another begins. You gasp as Clark continues his slow assault, building in its intensity. When your legs thrash, his other hand settles on your hip, holding you still as he works a thick finger inside. Your cunt clenches in response to the intrusion. Above you, he groans, and his thumb moves faster. 

“More, oh god, I need more,” you beg, keening when Clark pushes a second finger inside. 

The stretch of them both burns, but that’s eclipsed by the pleasure you feel. You rock forward, trying to take more of him, but he doesn’t let you, controlling the pace. You can hear yourself babbling, nonsensical words streaming from your mouth as he draws you closer and closer to your orgasm until, all at once, it overwhelms you completely. It’s almost painful, and your hands curl into fists, your body contorting in response. The room blurs around you, and every fiber of your being is consumed by the relief you feel. 

When it passes, you’re left trembling on the floor, avoiding Clark’s gaze. He hovers over you, his arousal hard to miss with the way it tents the front of his gray slacks.

You touch his chest, inhaling when his dark blue eyes snap up to meet yours. “Do you…” 

He shakes his head, withdrawing his fingers. You wince, rubbing your thighs together. 

“No, I-” he starts, but whatever he is about to say is abruptly cut off as he grunts and hunches forward, a visible shudder running through him. 

Hesitantly, you reach out and touch his face. When your fingers brush over the curve of his cheek, he moans and surges forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that steals your breath. He forces his tongue inside, and the heat of him is almost unbearable. You curl your arms over his shoulder, drawing him closer. His hands travel up and down your sides, and you feel that familiar pressure return to your core. It builds slowly, like the spark of an ember that will soon flare into a blazing fire. 

You shift under Clark, drawing your legs up as he swallows down your needy whine. By the time he pulls away, you’re feeling dizzy.

“We need to,” you begin, squeezing your eyes shut as your body trembles.

“I know,” Clark replies.

He fumbles with his pants, and you stare up at the ceiling as he pulls himself free. It feels like a violation to look, but you find your gaze drifting down. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, just as big and thick as the rest of him. Your cunt aches, and god, you want him. Need him. 

Clark plants a hand near your head while he lines himself up. He pushes inside slowly. It hurts, but you need more of him, and you need it now. Wrapping his tie around your hand, you pull hard, urging him closer. He snaps his hip forward with enough force to jar your bones, and you wail in response. For one blissful moment, everything is quiet. Your buzzing mind and aching body are finally filled in a way they’ve been craving.

“Fuck.” The curse that falls from Clark’s lips is jarring and brings you back to the moment. You’ve never even heard him use language like that; he always expresses himself in oddly charming, old-fashioned phrases. 

“You feel so good. You feel…” he trails off, his words bleeding into one long, low moan that has you clenching around him. 

His handsome face contorts, his lips pressed tightly together. Tension lines the muscles of his jaw, and his dark brows furrow in an expression that teeters between ecstasy and pain. Pleasure skitters along your nerves as he drives into you over and over again to reach some unknown place hidden deep inside. Your second orgasm rises to the surface just as swiftly as your first and Clark is relentless as he fucks you through it. 

There isn’t even time to catch your breath before his hands encircle your hips, and he leans back, drawing you with him. The backs of your thighs drag over the fabric of his slack as he moves your body to meet his thrusts. As one orgasm fades you feel another spring to life, hastened by the feel of his calloused thumb on your clit. The need inside you burns even brighter, and a litany of pleas spills from your lips. 

“You feel,” he pants, “just like I imagined.”

When you gasp his name, he curls his body over yours, the new angle allowing him to move even deeper. You hold onto his biceps and listen to the desperate little noises that escape his chest with each thrust. His lips find the soft skin of your throat as his fingers dig into the neckline of your dress. He pulls hard and buttons scatter, giving him access to your shoulder. Teeth scrape over tender flesh, and your back arches as another orgasm blooms in your stomach.

Waves of pleasure ebb through your body, and your fingers tangle in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Clark doesn’t falter even when you fall still beneath him. Your muscles ache, and your body feels tense and exhausted, but that frenzied need that’s driven you since the dust melted into your system slakes away until you’re left feeling everything. 

Clark groans, and you realize he’s still in the throes of the drug's effects. The ceaseless rhythm of his hips continues, and he hitches your leg over his waist to push himself deeper. You let him use you, all too aware of the primal, intense need flooding his body. 

He shudders, gasping, “like that, just like that.” 

Then he finally stills, and you feel a rush of intense warmth flood you. Your breath comes in short little pants, your heart fluttering in your chest. After a few moments, Clark stiffens, and you know he’s come back to himself. He shifts, and you can’t stifle your whimper. His gaze jumps to your face. 

For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other silently. He looks absolutely wrecked above you, dark, sweat-soaked hair sticking to his forehead, and his pink lips swollen and red from your attention.

The hand gripping your hip loosens, then lifts to hover near your cheek without touching. He swallows and seems to struggle with his words for a moment. 

“Are you…”

“I’m okay,” you whisper, suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s still inside you.

He seems to realize the same thing, his face flushing scarlet. He slips out of you with a quiet exhale and passes a trembling hand over his mouth. You look away as he tucks himself back into his pants. A moment later, he tugs your dress down, and you press your thighs together, your skin sticky and wet. 

Clark says your name, and you realize he’s standing in front of you, hand outstretched. After a beat of hesitation, you take it, and he pulls you up. When he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, you feel a rush of gratitude for his Midwestern manners. You let him guide you carefully to a chair, and you wince as you settle in.

He clears his throat and tells you, “The response team is downstairs.”

“Okay,” you say, too out of it to ask how he knows that. 

Clark rubs the back of his neck, seeming to search for something today. Honestly, what could either of you say right now? This wasn’t exactly covered in the employee handbook. If it was, you definitely missed the chapter titled, “How to Apologize After Having Sex at Work While Drugged Out of Your Mind by a Pharmaceutical Company You’re Investigating.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay,” you say automatically. Clark’s brow furrows, and the silence that follows makes you realize just how unhinged that must’ve sounded. You scramble to clarify. “I mean, you didn’t dose us with truth serum. It was an accident.” You manage a watery grin that feels more like a grimace.

“This wasn’t some accident,” Clark says, the uncertainty from moments ago gone, replaced by something steadier. Anger flickers behind his eyes. “Someone deliberately planted that dust in the files. It wasn’t just meant to scare us off; it was meant to compromise us. Discredit the story. Discredit us.”

He takes a breath, fists clenched at his sides. “We’re going to find out who did this. We’re going to expose them.”

You wish you could summon some of that righteous, cornfed fury Clark’s channeling right now, but you're a little preoccupied with the uncomfortable, mortifying sensation of his cum slowly sliding out of you, and the embarrassing realization that your coworkers were almost definitely going to find out what went down here tonight. Reporters were the worst kind of gossips. 

“That’s…great,” you reply lamely. 

Clark looks like he wants to say something more; his lips part slightly, but nothing comes out. Instead, silence settles between you, heavy and strange. He stands half a step in front of you, his tall frame blocking most of your view. You find yourself staring at the curve of his shoulder, the way his shirt clings to his back in wrinkled lines, half-tucked in. His hair is still a mess from your fingers.

When the team in hazmat suits finally arrives, he’s the one who greets them. You only catch snippets of conversation as his eyes flick toward you more than once. You wonder if they can all read what happened just by looking at the two of you.

After introductions, you and Clark are promptly herded through separate decontamination processes that involve surrendering your clothes and scrubbing away what feels like the top six layers of your skin. You mourn the loss of your favorite dress when you're informed it’s headed straight to incineration, especially after you’re handed scratchy paper scrubs. Next, you’re escorted into a plastic tent that smells vaguely of bleach. Inside, a nurse with a clipboard asks you a series of deeply personal questions in a tone that suggests this is just another Tuesday for her.

“Did you use protection?”

You nearly choke on your own breath. The nurse doesn’t blink.

You swallow down the first response that jumps to your tongue, something sarcastic and vaguely unhinged, like ‘Oh yeah, we absolutely took a moment mid-drug-fueled breakdown to practice safe sex.’ Instead, you clear your throat and mutter, “I’m on the pill.”

The questions continue, and you want to crawl out of your own skin. Somehow, you force yourself to endure the invasive interview and the not-so-gentle pricks of needles, nodding along as they talk about test results.

“We’ll follow up in a few days,” the nurse says briskly, pulling off her gloves. “In the meantime, we strongly advise you to quarantine at home. Avoid contact with anyone else.”

Before you can ask what “quarantine” entails, a man in a standard-issue government black suit appears at your side. He doesn’t say much, just gestures toward the exit like this is all normal.

You stop once you reach the hallway, the first soft rays of dawn filtering through the tall windows. Golden light spills across desks and papers, and outside, you can hear the birds. The city is waking up, bustling to life as usual, while you feel disoriented and off-kilter. With little choice but to follow your new friend, you head towards the elevator, drawing up short when you see Clark there.

A few feet behind him stands his own government escort, a man who, despite the black suit and stiff posture, looks comically small next to Clark. The four of you stare at each other until the elevator dings and the doors begin to close. Clark halts their progress with one hand.

“Thank you,” you say automatically as you step in beside him. 

You sound borderline insane, thanking him for holding open the elevator when just a few hours ago he was inside you, saying all kinds of not-mild-mannered things that you didn’t expect from Clark Kent of all people. 

Clark gives you a small nod, jaw tense, like he’s not sure what expression to wear. You glance at the guys in the black suits and wonder what they must be thinking. Maybe this was just another day for them or more likely, your story was now officially part of their crazy catalog of weird shit they’ve seen. You can already hear it being told over beers on a Friday night, somewhere in a dive bar with terrible onion rings and sticky floors. 

Fantastic.

The four of you file out of the elevator as it opens into the quiet bullpen. Without a word, you and Clark are steered toward separate black cars waiting at the curb. He pauses, glancing back at you over the open door. His hand lifts hesitantly, offering you an awkward wave.

You return it, just as uncertain, before the door swings shut between you with a soft, final click.

--

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

[sadeeeeee]

Gameboy

Chan x Reader

Pure Fluff

3rd POV

(Based on that one chan vlog clip ifykyk)

Synopsis ~

It's been a long day for you both and all Chan wants is to play some Genshin and to have you by his side for the rest of the night.

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You just finished cleaning up around the house before Chan makes his way in. You can already tell he's exhausted. You walk over a tender smile on your face taking his bags from him and putting them away while he takes off his shoes and puts them in their designated spot. "Hey baby long day huh"? You ask quietly almost as if the quieter you are the more soothed, he'll become. "Yea really long he breaths out - "but it's better now because I'm home with you". He says hugging you tightly nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck obviously looking for some comfort. "Well, you can relax now Channie; the house is clean, and dinners almost done. He gives a relaxed sigh into your neck his breath tickling you making you pull away slightly with a giggle. He pouts up at you and you just push him towards your shared bedroom. "Why don't you get cleaned up and then we can sit down for dinner hmm"? You ask gently. He agrees and goes off to shower.

~

After dinner and discussing each other's day Chan pulls you to the couch and snuggles into your side. "You're so needy tonight baby". You tease. He in returns wines into your side his words coming out muffled "I just missed you is'all and- He goes quiet an uncertainty hangs in the air. "Hmm and what baby"? You ask gently curious as to what he had to say. He gives a heavy sigh like he's almost nervous to continue. "Hey baby what's on your mind you know you can tell me right"? You say as you rub slow circles into his side.

Well, I've been thinking about playing ehh- Genshin all day but i was hoping you'd maybe wanna watch me play". "I know you don't know much about the game but"- "Channie' - you cut him off softly, "is that all, of course I'll watch you play if that's what you really want, I don't mind at all". He looks up to you with the biggest smile pulling at his face. His dimples are about all you can see that and the stars in his eyes. "You'd really watch me play he asks excitedly - you don't think it'd be boring for you"? He asks his voice dropping to a whisper. "Hey of course not I could never be bored with you I may not understand the game, but- you say before pulling your bottom lip between your lips - "you could always teach me how to play". You say a soft smile on your face only growing bigger when you see Chans eyes light back up from your statement. He lets out a cute gasp another really and before you know it, he's pulling your up to your feet phone in hand tugging you two to your bedroom.

~

You sit down and get comfy your back laying on some pillows that sit against your headboard. Chan jumps into bed next to you and wiggles around looking to get comfortable before turning to you with a sweet smile. You lean into him ever so slightly and he soon opens up the game. He's soon explaining all his missions with giggles and some lighthearted frustrations when he has to start a mission over, to which you giggle about until he shoots you a playful glare. After some time of him playing and explaining the game to you he goes to hand the phone to you asking if you wanted to play. When you lift your head from his shoulder and take the phone with a shy nod he breaks out into the sweetest smile yet.

He's now leaning into your shoulder helping you play when necessary and letting you figure stuff out yourself. At some point he's stopped paying attention to the game and he's only looking at you. Admiring the way, you're getting so into game it makes him happy to know your so content just being here with him indulging, while he enjoys his silly little game. Feeling his eyes on you; you turn from the game and are meant with his pretty brown eyes already looking up at you. "Hi, you say shyly". "Hi, he says back with a few giggles following after like a period to his statement. "What are you staring at hm" you ask teasingly. "I just am really happy that you're here doing this with me, I usually just go off and play by myself". "I didn't wanna bother you with this". He admits hand flailing over to his phone for emphasis.

You place the phone down in your lap before cupping his cheeks. "Baby you could never be a bother I wanna know every little thing about you and that includes stuff like this". Tell me all about your favorite games, movies, shows anything baby I want to hear about it all". You say as your thumbs gently graze his plump cheeks. He smiles at you before pressing a soft kiss to your lips mumbling a sweet I love you over them when he breaks away slightly. "I love you too Channie.

"I also think I've found a new love". You tease. His eyebrows shoot to his hairline with a startled "what" falling from his lips before catching on to your joke. "Ahhh and who's the lucky person"? He jokes back. "I think you already know them". You say biting your lip lightly. "He bites back a groan and just drops his head to your shoulder "You're gonna be the death of me". To which you respond with a string of giggles. Though he'd be lying if he were to say he wasn't happy that you enjoy the game so much, hoping to play with you more often.

The rest night is spent with you two cuddling and Chan talking about his favorite parts of his favorite game as well as whatever else comes to his beautiful mind and you sit and listen to it contempt with sparkles in your eyes as you look over at him playing and you couldn't be happier.

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I hope you all liked this silly one shot. I love Genshin and wanna play with Chan so bad so now we have this one shot. I had fun writing this so hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you for reading as always let me know what you think and what you might want to see next!!

[gayandbasic]

Silhouette part 3: There’s something about Bob

Bob Reynolds X Female!reader || WC: 4.5k

Summary: You fight to find a way up and out. Climbing a metal death tube with strangers you don’t fully trust, tethered together by necessity and sarcasm. When the plan unravels and the fall begins, you’re surprised to find you’d tear yourself open to save them.

TW: mentions of abuse and trauma, talk of depression and suicidal ideation, canon typical violence

Prologue ✼ Part 1 ✼ Part 2

Silhouette Character Concept

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

You stare up at the shaft that stretches endlessly above, a steel tomb. The metal walls are smooth, sterile, and pitiless—offering no handholds, no breaks in the surface, and worst of all, no shadows. Just an uninterrupted column of brushed chrome illuminated from within by cold strip lighting. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to slip into the dark.

Your jaw tightens.

“So none of us fly? We all just… punch and shoot?” Yelena’s dry voice cuts through your grim thoughts.

Before you can answer, John squares his shoulders with a cocky grin. “Okay, don’t worry—I got this.”

You barely have time to react before he leaps upward like rocketing up like a firework. You slip into the narrow shadow he casts, hitching a ride up the wall as far as it will take you. Only half a mile up before gravity claws him down again. You drop with him, the shadow collapsing like paper, your insides flipping as his descent accelerates.

You watch him fall—then slam into the ground with a painful thud. You tense instinctively, expecting blood.

But of course he’s fine. Damn super soldier serum.

Yelena’s laugh cuts across the shaft like a bell. “You should try that again!” Ava calls after him, grin sharp. You emerge from the shadow beneath him and offer a hand, your amusement breaking through in a faint smirk.

John groans, hauling himself up with your help. “Yeah. We’re pretty far down here.”

He claps your shoulder—grateful, if a little winded before turning to Ava. “Alright, what if you just… walk up there or whatever and throw down a rope—?”

“First of all,” Ava interrupts, arms crossed, “someone other than you would have to ask me. Second of all, I’d need to know where I’m going, I’ve never been able to phase longer than a minute so I’d just get lost in an ocean of dirt and get crushed to death”

You shudder at the thought, you’ve been buried alive before it wasn’t fun. The air sucked out of your lungs and all you can do is struggle for a breath that won't come.

“Oh my god. We suck,” Yelena groans, tilting her head back in frustration.

That’s when Bob—quiet until now—speaks up. “I have and idea. What if… we brace back to back, feet on the wall, and walk our way up together?”

The simplicity of it hits like a lightbulb in the dark. You turn to him, a rare, genuine smile tugging at your lips. “That’s actually a brilliant idea.”

He startles a little, but nods.

“I’ll stay in your shadows,” you offer. “If anyone falls, I’ll make it to the bottom before you do.”

John squints at you. “Okay but—how does that work? What happens to you when you… crawl into there? Do you vanish like Ava?”

You hesitate, appreciating—for once—his curiosity is sincere, not condescending.

“If I’m being honest I’m not too sure. It’s like I erase myself. And shift into a strange in between space. They called it the Umbra—some kind of metaphysical corridor that links every cast shadow in the vicinity. I can see through it… but it’s weird like peering through the surface of black water.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Ava asks, voice a low almost knowing tone.

You already know that she knows who they are. You recognize the kinship in her eyes.

“The men in the lab. The white coats and clipboards. That’s what I called them, when I was young.”

The memory coils tight in your throat, but Ava simply nods. The two of you hold each other’s gaze a moment longer—something unspoken shared. You’re not ready to name it, but it feels like home.

Bob shifts beside you, visibly unsettled. Your words have lit something in him—a spark of half-buried recognition.

“Okay, okay,” Yelena cuts in, gesturing around. “Maybe story time later. For now, can we climb out of the death shaft?”

And just like that, the plan is in motion.

You seep into the shade just beneath Bob’s feet, nested in his shadow as the group begins their upward crawl, backs pressed to each other, feet planted on opposing walls like a human starfish. It’s awkward. Unsteady.

“Which one of you is wet?” Yelena hisses.

“I—I run hot,” Bob mumbles sheepishly.

“One of you has a weird hard butt,” John mutters.

“That’s my suit,” Ava snaps.

“Well you need to get a new suit,” Yelena fires back.

They bicker. You trail. Shadows flickering around you like a second skin, but guilt is heavy in your gut. You wish you could do more than watch and hitch a ride up.

You’re lost in your own thoughts, floating through the Umbra, until John’s voice jerks you back.

“I can see the door!”

They pause their ascent.

“Now what?” Yelena deadpans.

“I guess one of us climbs up first,” John suggests.

“And then the other three fall,” Ava counters.

“Didn’t think that far ahead,” Bob mumbles.

“Genius plan, Bobby,” John groans.

“Always making things worse,” Bob whispers to himself.

Your heart lurches.

You speak from below, your voice rippling up the shaft like a thousand whispers from a haunted well. “One of you reach your hand higher to cast a shadow to the edge, I can make it”

“Jesus Christ! Why do you sound like a living nightmare?!” John shouts.

“Laterrrr,” you croon, echoing through the shaft.

Before you can insist again you’re interrupted.

“C-CUCUMBER!” Bob suddenly shrieks. “Cucumber! Cucumbercucumbercucumber!”

“What the hell is happening?” Yelena shouts.

“I—growing up I heard that you can stop a sneeze by confusing your brain and i don’t know I just always yelled cucumber …I have to sneeze ..oh noo” you watch in horror as his face scrunches up

Everyone starts yelling over each other the word cucumber echoing around you.

Terror spikes. You launch upward, shadows shooting like lightning. Ava’s wrist is in your hand, your body half in, half out of the Umbra. It burns.

Agony lances through you. You let out a choked moan, shadows writhing as you push your limits. You wrap a tendril around Yelena’s waist, one around Bob’s ankle halting the sudden descent.

He lets out a sneeze that in the back of your mind reminds you of a kitten - adorable.

You try to push through the feeling of your body tearing and deconstructing itself. You weren’t meant to be this. Half-real, half-gone. Last time you tried something like this, you blacked out for a week. You were twelve. The scientists swore they’d “improve” the process.

They apparently didn’t

“WAAAALKER!” Your voice erupts in a chorus of voices, echoing like a banshee scream. Bob clamps his hands over his ears as a fire hose drops from above.

Ava is the first to pull herself up, followed by Yelena, then lastly Bob. John reaches down and catches Bob’s hand, hauling him up with some comment about arm day.

As soon as Bob is free of danger you slink through the shadows on the floor and claw your way out in a darkened corner. You lie there body curling on the cold ground like something half-dead and smoking, face down, struggling to steady your breath, to contain the aching in your bones and the restless shadows that curl around your limbs like smoke with nowhere to go.You press your cheek to the metal floor. It helps. A little

Ava edges toward you, cautious but concerned. “Hey… are you okay?” she asks, voice tentative as she leans down��close enough to check if you’re still breathing. She doesn’t even flinch at the billowing tendrils of darkness that seep back into your skin, though her eyes linger on them wary.

You grunt in response, lifting one trembling arm to throw up a thumbs-up, your cheek still mashed against the cold metal floor.

Ava huffs a breath, half relief, half disbelief. “Well, thank you,” she mutters. “If it weren’t for you, the only one making it out of here would’ve been that arsehole John. I don’t know how he planned to catch us—maybe with his ego.”

Despite the blood loss, the ache in your limbs, and the sensation of your shadow barely holding itself together, her sarcasm drags a faint smile out of you. You shift just enough to roll onto your back, your expression softening as you glance up at her.

“Heh… I couldn’t let you all fall to your deaths in good conscience,” you manage, your voice raspy. “Especially not you. Us lab rats have to stick together.”

The words slip from you easier than expected, warm despite the chill in your bones. Another piece of your shell flakes away.

Ava blinks, surprised—but not put off. She lowers into a crouch beside you, gaze searching yours like she’s seeing you fully for the first time. “You were in a lab too,” she says quietly, not as a question but as a recognition. A scar noticing another.

You nod, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you is heavy—shared and sacred.

“They had you as a child too, didn’t they?” she asks, softer now.

“Yeah,” you whisper, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Sometimes I still wake up thinking I’m back in that tank. There’s nothing like a child’s fear of the dark right?” You half joke before continuing. “That fear stuck with me I guess. Like the air’s thick and the light is poison. I thought… I thought it would stop hurting once I got out.”

Ava hums, eyes distant. “It doesn’t. Not really. But it starts to mean something when you’re fighting for someone else.”

You glance at her. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Ava gives you a half-shrug, half-smile. “I think so. Don’t know if I’m doing it right. But… you pulled all of us out of the dark back there. That’s more than most people ever do.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you say nothing.

She stands again, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s keep surviving together.”

You hesitate, then take it—her grip strong, sure.

“Just don’t let John plan anything ever again,” you mutter.

Ava smirks. “Agreed. That man has the strategic grace of a sledgehammer.”

And just like that, something unspoken but solid roots between you.

A beginning.

Another piece of your hardened shell slips away.

As you stand up you freeze.

Something shifts.

A pull, cold and unnatural, coils in the air like a whisper in your bones. Your eyes snap back toward the elevator shaft.

John stands at the edge, motionless. Dazed.

But it isn’t him that rattles you.

It’s the feeling—that vast, unseen darkness. A presence that shouldn’t exist. You can’t see it, but you know it’s there. Clinging to him like a shadow that’s alive, wrapping around his body like a nightmarish caress.

You take a step forward, pulse spiking.

But then—it’s gone.

The pull vanishes as quickly as it came, receding like a tide.

You turn to stare at Bob, who now watches John with that same unreadable intensity as before. The same too-still stare.

And something twists in your gut, a feeling that something about Bob was wrong, unnatural.

Uncomfortable, you turn away and head for the exit—only to stop dead in your tracks. A dozen military-grade vehicles wait outside, their headlights beaming directly into the opening like spotlights. There’s no going out quietly.

“All right, let’s get out of here,” Ava sighs, following behind, her tone casual until she sees your face.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a bit of a problem…” you trail off, eyes locked on the lights. If it were just you, escaping would be easy. Slip into someone’s shadow, ride the darkness out into the open, and vanish. It’s already pitch black out there. You could disappear.

And for a heartbeat, you consider it.

Why not?

You don’t owe these people anything. A ragtag crew of killers with too much baggage and barely a sliver of trust between them. They’re not your problem. You’ve walked away from worse. You’ve done worse things.

But then, your gaze flicks back toward Bob. He stands a few paces away, shoulders slumped, looking impossibly small in the cavernous dark. That strange, inexplicable pull in your chest tightens. The same feeling that made you reveal yourself back at the start. The same feeling that’s kept you here this long. You don’t know why, but… you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

Then your eyes shift over to Ava who you felt a kinship with through the horrors of being raised in a lab. If you left them behind then you truly were the monster the shadows whisper you are.

“Okay, we need to come up with a plan.”

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

John and Yelena speak at the same time, voices overlapping with mutual annoyance.

You and Ava exchange synchronized eye rolls.

“Oh, you’re the boss now? Cute,” she says dryly.

“Well, yeah—it’s our only chance of getting out of here,” John shoots back.

“I think I might just surrender,” Bob says softly, voice so subdued it snaps your head toward him.

“Okay, every man for himself,” John mutters without missing a beat.

“What?! No, absolutely not—Bob, can I talk to you for a second?” You step toward him, taking hold of his sleeve and pulling him aside while John and Yelena continue their bickering in the background.

Keeping your voice low, you try to sound calm, not desperate. “Bob, you don’t know what these people are capable of. You might not remember the clinical trials or the things they did to you—but I’m telling you, they don’t see you as a person. They’ll just go back to testing you, pushing your body until it breaks.”

He watches you carefully. His eyes, normally distant, spark with something—recognition, maybe.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he says slowly, the question implied but not asked.

You nod, sighing. “Different group. Same monsters. Trust me. They don’t care about your well-being.”

Bob frowns, something unreadable flickering across his face. “And… you do?”

The question hangs between you—fragile, honest, and terrifying. Before you can figure out an answer that won’t make either of you shut down in embarrassment, the argument in the background explodes.

“—and high school state football champs, back to back to back. Go Bears!”

You and Bob blink. Both turn toward the group, visibly confused.

“What the hell is he even talking about?” you murmur.

“Oh wow,” Yelena claps her hands mockingly. “When I was five, I was on a peewee soccer team called the West Chesapeake Valley Thunderbolts. Sponsored by Shane’s Tire Shop. We won zero games, and one time this girl Mindy did a poo at midfield. Anyone else have pointless childhood stories to share?”

Ava offers casually, “Grew up in a lab prison.”

Bob follows, deadpan: “Meth-addicted sign-twirling chicken.”

A sound escapes you before you can stop it—a startled, genuine laugh. And just like that, everyone stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. As if they weren’t sure you could laugh.

You stifle it behind your hand, shoulders shaking. “S-sorry. Just… like, a chicken suit or…?” you manage, giggling again, contradicting your established doom and darkness persona the group has gotten used to.

“It was for a summer job,” Bob mutters with the resigned air of someone who’s accepted his shame. You let out another laugh that has his lips curling into a smile along with you.

You’re still catching your breath when Yelena launches into a tactical breakdown—one John immediately tries to contradict. But, miraculously, the group starts piecing together a viable plan.

“Okay. Yelena, take Bob and deal with the lights. John, I’ll shift into your shadow. If anyone gets close, we can hit them with a surprise attack. I can immobilize two, maybe three max, for about fifteen minutes. But if the lights go out, I can jump back to your side instantly.”

You lay out the plan with calm precision while Ava vanishes without a word.

Positioned at John’s side, you flatten against the wall, melting into his shadow, waiting.

Boots stomp closer—lots of them. Red lasers cut through the dark. John tenses, ready.

But something’s wrong.

It’s still dark.

The lights haven’t come on.

Your voice whispers up from the floor in a dozen hushed tones. “Something went wrong with the lights… I’ll be back.”

In an instant, you slip away, streaking along the ground, a living shadow. You reach Yelena and Bob just in time to see her frantically slamming switches while they argue.

“What’s going on?” you demand, peeling yourself out of the dark.

“The power isn’t coming back—” she starts, but you’re already gone.

Heart hammering you shade step back instantly, John is alone and there were like five armed soldiers heading his way.

You reappear beside him, eyes and veins an inky black. He glances at you clearly unsettled just as he turns the corner—and five armed soldiers rush into view.

Before John can take another step you send the shadows out like a curse.

They writhe forth from your body, slick and sinuous, dragging across the metal floor like liquid malice. The moment the soldiers turn the corner, they falter—mid-stride, mid-breath—as something unseen wraps around their throats.

Your shadows strike fast, snapping upward like nooses from hell. Inky claws burst from your forearms, spidering into the air like fractured bone and smoke. The men’s bodies convulse violently as their own shadows are ripped from beneath them—wrenched into the air like puppets torn from strings.

One collapses, twitching as his outline is peeled away. Another drops to his knees, eyes wide with silent terror, mouth agape in a scream too slow to escape. The third fights it—fingers clawing at his own body, trying to hold onto something intangible as your power threads through his spine like barbed wire.

Their shadows dance above them—twisting, flailing, screaming in a voice only you can hear. The same sounds that haunt your dreams.

You pin them in place, shadows writhing and coiling around their chests like constricting serpents, like a hand over their hearts slowly squeezing. Fear drips off them in waves.

John barrels through the chaos like a wrecking ball, tackling the two who remain. Fists fly. Bone cracks. But you’re barely aware—your vision is swimming with black. Your hands tremble, not from weakness, but from the weight of holding three souls hostage in the dark.

The strain threatens to split you in two.

One by one, you let go.

The shadows hiss as they slither back to their bodies, reluctant and resentful, like beasts returned to cages. The men collapse, gasping, pale as death. One tries to rise, only to collapse again—whimpering into the floor like a child in a nightmare.

But one fights harder.

He thrashes—soul and shadow unspooling, fighting the inevitable.

So you squeeze.

Your claws sink deeper. The air grows colder. Your veins flare black with strain, your bones screeching in protest as they shift beneath your flesh.

And then John finishes it—grabs him by the collar, drives him into the wall with a crunch. Silence follows.

You release your grip at last.

The shadows slither back to you like feral dogs called home, curling around your limbs and back into your veins as you sag against the wall—eyes hollow, heart hammering, darkness licking at your heels.

You don’t look at what you’ve done. Head down afraid to meet John’s gaze.

You already know what he saw.

A living nightmare wearing a human face.

He stares at you silently, chest rising and falling in the aftermath. You’re braced for the disgust—ready for fear or revulsion—but it doesn’t come. Instead, when your eyes meet, it’s worry that stares back at you.

Concern.

And you don’t know if that’s better…

You barely have time to process it before more footsteps can be heard. A blur of boots on metal as soldiers flood the corridor—shadows of violence approaching too fast. The guilt of what you just unleashed weighs down your limbs, and that one beat of hesitation costs you.

The bullet hits before you even register the sound of the gun.

A burst of heat tears through your shoulder, spinning you slightly. You stumble. John’s voice cuts through the air, harsh and panicked—“Down!”—and you obey, not by will, but by instinct.

Like the blood seeping into your clothes, you sink into the floor.

The world becomes smoke and yelling. Gunfire lights the hallway like a strobe. John rushes forward—bellowing, slamming into the next wave of soldiers. But you’re slow to follow. The Umbra yawns beneath you, vast and empty. Your head spins. You feel it trying to drag you deeper, whispering promises of safety, of oblivion.

You blink hard. Grit your teeth. No. Not now.

More voices—Yelena’s, sharp and defiant. Bob’s, breathless and unsure. Chaos rips through the space like a living being. You catch a glimpse of Bob literally strapped to Yelena like some weird adult baby carrier —apologizing, actually apologizing, after pulling the trigger—and the absurdity almost breaks you.

But then you see it: a final soldier, creeping behind the two with a weapon raised.

You don’t think. You just move.

You erupt from the wall behind the man like a nightmare, your own scream lost in the din. This time, you don’t stop at pain or paralysis—you take everything. Rip his shadow from his body like peeling skin. He drops with a shriek, eyes wide and blind with agony. And before you can even rein in the darkness, Yelena finishes him with one clean shot.

Then she turns.

Gun still raised, breath heaving—eyes locking on you.

You don’t flinch. You just vanish, sliding back into Bob’s shadow like falling through ice.

You reappear at his feet in a ripple of smoke and motion, hands immediately flying to him, checking his chest, his arms, his throat. “Are you okay?! Were you hit?”

He startles, stumbling backward at your sudden proximity. “I’m fin—oh my god. You’re bleeding!”

His voice cracks like glass. He reaches toward you, eyes locking on the crimson bloom across your shoulder. It’s spreading fast. Behind him, Yelena spins, already moving. She’s at your side in an instant, hands pressing gently against your injury, her mouth set in a grim line.

“How bad is it?” she asks, breathless. Her touch is surprisingly gentle for someone so deadly.

“I’ve had worse,” you mutter, though the world tilts sideways for a moment. Your skin is cold. Your limbs are shaking—not just from pain, but from what you almost lost yourself to. Again.

“Are you okay? That’s… that’s a lot of blood,” Bob says, voice wobbling between concern and queasy horror.

The two of them fuss. Over you.

You blink. You can’t remember the last time anyone did that.

And then you laugh.

It starts small—just a twitch of the lips—but quickly tumbles out, disjointed and half-hysterical.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp between giggles. “Did I see you coming in… strapped to her back? Why was that a thing?!”

Bob flushes. Yelena scowls. You can’t stop laughing.

It must be the blood loss. Or the aftershocks of your power breaking free. Or maybe the absurdity of the whole thing—a walking horror show like you being fretted over like a paper cut.

But your mirth is short-lived.

“What the hell happened to the lights, Yelena?!” John thunders as he storms over, limping slightly. “Also—I’m fine, by the way.”

No one answers him at first. They’re still watching you—Bob, pale and wide-eyed; Yelena, brows knit in concern. Neither of them looks away, even when the darkness still bleeds out at your feet.

They don’t flinch.

They don’t run.

And that unsettles you more than anything else.

Even now, bleeding and half-lost to the shadows coiling around your legs like restless serpents, they stay close.

Bob’s still hovering beside you, a hand hovering like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. His eyes flick to your shoulder and then to your face—he looks pale, but not scared. Just… worried. Like you matter.

Yelena is crouched at your other side, pressing a gloved hand firmly to the wound with practiced hands and a glare sharp enough to slice steel.

“Why rush off without us?” she mutters. “You were supposed to be the weird smoke in the background, remember?”

Her tone is light, teasing even—but her hands tremble.

You look between the two of them, heart twisting. They’re both too close. Too warm. Too vulnerable. You don’t know what you’d do if—

Your breath catches.

The thought of losing them—these strangers who’ve somehow become something more—hits like a punch to the chest.

It must be the blood loss, you rationalize, you’ve only known these people for a handful of hours yet your heart reaches for them.

“You could’ve been shot,” you rasp to Yelena, your voice rough. “You ran into the line of fire.”

She snorts. “So did you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You don’t have an answer. Just a flash of the man approaching from behind. Yelena’s expression focused but unaware. Bob’s too—confused, afraid, lit by red gunfire. For a moment, you’d thought—

“Bob,” you murmur, shifting slightly to look between the two of them, ignoring the shadows writhing beneath your skin. “Are you really okay?”

“I mean… no,” he admits, eyes flicking from your face to the blood between you. “But… also yes?”

It’s such a Bob answer you almost laugh. But the worry lingers.

“You didn’t deserve to be down here,” you whisper. “You shouldn’t even be—”

“I’m here,” he interrupts, quiet but steady. “So are you. So’s she. Guess we’re all in this.”

You stare at him, blinking away the blur in your vision. Not from tears. From blood loss. Probably.

Still—your fingers twitch, reaching out to graze his arm, and then Yelena’s. A tether. A grounding point. You’ve never had one before, let alone two.

“W-Walker…” you start to say, trying to shift the attention off yourself. “What you saw me do—I’m so—” You open your mouth, the words catching somewhere in your throat.

You don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Sorry? For traumatizing him? For the way you shifted into a literal nightmare?

Before you can continue he cuts you off, waving a hand as if brushing the whole thing aside.

“Yeah, thanks by the way,” John grunts from somewhere nearby, brushing ash from his shoulder and shooting you a sidelong glance. “Made my job way easier.”

You blink again, caught off guard. He’s not avoiding your gaze. He’s not afraid of you. None of them are.

He saw the thing in the dark, the teeth and claws and ink-black rage.They’re not shrinking away or asking questions you can’t answer. They’re still here. Still close.

And it leaves you speechless.

Stunned.

That moment of silence stretches just a little too long, and of course it’s Yelena who notices first. She reaches out, a hand on your good shoulder now, voice firm.

“Hey. We’ve got to get out of here and get you patched up. You with me?”

You nod slowly—once, then again, stronger. Your gaze flickers between them. Bob. Yelena. Even John.

They stayed.

And for the first time in a long time, the shadows feel a little less cold..

✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼ ✧༺🩶༻∞ ✼　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　 ҉　✼

A/N: so I’m really trying to figure out how long of chapters to post. Like is this length good or should in make them longer and post them less frequently?? Also from here we are gonna diverge a bit from the canonical story.

Apologies if I got anything wrong or if there’s a contradiction in there I feel like I reread this chapter 1000 times and my brain was not awake to edit lol

Thanks again for giving this story some love

Tag list: @otometo @katiemrty @hyperfixations-go-brrr

[kaylovestwd]

Norman reedus pov

It started like any other day. Holding your hand, the city a blur of motion around us. Then, the flash. A jarring intrusion, a sudden coldness breaking the warmth of our shared world. Paparazzi. My immediate reaction? Annoyance. A protective anger flared. They were stealing something precious: the quiet intimacy we'd carved out, just for us.

The moment I felt your hand tighten in mine, though, the anger receded. Your touch, always my anchor. I glanced at you. A flicker of surprise, maybe a hint of concern in your eyes, but no fear. Just… you. Real, beautiful, and present. In that instant, my focus shifted. Protecting you became paramount.

The clicking cameras, the shouted questions – a chaotic symphony I've learned to navigate, though never enjoy. I pulled you closer, my arm instinctively going around you. A shield, however flimsy, against the invasive glare. I tried to steer us away, to find a haven from the storm of flashing lights.

Despite the intrusion, I caught a glimpse of your smile. A small, reassuring curve of your lips that told me you were okay. That you trusted me to handle this. That single smile disarmed me more than any aggressive photographer ever could. It reminded me why I put up with all of this madness. For us. For you.

Back inside, finally away from the prying eyes, there was a moment of quiet. An unspoken question hanging in the air. "Are you okay?" I asked, my voice rougher than I intended. Your answering look, the way you leaned into me, said more than words ever could. We didn't need to dissect the experience. We just needed to be close.

Later, scrolling through the inevitable online articles, my heart clenched a little. The headlines screamed about our "relationship," our "secret romance." The photos, grainy and invasive, captured a stolen moment. But the truth wasn't in those images. The truth was in your eyes, in the way you looked at me, in the quiet comfort we shared.

They don't see the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh at my stupid jokes. They don't see the way you hum softly when you're lost in a book, or the way you instinctively reach for my hand in the dark. They don't see the countless small moments that build the foundation of us. They only see a snapshot, a fleeting glimpse of something they can never truly understand.

Seeing you exposed like that ignited a fierce protectiveness within me. A desire to build a fortress around you, to shield you from the negativity and the intrusion. I know that's impossible, of course. But the instinct is there, burning strong.

Even amidst the frustration, I couldn't help but notice how stunning you looked in those fleeting photographs. The sunlight catching in your hair, the way your eyes sparkled even under pressure. It was a reminder of the effortless beauty I get to witness every day, a beauty that transcends the superficiality of fame.

The More than anything, the incident reinforced my longing for normalcy. For a world where we could walk hand-in-hand without being dissected and analyzed. A world where our private moments remained just that: private. It's a simple wish, but it feels increasingly elusive.

The evening ended with us curled up on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. Just the two of us, the chaos of the day fading into a quiet hum. Your head rested on my chest, your breathing slow and steady. In that moment, surrounded by the familiar comfort of your presence, the outside world ceased to matter.

I whispered promises into your hair – promises of adventures, of laughter, of unwavering support. Promises to protect your heart, to cherish your spirit, to navigate this crazy world together.

You are my sanctuary. My calm in the storm. My reason to smile, even on the toughest days. The intrusion of the paparazzi only served to highlight how incredibly lucky I am to have you in my life.

What the cameras missed, what they always miss, is the depth of our connection. The unspoken understanding, the shared dreams, the unwavering support. That's what truly matters. That's what makes us us.

Our love isn't a carefully constructed facade for the cameras. It's a living, breathing entity that thrives in the quiet moments, in the shared laughter, in the unwavering support we offer each other. It's a love that can withstand the glare of the spotlight, because its foundation is built on something far more solid: genuine connection.

The experience served as a reminder to cherish every stolen moment, every private whisper, every shared glance. To hold you close and never take for granted the beautiful, imperfect reality of our love.

Tomorrow, we'll face the world again. The cameras will still be there, the headlines will still scream. But we'll face it together, hand in hand, our love a shield against the storm. And in the end, that's all that truly matters.

[livingfungicorpse]

Enjoltaire stuff that makes me loose my marbles

When they argue. Enjolras gets pissed off by Grantaire not caring nor believing in anything. R who takes care of the Thenardier children, clearly cares and understands the suffering of the lower class yet doesn't contribute to the revolution nor cares to do anything about the state of their country to fix it. It drives Enjolras mad, he'd despise him more if he could but R's caring side is too heartwarming.

Grantarie making Enjolras question what he's life is really worth. Since Grantaire loves Enjolras the person he can seperate the man from the cause and think about more than that. Enjolrae can't, he's dedicated his life to this cause and is content with dying for his country. The man and the revolution are so intertwined he can't seperate himself from it. Enj doesn't know what he wants for himself, for his future, nothing. Cause deep down he knows he'll probably die and he can't allow himself any distractions so all he's worried about are the people of france and the rebellion. He doesn't think about his own future or dreams, cause he has none that are personally his, his vision for the future is the french republic, where he'll probably be dead. So for Grantaire to make him actually question all of that really gets him frustrated.

Homoerotic fighting. That's it. I just want R to teach Enj how to fight better and we all know where this is going.

Grantaire blacks out drunk and Enjolras has to drag his sorry ass home.

Grantaire being so in love and obsessed with Enjolras he would do literally anything for the man to the point where it's unhealthy. I'm talking "I would die for you just to make you smile" kind of fucked up devotion.

Enjolras finds it concerning. Also Aroace Enjolras. He doesn't love Grantaire and never will, has no time for romance, doesn't care nor is interested. Their most intimate moments being the few times where they get along and actually treat eachother as friends. Say they both have a rough day and Enj actually decides to share a drink with R. Cute. Or R does something for Enjolras and he's grateful.

"Thank you for helping me with our cause."- "I didn't do it for the cause, I did it for you."

R who casually flirts with men and women alike but only looks at Enjolras with love. Others may be distractions or just to annoy Enj and get his attention. Doesn't matter.

Grantaire being the most annoying and ridiculous guy in the room just to get Enj to look at him. And perhaps initiate some heated arguing. Wink wink nudge nudge.

Hah! No. They never get intimate. Despite how much Grantaire would like to and flirts with Enj nothing ever happens. The most that would be between them would be a heated argument/homoerotic fighting.

Grantaire who hates that this is the only way he manages to get his attention. He hates to bother Enj like this, to make him despise him even more but damnit he can't stop himself. He needs his attention and he needs passion. And that's the only way he can get a passionate response.

Another thing they argue over is Grantaire describing Enjolras as some sort of a god, when really he's just an imperfect man just like R. He doesn't want to be percieved as a higher being, he sees that as dehumanizing and when he's all about equality it goes against his beliefs so he doesn't play into that. He also hates how Grantaire puts himself into the mud. Sure he isn't perfect but he's not a monster and the man has potential.

Enjolras being an idealist sees it, Grantaire the cynic doesn't.

Enjolras won't accept Grantaire as his friend until the very end when R finally decides to be with him and die for him and their republic. Enjolras would've been ready to accept him this whole time, the only thing that was in their way was Grantaire's cynicism. Despite how much R loves him, despite his devotion he couldn't fight beside him. Had he just given in and dedicate himself to the cause not just their leader then he would've been getting smiles from Enjolras instead of scoffs. The "Do you permit it?" scene being the only time when Enj genuinely smiles at Grantaire and takes his hand.

Can you see I love angst???? I've seen some of these ideas explored in my favourite fics but they usually still end up going into romantic or smutty territory in the end. Nothing wrong with that, I love that too. But I feel like a long fic like that where it's mostly just their complex ideologies clashing and no payoff cause again they just can't reach it, feels so in character. I love that they're doomed to never work out. They're such interesting complex figures you could have such an interesting narrative with them but it's rare to find fics like these. I'm sorry,I just love to ramble about everything I love about this ship.

Doomed toxic french yaoi for the win

[splonk-fox]

The Hidden Social Commentary of the Kindergarten Series

Welp, it would seem that the court of public opinion has spoken (please put the gun away lady-with-rabies I am very scared)

Kindergarten is a series that, in case you didn't notice, I have a certain level of fondness for. On the surface it just seems like a silly set of games that isn't meant to be taken seriously, and in a sense that is exactly what they are.

But, being the neurodivergent little goblin I am, I have gleamed a message from these games, a message about the school system, the failings of adults/authority figures, and the world's treatment of those with disabilities. So if you're willing to sit down and hear what I have to say, allow me to make my case for why series where you play as a nameless, homicidal child helping other homicidal children carry out their murder plans can actually be read as a commentary on modern day society.

TW: Bullying, Child Abuse, Ableism, mentions of Rape. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, I suggest not reading this post.

Part 0: What is Kindergarten?

If you're reading this post then I am going to assume you have a basic understanding of what Kindergarten is, but for the sake of those who aren't in the know, allow me to give a brief rundown.

Kindergarten has you playing as this kid:

He's never actually given a name, but for the sake of simplicity (and the fact that it's what most of the fandom calls him) I will be calling him Kid.

As Kid, you find yourself attending a preschool full of children (and adults) that are... let's just say not the most mentally stable individuals.

The game itself places you in a sort of groundhog day-like scenario where you are constantly repeating the same day (the first game is Monday, second game is Tuesday, third game is Wednesday) with your ultimate goal being to complete all the assignments given to you via doing different things each repeated day and using the special items rewarded to you at the end of each assignment that you're able to carry over into the next, or rather same day.

Sounds pretty simple right?

Well... I mentioned how the kids you share a school with aren't exactly mentally sane didn't I? Yeah well, that's where the main appeal of these games come from.

The kids in this series are... for lack of a better term, completely insane. They will happily kill you and others for the pettiest of reasons.

Despite their innocent exterior, the Kindergarten games are INCREDIBLY violent. They are primarily known for the sheer amount of violence, blood, and gore to the point where it's absurd, but that's kind of the point.

Kindergarten at its core is a series that uses absurdist humor to tell a story that is both completely nonsensical, yet oddly engaging at the same time.

It's something that really doesn't feel like it should work as well as it does, but Connor Boyle and Sean Young executed it in a way that almost makes you forget how dumb and stupid a lot of it is.

But if Kindergarten was little more than a series of games filled with shock humor I wouldn't be making this post. Because as stupid as it may sound, I do genuinely think these games have something to say about the real world and I am going to do my best to explain why I believe this. Will I do a good job at it? I have no fucking idea lmao, but, enough of you were interested in seeing my takes so really, this is your fault. You have only yourself to blame if this ends up being shit.

Anyways enough rambling, let's get into this shall we?

Part 1: The Modern Day School System BLOWS

Allow me to tell you a little tale. During my school years I dealt with undiagnosed ADHD, and it fucking sucked. I was frustrated, I had low self-esteem, I felt like I was simply incapable of doing the things that everyone else could do with ease.

I also dealt with my fair share of bullying throughout my college years and found myself in a friend group that enabled my worst habits and made me into a bit of an asshole for awhile.

To really put into perspective just how bad my friend group was, one of my "friends" quite literally admitted to me once that I was the easiest to make fun of which was why I ended up being the butt of a lot of their jokes.

It's an experience I don't look back on particularly fondly. I didn't really feel like I could do anything about it because without those people, I would literally have no one, and while I did eventually cut ties with them, the scars have still yet to fully heal.

All of this is to say, my experience with school wasn't a very positive one, and I think a big reason for that is because of how little it really did to help me deal with a lot of my problems.

Instead of being in an environment that accommodated my own personal needs I was instead shoved into a class full of strangers and expected to learn things the exact same way as everyone else, leaving me to feel broken and incompetent when I wasn't able to do it.

To give credit where it was due, there was a Special Ed class in my college and we did have assistants that would help us out with work, but the only thing that really did is make me feel worse about myself because from my perspective, I was so broken that I needed to have someone help me just to get the work done. I'm also 90% sure I was dealing with internalized ableism back then, so instead of seeing Special Ed class as a place to help disabled people, I saw it as "the stupid class". Certainly doesn't help that I have memories of teachers basically telling me that if I kept slacking off on my work I would end up in that class, as if it was somehow a punishment to be there.

All of this is to say that the school system, or at least the one I had to deal with did a piss poor job of actually helping me learn and only really made me feel horrible about myself because everything and everyone around me was basically telling me that I was wrong, that I was broken.

As for the bullying? Well they barely did anything about that either. Sure they held assemblies where they preached about how bad bullying is, but they didn't actually do anything to crack down on the problem. They let these bullies run wild with little to no consequence. It is instead being the kids' jobs to call it out when it's happening, which is stupid because if a kid is being bullied, they aren't gonna immediately call it out, because then they risk making the bullying worse.

All of this is to say, the school system is outdated and it's bullshit, something which the Kindergarten series seems to agree with.

The most obvious example of how Kindergarten represents the garbage school system is how negligent its staff are. We constantly see characters like Buggs and Cindy bully others while receiving basically nothing in terms of consequence from the adults.

Cindy is an especially egregious example of this because she does literally nothing to hide her bullying. She is completely out in the open about it, it's obvious that the faculty sees what she's doing, and yet they do nothing about it.

I'm not saying we should blame all of Cindy's behavior on the school, obviously she is still the one choosing to be actively cruel, but bullies like her wouldn't be this big of a problem if the staff cared more, and they just don't.

By allowing this nasty behavior to continue, the school is effectively enabling and facilitating cruel kids to be the absolute worst they can be without consequence.

As for how this school treats students who are deemed as less "competent" than everybody else... well Kindergarten 2 literally has a smart class made for kids that are deemed "not stupid", effectively telling everyone who doesn't get into that class that they are dumb and incompetent, I don't really think I need to explain that one.

With all this talk about how terrible the staff are at doing their job, this leads pretty well into the next part of this essay.

Part 2: Adults Are Terrible

Adults in the Kindergarten series tend to be portrayed in one of two different ways. Either they're decent individuals who actually seem to care about the kids, or they're just as bad if not worse than the kids, and unfortunately for us, the latter is far more common.

When it comes to how adults are portrayed in the Kindergarten games, their actions tend to be treated with a lot more gravitas than the kids are and the reason why should be obvious.

As bad and cruel as the kids can often get in this series, a lot of them can be given at least a little bit of plausible deniability. They're just kids after all, young kids. Expecting them to fully grasp how bad their actions are when they are literally five years old is pretty nonsensical, and while it is true that these kids are smarter than your average preschooler, the point remains the same. Their actions are never going to carry the same weight behind them as the adults. Especially when a lot of the time, the kids being as bad as they are is a result of bad parenting.

I don't think it's a coincidence that the kids whose negative characteristics are their most prominent character traits also tend to be the ones who are either implied to have or outright confirmed to have poor upbringings.

Cindy is a cruel, narcissistic bully who torments others for her own amusement. She also has us play out incredibly disturbing and oftentime depressing scenarios whenever we play house with her. The fact that a five year old is able to play out a realistic scenario of a mother and father getting a divorce should really speak volumes of the kind of environment she lives in. We also can't forget that she will literally scream that Kid raped her if we piss her off enough. Sure she might not actually know what that means but the fact that that word even exists in her vocabulary is uh... not exactly great considering her age.

Buggs is a bully who will beat you to death if you don't give him half your money at the beginning of the day and picks on characters like Nugget for no real reason. He also has a dad who left him behind and was implied to be an alcoholic.

Felix is arguably the most blatant example of how most of cruelty can being attributed to poor parenting, more specifically father, seeing how we literally meet the guy in Kindergarten 3 where we learn that not only is he pitting his two children against each other to win his approval, but he isn't even able to tell them apart without their color-coded suits.

There are a lot more examples I could list of how this series generally portrays parents as horrible people (I didn't even mention the principals of the first and second games yet because holy shit) but you get my point.

All of this is to say, Kindergarten sends a pretty clear message that these kids should not be entirely blamed for their poor behavior when its really the adults' who failed to raise and educate them to not be so horrible who are at a fault, a reality which unfortunately holds very true for the real world.

It's like they say, every kid deserves a parent, but not every parent deserves a kid.

Part 3: Ableism

I've talked in depth before about how Kindergarten handles the subject of ableism and for the sake of not repeating myself, I will simply link the original post so that you can read it for yourself.

That said, while Monty is the most blatant example of ableism in the Kindergarten universe, he is not the only one. Because it isn't just the physically disabled who are represented in these games, there's also the mentally disabled as well.

One character that is often brought up when it comes to the discussion of neurodivergence in the Kindergarten universe is the golden boy himself, Nugget.

(Don't mind the GIF, I just thought it was funny)

Now, technically speaking, Nugget is not confirmed to be neurodivergent, he is however widely interpreted as such and it's not exactly hard to see why.

To list some of Nugget's core traits that are often associated with those on the autism spectrum there is:

His hyperfixation on chicken nuggets.

His difficulty reading social cues.

Having "strange" and distinct speaking patterns.

He is very particular about how he likes his nuggets and will literally have a breakdown and begin bashing his head against a wall until he bleeds because the chicken nuggets you gave him are cold. Similarly he will also freak out if you try putting a knife in his Nugget Cave without his permission.

He seems to have difficulty in expressing himself as well, to the point where characters like Lily are surprised that he is even capable of having complex emotions.

Now, to be perfectly clear, I am not at all saying that the traits listed above automatically make you autistic or anywhere on the spectrum. Disabilities like autism are incredibly broad and to attribute them to a single trait or behavior is at best ignorant and at worst incredibly harmful.

The reasons I bring this up are not to diagnose Nugget or anyone else who acts like him with any sort of neurodivergence, I am not an expert in that field and if you are wondering if you're on the spectrum, you should take it up with a professional, not some random idiot on the internet.

The point I am trying to make here is not that Nugget has autism, rather that a lot of the traits he exhibits are those common with autistic people, hence why a large portion of the Kindergarten fandom view him as such, many of which happen to be on the spectrum themselves.

This is all to say that because of how many people see Nugget as autistic-coded, not only do they provide a lot more clarity to some of his behaviors, but it also makes the way he is treated by others hit that much more close to home.

In the first Kindergarten game, Nugget is an outcast who everyone sees as creepy and weird. The guy has no friends and the people who acknowledge him either talk down to him, or straight up bully him.

Buggs throws slop at his head every morning, Lily sees him as weird, Ms. Applegate outright hates his guts, no one aside from us and Billy seem to show him any kind of respect specifically because of how "weird" and "abnormal" he is.

This reflects how neurodivergent people are often treated. They are bullied, ostracized, even those who aren't aiming to hurt them will often infantilize them as seen with Lily.

Even the principal acts nasty towards him. Not only did he plan on using Nugget as an experiment, likely because he didn't think anybody would care if he was gone, but he also gives him pills that "fix" him, implying that there is something wrong with the way Nugget acts. Something which, again, a lot of abled people do. They will treat disabilities as a problem that need to be fixed, often acting as if what they're doing is actually for the better, when in reality they're only causing more harm.

Nugget may not be a confirmed autistic character, but he is one who represents how a lot of neurodivergent people struggle with fitting in and are ostracized and infantilized by others.

While Nugget is definitely the most prolific example of a character that is seemingly coded as neurodivergent, there are also other cases of this happening. Take Ozzy for example.

Not only is Ozzy asthmatic, but he's also strongly implied to have some type of OCD with how he refuses to let you give him Felix's note if his hands are dirty and will freak out of his anything about his routine such as always using the left stall in the boy's bathroom is broken, and just like Nugget it is these behaviors that leads him to being picked on and bullied by others, including his own bloody teachers.

So while Monty may technically be the only confirmed disabled character (unless you wanna count Nugget and the Janitor losing an arm in which case go ahead), characters like Nugget and Ozzy do mirror the very real struggle of neurodivergent people living in a world in which they are treated as problems.

Part 4: Child Exploitation

We've discussed some pretty dark subject matter thus far, but this one is arguably the most fucked up of the bunch.

Without getting too far into specifics, there are people out there who are depraved enough to use children as means for profit. It's incredibly disturbing shit and stuff that not even I feel comfortable with getting into.

That said, adults exploiting children to fulfill their own depraved desires is an incredibly common theme in this series. From characters like Ms. Applegate and the Janitor using Kid as a means to further their own murder plans to of course, the principals.

I haven't really talked about the principals up until this point, and that's mainly because I was saving it for this section.

The principals are far and away the most disturbing villains in this series, at least in my opinion. They don't just pull a bunch of violent crimes for no reason, they're all masterminds using and mutating children for their own nefarious purposes.

The first game's principal, AKA Jerome's dad, was essentially a drug lord who kidnapped Billy and attempted to use him as a way to reproduce the chemicals found in strange monsters beneath the school to create pills with highly addictive qualities, said pills have proven to have the ability to basically ruin people's lives. It turned Ms. Applegate into a drug addict, and it made Nugget forget what happened to Billy. It's some incredibly messed up stuff that somehow only gets worse.

The principal of the second school, Penny's mother, is even more depraved than the first. She kidnapped three children (possibly more if the monster in the sewer is anything to go by) so that she could mutate them into monsters and enforce a hostile takeover of other schools in the area. Worse yet she literally turns her own daughter into an android that does her bidding and heartlessly blows her up when she begins to rebel.

Finally there's Regis. His plans aren't quite as clear as the principals, but he's still pretty fucked up in his own right. From mutating animals into hostile beasts, to taking principal David captive so that he could take over the school. And we can't forget what he did to poor Kevin, because if there's anything we've learned from the Kindergarten series it's that the main villain is always kidnapping children.

All three of the villains listed above share a common theme of using incredibly young children, mutating them beyound recognition, and then using said mutations to profit, whether it be through the mass productions of a highly addictive drug, trying to take over other schools, or whatever the hell Regis was up to.

These guys are portrayed as the worst of the worst, they're one of the few parts of the games that are played straight and their crimes are always presented as the most depraved. Because it isn't just violence anymore, it's grown adults using young children to fuel their own twisted regime, an unfortunately very real thing that happens to kids all around the globe. Sure there might be a lot of fantastical elements to how these characters are portrayed, but the horror of their actions are rooted in realism.

Conclusion:

I came into this post wanting to accomplish two things. The first is that I wanted to prove that even the silliest, most lighthearted of series that don't seem to be rooted in reality at all, can actually have things to say about the real world.

In Kindergarten's case, I feel like the main lesson to be taken from this series is that a lot of kids aren't given the proper care or education they deserve. Instead they're stuck with people who either don't care about their struggle and will ignore the constant bullying and abuse they go through, or they're like the principals and will actively exploit them.

I don't want the conclusion of this post to be that all adults are bad, cause that's obviously not true. Even in the Kindergarten games there are adults who are genuinely good people. What I do think viewers should take away from this is that there are a lot of bad people out there, bad people who shouldn't be allowed near kids, and yet they are, obviously these people will always exist, but that's why I think it's important to talk about it. Same goes for the flaws of the school system or how disabled people are often discriminated against for things that they can't control.

It's important to talk about these things because if we don't acknowledge them, that will only lead to more of this stuff happening.

I don't know if Connor Boyle or Sean Young ever intended the Kindergarten games to be looked at this deeply or if any of the messages they portrayed were intentional, they probably weren't, but hey, that's the beauty of art isn't it? Everyone can interpret it in their own ways, ways that are molded by our own personal experiences.

What you see in these games is unlikely to be the same as what I see in these games. Maybe you see nothing at all, but I do hope that with this post, you might be able to at least appreciate them a little bit more than you already did, if you did at all.

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me to make this post, I hope it was worth it.

See you later Splonknation.

[thehealingsystem]

Can you donate pleas

I'm sorry, I'm only a minor and I don't have control over my own money :( I would donate if I could.

[j-esbian]

i lost the post but i saw someone talking about how some of y’all act like being weird is a choice and like. YEAHHHHHHH.

that’s fine, it might be for you. but i just live like this and don’t know any other way. like yeah i’ve worked customer service, i can do innocuous small talk, but anything beyond that, i don’t understand what i’m missing. and it’s frustrating to see the tonal disconnect especially from people who are like “uwu embrace weirdness!!” where they’re like. dressing quirky and talking about bugs and listening to obscure music and eschewing small talk to ask Deep Questions on the first date and unlearning their tendency to not infodump. and generally have an idea of what Weirdness is supposed to look like. idk man some of us wake up and get out of bed and can’t figure out why the rest of their coworkers chitchat with each other but when they join the conversation it dies.

weirdness is value neutral. let’s stop trying to turn it into a badge because quite frankly, it’s not a choice for everyone. it’s fucking exhausting to never be on the same wavelength as other people and they’re going to react the way they do and label you the way they will without any conscious actions on your end. it’s difficult to talk about this without feeling like you’ll be dismissed as immature, a teenager whining “no one understands me” but the thing is. sometimes you don’t grow out of feeling alone and different, and there’s no good way to talk about it without feeling like people will think you’re just fishing for pity.

[sharingresourcesforpalestine]

you know, I feel like, as little money as I have, I still haven’t put into perspective how much I have that could still be of use. I’m not so poor that I can’t make a difference. I can still buy a meal if I go out. I can buy a trinket. I’m not so poor or struggling with life that I don’t have food in my stomach and a place to sleep. Donating like I have this week has me wanting to do something that I hope many others are already doing. For every cent I would have spent for myself, on groceries, deliveries, gifts, etcetera (beyond the strikes where I am not spending money on anything but Palestinian causes) I will donate equal or greater that amount to Palestine. Because if I have money for me, I should have money for others. This is not me setting myself on fire to keep others warm, I know I would be of no use long term if I destroyed myself by going entirely broke with no way to survive myself. This is considering things beyond medical bills and life expenses that I need to keep going. When I count groceries, it’s things like when I use Instacart bc I can’t go out, because even though I don’t have a means of transportation, delivery is a luxury and if I can afford to pay for that, I can afford to donate. If I buy something non-essential like some snacks or the like, I have to match it with a donation. Because if I can afford to buy that, I can afford to donate. And just due to the nature of being a reminder, every time I get my period I’m going to donate to sanitary products for Palestine, because while pads are an essential product, donating even a little bit towards helping others get even the opportunity to get the same access as I do is an important reminder. There’s $5 donations available for those, and that’s about the cost of an average subscription I would be able to afford— it won’t buy a whole kit, but it will still put money towards that goal. I may not be able to do all the good the world needs, but the world needs all the good that I can do. As much as I can spare, I will donate. I only wish I could do more.

[medicinemane]

I get tired of "it gets better" stuff for many reasons

For one thing, not everyone is a teenager, sometimes it has continued to not get better

For another, maybe it won't get better without help. Maybe people will suffer until you assist them, and platitudes do nothing but soothe you

I don't know, I'm not sitting here saying nothing ever gets better for anyone, I'm saying I'm sick of people younger than me telling me with such smug certainty how "oh it gets better" like I'm a child. I'm tired of the ways in which that phrase is used to absolve everyone of the truth that there are people in this world for whom things don't get better without outside action

It's nice to think we live in a just world, but we don't. In the end the only things we can be certain of are the things we do ourselves. We can't save everyone, of course we can't (even if we wish we could), but we have to accept that those we aren't stepping in and getting help for may continue to do worse and worse till they meet a miserable end... many many people are suffering who can't can't help right now, such is how life is

I just get very tired of "it gets better" as this magical blanket statement. And if it doesn't? What then? When others suffering continues to worsen, what will you do then?

Offer another hollow platitude?

[momochiiee-reblogs]

Three people in this household and me being the one who is the furthest away from the doorbell, is the single one who heard it. The time it takes me to cover my chest and reach the door is just enough for the post man to mark the package as no one's home will deliver again tomorrow

My brother's room is right on top of the main door so the sound is annoyingly loud in there and dad who was the closest to the door was just as always deafened by the atrocious volume of the stupid tv

No one pays any mind when I complain about loud sounds since the amount of fucks this family gives for eachother is impressively 0, so there goes my package on another trip around because this people can't admit their hearing is severely damaged. Meanwhile I must endure hearing every single TV show from the other corner of the house and over the lofi on my headphones. Doesn't help the tv shows usually have agonic screaming in them which causes me to feel the agony I'm hearing and more often than not I end trying not to throw up. If I'm sleeping I get very disturbing nightmares on top of it, but whatever my problems may be all in my head or something

[holeforzenin]

Loosely based on this

You didn’t even mean to snap at him like that, you were usually one with lots of patience but today—the day had been so fucking long, the kids were being wild and disobedient and you were already two hours behind on laundry. So when Kento walked in from work, loosened his tie, and asked if you’d remembered to call the plumber, the frustration spilled.

You fired back without thinking. Something about how maybe he should try keeping up with the house instead of pretending his job was the only hard one.

And now you’re here, bent over his lap with your ass perched up on his thighs in the quiet of your shared bedroom, skin bared and heart pounding while the barely audible chatter of cartoons drifts up from the living room below.

The contrast is dizzying—innocent voices downstairs, and you up here, your cheeks pressed to the duvet and panties tangled at your knees, the sharp bite of his disapproval thick in the air.

His hand rests on your lower back, warm and steady like he’s trying to prepare you and reminding you that you were not in control here.

“You want to repeat that tone back to me?”

His voice is low and maddeningly calm. The kind of calm that makes your stomach twist, because you know what comes next.

You glared at the wall, teeth clenched, breath shaky as you answered with a stubborn huff. “I said maybe if you helped out more instead of acting like you’re the only one working—”

Slap!

The crack of his heavy palm meeting your bare ass splits the air like a gunshot. You jolted forward against his lap, your hands gripping the comforter as the sting spread hot across your skin. The burn was instant, blooming under his hand as you let out a hiss from the shock.

“That’s one”.

His hand doesn’t leave you. Instead, it soothes over the fresh imprint he just left behind, like he’s both punishing and comforting you at once.

“Count”

Your pride sours in your throat, but the weight of his palm and the steady rise of his chest under your body hold you in place.

“…One,” you murmur, stubbornly.

“That’s a good girl”

His tone is cool, like he’s correcting a child—not cruel, just patient and deeply disappointed. And somehow, that hurts more than the slap.

“We don’t use that tone in this house. You know better”.

You squirm against him, the sting already making your thighs tremble, but not from pain alone. His words tighten something in your chest, and your voice breaks as you try to defend yourself.

“Kento, I—”

Slap.

The second blow landed harder, a little higher this time, striking close to the soft curve of your hips.

Your breath catches hard in your throat.

“Two,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk as his thumb gently pressed into the trembling flesh of your thigh. “Count”.

“Two,” you gasp, your voice tight and bearly holding it together.

“Keep going until I feel like you’ve remembered how to speak to your husband”.

And you do. You count for him with flushed cheeks and misty eyes, each swat met with a soft whimper and a whispered number. His hand is big and methodical, each strike calculated—not too harsh, never cruel, but just enough to make your ass ache and your pride fold inward with each sharp sting.

By six, your voice was trembling, tears pricking the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of it. The closeness, the way he’s handling you with such calm authority. How deeply he cares about how you treat him.

“Six…”

But this time, no slap came. Instead, you felt the glide of his palm tracing over your burning skin, lingering possessively over the curve of your ass before his fingers dipped lower, gently brushing against the tender inside of your soft thigh. Reminding you, wordlessly, who you belonged to.

“I work very hard to provide for this family,” he says, and you can feel it in his voice. “I won’t tolerate that disrespect, especially not in my home. Understood?”

You nodded quickly, the shame twisting with heat low in your belly. Your throat felt tight, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, sir”.

“Good”.

He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the small of your back—affectionate and loving in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut.

“Now pull those panties up and go set the table. I expect an apology during dinner”.

And you will. You’ll sit across from him with a freshly washed face, the kids giggling and chattering between bites of mashed potatoes, your foot brushing his under the table while your hand slips under to find his.

You’ll squeeze it gently. You’ll whisper, “I’m sorry,” with warm cheeks and shining eyes of regret.

And maybe, if you’re good for the rest of the night, he’ll let you ride him to relieve some stress after bedtime—but only if you ask nicely.

———

A/n - I promise you guys that after this, he started helping out more around the house—all that was needed was some communication but reader ended up snapping which is why they end up in that situation. It’s not a toxic marriage guys I promise🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 🫩

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [THINGS THEY SAY DURING 'IT'] ¡! ❞ @ - Part 1.

TW: MDNI - NSFW, sexual themes obviously lol

SUMMARY: Title :)

CHARACTERS: Aether Albedo Al-Haitham Ayato Baizhu Capitano Childe Cyno Dainsleif Diluc Dottore Freminet & Gorou x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.044

A/N: idk just a random new idea, watch me get more and more unserious with every character you pass

Aether

❝Agh-...shit...❞ - he holds back his sounds as he moans and curses into his hand

❝ Mh-no, like that, yeah...move like that...good❞ - he bites his lip as his lust drowned eyes stare up at you, holding your thighs tight for stability

❝Slower?...okay❞ - speeds up with a slight laugh, stopping seconds later to slow down again

Albedo

❝This spot? Yeah?...knew it...❞ - it's rare for you to see him smug, but that smirk he will give you when he finds out his guess was right is something else

❝Hold still for me...yes?❞ - he pushes your thighs apart, settling down comfortably between them as he dives in

❝Some interesting sounds you make...❞ - and he will carve them into his mind. When you're away he will remember them, will miss them, miss you and everything about you

Al-Haitham

❝Keep quite...❞ - there's no harshness in his words, just slight desperation as he breaths those words in your ear as he fucks you on the couch in his shared house with Kaveh, while he is asleep in his room

❝Tell me what you want...come on, you can do it. Speak up.❞ - sometimes the way he talks to you is infuriating, like he's talking to a stupid child. It not only embarrasses you when he speaks so teasingly, it makes you angry, frustrated, and maybe a bit turned on

❝If you can't watch your hands i won't watch my teeth.❞ - you tugged on his precious hair, so he can't help but tease you even more as he eats you out

Ayato

❝Mmm...yeah...❞ - he's rather quite, Ayato hums more, right in your ear with such a disgusting smirk because he knows any sound he does will drive you wild

❝Don't overestimate yourself, hm?❞ - he always says the same as you sink down on him. He knows exactly that his tip just puts too much pressure on your cervix. He might tease you, but he doesn't want to hurt you

❝I got you...don't worry, i got you...❞ - while you come down from your high...did he came himself? No, but it's okay. You're his number 1 priority

Baizhu

❝So...warm...❞ - no matter how many times you two have sex, your warmth will always overwhelm him

❝Shh...you don't know who might come in.❞ - he doesn't take many risks but god he can't hold himself back when you help him out in Bubu Pharmacy

❝I'll take care of it...don't worry.❞ - look, he's a doctor, a people pleaser and helper, ofc he only takes care of you and not of himself

Capitano

❝Take it slow, theres no rush.❞ - says the big guy with the prettiest cock and he doesn't even know it

❝Do you need a break? No?...heh...alright then...❞ - proceeds to rearrange your guts

❝What did i tell you?❞ - he means please, tell him please, ask nicely with manners like he taught you

Childe

❝Naww, someones needy huh? It went riiight in, with no problem.❞ - I bet you can practically hear and see the smug look on this abominations face

❝Look baby i don't wanna hurt you, yeah? You need to tell me when i go too hard.❞ - just a little nice check in for him. He wants to make sure you know you are always free to tell him off, he doesn't want to force himself on and in you

❝Good? Hah-ah-...yeah...thought so...❞ - sometimes the smugness will flatter, especially once he's close...you don't know who enjoys it more, him or you

Cyno

❝You hear that?...Thats you...❞ - he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow and fast, changing pace. But no matter how fast or slow, he absolutely loves when you're as wet as you can get

❝Are you certain that you really want th-! Ouch why'd you slap me-❞ - he always asks the same, over and over again, it's nice that he keeps asking for your consent but at this point it annoys you like...bro you already been between my legs for like 30mins I had enough time thinking about it

❝Where?...ah-quick tell me-❞ - whenever he doesn't wear a condom and realistically...I don't think condoms exist in genshin lol

Dainsleif

❝So desperate...it's almost cute.❞ - he knows it's basically a long distance relationship considering he's almost never there. That's what makes it even "better" for him when you two see each other. He can't help but tease

❝Calm down, we're not in a rush.❞ - basically the first, same vibe, call me lazy lol

❝Still...gh-taking it so well...❞ - uhhh yeah we have a theme here

Diluc

❝You look cold...i could warm you up...❞ - sometimes him being smooth works, sometimes not, and sometimes he just sounds like a cheaper version of himself (Batman)...or sometimes he does what Kaeya says-

❝Where's the 'please'?❞ - he's so well mannered it's scary, so he expects the same for you too. Say please and thank you

❝Maybe if you would've behaved like I told you to, we wouldn't be here right now.❞ - he says it so calm as he fucks you against the cold stone wall behind Angels share in the middle of the night where any drunken idiot could see...or the patrols...that are very much sober (hopefully???)

Dottore

❝Hm? This? Oh, thats just for documentation.❞ - he records your voice...he literally studies your reactions and change in voice.

❝I won't tell you again, hold still.❞ - he isn't scared of tying you up at all so either hold still or be held still

❝...hm...you're too quite...❞ - he literally wants the Tsaritsa to hear like???

Freminet

❝Ngh-h-hey-calm down or else-!❞ - WE LOBE SUB BOYS, I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM, WE LOVE SUB BOYS

❝This is...new...yeah...❞ - he's a explorer but he also wants to be explored sksksksksk

❝So-warm-!❞ - uhm...self explanatory. When he enters you it's warm lol

Gorou

❝Wdym I'm in heat AGAIN?!❞ - he can't help but not be horny like?? Have you seen yourself??

❝Agh-...i tried to br gentle but you just-❞ - no self control, smh

❝Right there? See...told you i won't forget.❞ - he's eating you out, and still remembers your most sensitive spots like it's craved in his mind...because it is

[madlori]

My ankle journey

I am sharing this with all you good people on the dash because I am so fucking mad it took so long for me to learn it and if I can spare one (1) person the agony it will be worth it.

So for like...oh, 8 or 9 months, I've been struggling with pain/inflammation/tendinitis in my left Achilles tendon. I don't know what caused it. It just started up (welcome to middle age, this shit happens). It wasn't severe enough to be debilitating, but it was annoying and limiting. It was also intermittent, in that some days it would be very painful and other days hardly at all. The kind of shoe I was wearing affected it a lot.

Now, I have bone spurs on both heels (it's just a thing that happens as you get older sometimes). I'm also aware that heel pain is usually the result of tight calf muscles that pull and irritate the tendon. I tried stretching that calf muscle. You know the stretch, this bitch right here:

I did it all the time. I also iced the ankle after walking for awhile, hoping to avoid inflammation. Results were...unsatisfying.

I went to:

A chiropractor

A podiatrist

A physical therapist

A bodywork coach

They all gave me some variation on the "strengthen your calf muscle, stretch your calf muscle" advice. I continued doing this without results.

I was getting frustrated, and a little afraid that this was just my life now. Finally, I thought...maybe some targeted massage might help. I asked for rec on a local FB site and was pointed to a woman who specializes in therapeutic massage including cupping, etc.

I went to her a week ago.

She spent over half our first session working on my left lower leg. Within about 10 minutes of making my eyes water, she uttered the sentence I did not know I had been waiting to hear:

"Oh, it's your soleus."

Excuse me, what?

"It's your soleus that's the culprit. It's all tied up and stiff." She started digging into it and I felt literal sparks run up my leg as she released adhesions and got the muscle moving a little. When she finally put the leg down, it felt like it was on fire with all the blood rushing into it.

She said, "You'll need to stretch your soleus. It'll clear up, but it'll take a bit of time - tendons take ages to heal."

But I HAVE been stretching.

"No, you haven't. The usual straight-leg calf stretch only stretches the gastrocnemius, that's the big belly muscle in your calf. That's not your problem. That stretch doesn't stretch the soleus. Don't worry, I'll show you how to stretch it."

My mind is spinning.

So here are the muscles in question:

The gastroc (as the pros call it) just attaches down the back but the soleus runs underneath it from the knee around the side to the heel. The lower part above the ankle is where it typically gets tight and forms adhesions.

To stretch it, you do the same calf thing where you put your foot back and press your heel to the ground, but you have to do it with your KNEE BENT:

The bent knee keeps the gastroc from engaging. It's one of those selfish muscles (like traps) - if you give it an inch, it'll just take over and prevent other muscles from working or stretching. There are other ways to stretch the soleus but this is the easiest and you can literally do it anywhere. I've been doing it while standing and waiting for things (the elevator to come, the toast to toast). You just put the heel back and bend the knee. It's kind of like curtseying.

The minute I did this stretch, I could FEEL where it was pulling on my tendon. I knew that THIS had been the problem.

The massage therapist also told me to stop icing my heel. She said icing is for an acute injury, but a more chronic aggravation needs heat, to increase blood flow for healing. She recommended elevation with heat every day (I've been doing it in bed during "phone before bed" time).

I have been doing the soleus stretch at least half a dozen times a day for almost a week, and the ankle is at least 70% better. It is still a little tight and tender, but the improvement is significant. I think a few more weeks will have it feeling normal.

I am...blown away by this. This massage therapist was able to pinpoint an issue in only a few minutes that eluded all the other professionals I saw. I can't wait to go back to her and have her solve all my other problems, tbh.

[sourkiki]

INK SURPRISE.

VOL. 15: you surpised your boyfriends by getting matching tattoos of their names on. needless to say, they love it. what better way to show how much they love it by spoiling you?

wc: 2259 ���� explicit mature content established+threesome relationship dom! 西村力 & dom!박성훈 x sub! fem! reader non-idol au other 02z made a brief cameo pussy eating+fingering unprotected sex (wrap it up) blowjobs ⪩⪨ usage of pet names service dom! riki sunghoon's a tease here ❀ catalogue

note. fun fact: this was only supposed to have sunghoon but when i saw my twt timeline about riki potentially having a tattoo, i ranted to my moot aka @jun2ki (bless you btw) and ended up making it hoonki x reader. this is for you too, i guess... @kireilien

“I think my girlfriend doesn’t love me anymore.” 

Silence. 

Sunghoon’s sudden statement caused his friends: Jay and Jake to stop what they were doing. Jay’s hand froze in midair while holding a fork. Jake, on the other hand, was attempting to steal some of Jay’s fries. They shared a confused and bewildered look, unable to believe what they were hearing. Jay cleared his throat, lowered his fork and placed it on his plate. 

“Why? Did you two argue?” He questioned, concerned, slapping Jake’s hand without looking when he continued his attempt. Jake flinched, withdrawing his hand and rubbed the now sore spot, huffing his cheeks and muttered something inaudible under his breath. 

Sunghoon shook his head, furrowing his thick eyebrows as he recalled back. “No, we rarely argue. You know that, Jay-ah. I don’t know why but she’s been ignoring me.” 

“Ignoring you how? Like does she pretend you don’t exist or?” Jake chimed in. 

“We don’t fuck anymore,” he deadpanned and Jay picked the wrong time to take a sip of his drink, only for him to end up choking. Jake scrunched his nose, disgust written all over his face. 

“And to think we’re worried because something actually happened but no, it’s just your hornyass who can’t go without having sex for a month,” the eldest deadpanned after recovering from his near-death experience. 

“This is a serious matter to me! You don’t know what it’s like to go without sex for a month!” Sunghoon complained, lightly knocking his head against the table. His slight raise of volume caused the nearby students to shoot them a weird and judgemental look, to which his friends were embarrassed by, on his behalf. 

“Have you talked to Riki about this?” Jake asked, regaining his composure. 

Sunghon huffed, raising his head and resting his cheek on the palm of his left hand. “Yeah, he’s just as confused as I am.”

Again, his friends shared a look. “Well, whatever it is, I hope you guys can figure it out. You know what they say, communication is key.”

“Not the time for your smartass words, Jake.”

“Jay, please just shut the fuck up.”

~

Unknown to your two, sweet beloved boyfriends, you were doing this for a reason. It’s a surprise for them and you didn’t want to ruin it. Which was why you had only told your shared group of friends except for Sunghoon and Riki. You could only pray that Jake won’t ramble his mouth off, considering how he has the tendency to spill secrets. Right now, you’re seated by the dining table in your dorm as you worked on your report that’s due by the end of the week. You weren’t sure how many hours had passed, drawing a long, heavy sigh from you as you removed your glasses to rub your temples, groaning in frustration. 

“Baby? You alright?” 

Looking over your shoulder, your features softened to see Riki closing the door behind him, his bag casually hanging over his left shoulder. You didn’t get up as he was quick to be by your side. He cupped your face, thumbs running along the skin underneath your eyes. You couldn’t help but lean into his touch, burying your face in his stomach.

“What happened to your dance class?” You asked, voice muffled. 

“It got cancelled. The water pipe in the practice room bursts and they need two weeks to fix it,” he replied, unable to help himself as he squished your cheeks until your lips were fully puckered. 

“Riki!” You whined, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend. He ducked his head, planting a kiss on your forehead. The small display of affection was enough to turn your face red as compared to Sunghoon, Riki prefers to shower you with love behind closed doors. 

“Sorry, you’re too cute,” he apologized but the tone he used said otherwise. He looked at your laptop, curiosity shown on his face on the bright screen. “How long have you been working on your report?” 

“Uh, a few hours?” You answered meekly, averting your eyes in shame when he arched an eyebrow at you. 

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we, hm? You shouldn’t be pushing yourself too hard,” he clicked his tongue, lightly poking your forehead, eliciting a whine from you. 

“I’m sorry. I really need to finish it and I’ve been busy working on my other projects too,” you sighed. 

Riki coos. “Aw, poor baby. Let me take care of you, please?” 

You nodded, squeaking when he easily lifted you up, like you weighed nothing. It was by instinct that you wrapped your arms around him, like a koala bear as he brought you to the bedroom. Riki gently placed you down, only for him to capture your lips in a needy, intense kiss—the contrast giving you whiplash. You gasped when he teasingly nipped at your bottom lip, giving him the chance to slide his tongue as he explored your mouth with one, thorough lick. It’s enough to make you feel all tingly, your strength leaving your body as you let him do as he pleased. 

His hands began working on removing your clothes but he paused when he realized you were wearing his hoodie. It completely engulfs you with the hem reaching your thighs. Riki swore when he also realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath the hoodie and shorts. 

“You’re such a tease, aren’t you? Wearing nothing but my clothes,” he groaned against your lips, hand making itself at home between your legs, drawing a breathless mewl from you. 

“You’re already dripping wet for me. Looks like someone’s needy,” he purrs, about to push your hoodie up when a voice interrupts the two of you. 

“What’s this? Starting without me? How cruel.”

You turned to the door where Sunghoon was, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. Despite the laid-back tone, you could tell he was barely holding himself back, with how his eyes darkened as he took in your current state. You whined, barely able to speak as you made grabby hands at him. Sunghoon softened as he entered the bedroom, sitting behind you while Riki remained in between your legs. Sunghoon lifted you up, placing you on his lap with you leaning against his chest. He rested his large, warm hands on your thighs, holding you down when Riki lowered himself to his elbows.

“Shh, just relax and let us take care of you,” Sunghoon murmured into your ear, planting kisses along the expanse of your neck. 

Riki pushed the hoodie up and up, only for him to freeze, gaining Sunghoon’s attention. What they saw took their breaths away.

They stared at the tattoo—their names, imprinted on both sides of your hips, just above your hip bones. Their minds blanked out as Riki’s hand brushed against it, sending shivers down your spine. You, on the other hand, were nervous. You didn’t expect them to find out this early as you wanted to wait until you’ve fully recovered. 

“..Is this why you’ve been avoiding us?” Sunghoon asks in awe. 

You squirmed about on his lap, unable to face either of them. “I wanted this to be a surprise. Does it look bad?” 

Sunghoon clicked his tongue, turning your chin towards him. “No, it doesn’t. And considered us getting surprised. We didn’t expect you to do this. But, we like it.” 

You glanced at Riki, who nodded his head. He didn’t give you time to react, licking a long, flat stripe along your dripping folds. You visibly flinched, instinctively trying to close your legs but Sunghoon was faster. He tightened his grip, nails digging into your thighs, forcing you to remain still. In an attempt to distract you, he kisses you, eagerly swallowing your sounds while Riki eats you out, like a man on a mission. 

You outright whined at the feeling of Riki sliding three fingers in, pumping them at a slow pace while Sunghoon had reached down, spreading your pussy lips apart, granting the younger to slide his fingers deeper in. 

“F-Fuck, ngh, t-too much,” you panted, blindly reaching out with your hands as you grabbed onto a fistful of Riki’s hair while your other hand grabbed onto Sunghoon’s wrist, the very same wrist that’s spreading you apart for the younger. 

“Too much? But your body says otherwise,” Riki chuckled, thumb gently pressing down on your clit, laughing at how you whined at the mere contact, hips jerking up but he withdrew his thumb, fingers still inside you. 

You realized through your blurry state that while your two boyfriends are still fully clothed, you were completely bare. The huge contrast shows the type of roles the three of you have in your relationship. Your ears registered the rustling sounds of the sheets behind you and the next thing you knew, Sunghoon had lifted you off his lap and placed you on the sheets. You whined at the lack of warmth but he was quick to soothe you by running his hand through your hair. 

“Open up, princess,” he softly demands, now standing near the bed with his sweatpants and boxers lowered, just enough to free his hardened cock. The sight made your mouth water and you parted your lips, jaw slackening as you let Sunghoon gently pull you forward until your head was dangling off the edge of the bed. 

“Hyung, I’m busy here,” Riki whines, sending the older a light-hearted glare and you would have cooed, if Sunghoon didn’t push his cock into your mouth. 

Your eyes widened, tears blurring your vision as he continued until the tip hit the back of your throat. Just like Riki, Sunghoon didn’t give you time to breathe, moving his hips in a lazy pace as he fucks your mouth. You tried your best to keep up, tongue darting along the girth as you traced the outline of his veins protruding but it was easier said than done. You couldn’t focus, not when Riki had detached his mouth from your pussy. Heck, you weren’t even aware that you had come undone, thanks to Riki’s skillful tongue. 

His chin and lips glistened underneath the light, covered in a thick layer of your slick. Riki wiped them away with the back of his hand, fumbling to tug his sweatpants and boxers down. He scooped the goop dripping from your pussy, using it to lube his cock. Riki grabbed your left leg, tossed it over his shoulder and pushed it in one go. You couldn’t moan, not when your mouth’s full of cock and could only let out a high-pitched, muffled sound. 

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Riki rasped, hands drawing circles on your hips. 

“Poor princess. Can’t even speak,” Sunghoon coos, faux sweetness evident in his voice as he looks down at you, smirking at your teary eyes staring back at him. 

Riki begins thrusting into you. The bedroom was filled with the loud, lewd and obscene squelching sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, rearranging your insides to the shape of his cock. Sunghoon, on the other hand, groaned at his incoming climax. He didn’t warn you, spilling his cum down your throat. You gagged but managed to swallow them all and he pulled out from your now swollen, bruised lips with an audible ‘pop’ sound. 

Now that your mouth’s empty, you were able to let out the sounds you’ve been holding back. 

“R-Riki, fuck, p-please,” you whined, throwing one arm over to shield your eyes when you realized how Sunghoon was merely watching, like you’re putting on a show for him and only him. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum? Wanna let Riki know how good he’s making you feel?” Sunghoon asks, now sitting on the edge of the bed, glancing at Riki, who understood his intentions and stopped thrusting, allowing Sunghoon to manhandle you, returning to your position—you sitting on his lap. 

Riki had to shuffle closer, sliding his cock back in and this time, he pounds into you with newfound determination. The determination to make you cum for the second time. Sunghoon leaned down, angling your head towards his to kiss you. You felt like you were being tortured, your senses on overdrive as your two boyfriends showered you with nothing but love and affection. 

“Ngh, gonna cum, gonna cum,” you cried out, breaking the kiss. Your head dipped backwards until it landed on Sunghoon’s shoulders, eyelids fluttering shut. 

“That’s it. Cum for me, princess,” Riki coaxes and you came with a high-pitched moan, chanting his name like a prayer. 

Your thighs trembled from the intensity of your climax, body going pliant as you slumped against Sunghoon’s chest. A soft whine left your lips when you felt Riki spilling deep inside you, making you feel full of his cum. You panted heavily, trying to catch your breath while Riki slowly pulled out. 

“Wha-!?” You squeaked when your vision turned upside down. 

You gulped at the sight of Sunghoon now hovering over you. Glancing down, your breath hitched to see him aligning his cock against your sensitive entrance. You wanted to push him away, protests forming at the tip of your tongue but Riki was faster. He was instantly behind you, pinning your wrists behind your back as he rested his head on your right shoulder. 

“Ah ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you. We did say we’ll take good care of you, didn’t we, hyung?” He murmured, directing the last sentence to Sunghoon.

He nodded, eyes darkening a shade. “Yea, so you better prepare yourself, princess. Because we’re not stopping until we’re satisfied.”

tags list: @chuhees, @byshens, @hoonstqr, @doucious, @emisluvr, @riqomi, @onlyywwon, @jjung-v, @minjunis, @rikisoup, @i-love-hannah-more-than-chan.