#Maybe offhandedly once or twice

[sophisticatedheart]

Chuuya knows I grew up in the mafia in America, so when mori brings up the idea of my promotion he's not the happiest abt it. Not bc he thinks I'd be bad at it, quite the opposite in fact, he knows I'd be great as an executive, but he just wants more for me. He wishes at least one of us could have a chance to experience a normal life for the first time. However neither of us really have a bad life currently, we're treated well enough and like the work, so there's nothing pressing us to leave except for his secret desire. And he'd much rather give that chance to me if he was ever given the opportunity, but he knows it doesn't matter bc I would never leave him and i *do* like the pm, and he feels the same way. So none of that really matters, and he gives a glowing review to ensure I'm promoted, bc at least then we can spend more time together.

This got long but I have more thoughts I don't wanna put in the tags. I'm unsure if chuuya is still tethered to the pm in the same way that he was recruited. But even if not, I don't think he would really have a reason to leave, he likes his job and he's not a grudge holder. However just bc of his personality I think even if he had to become the boss he wouldn't try to leave either, despite everything that happened with the sheep.

Chuuya takes care of everyone at his own expense, and I think being an executive is the perfect position for him. He is an excellent leader but having someone who gives *him* orders as well works out the best for him. He's too empathetic to be someone who has to make the kinds of sacrifices a mafia boss does.

[etherealily]

guilt // f.odair

[1/3] Long. this was queued, idk if I've already promised another character before this is out.

Part 2 : Art

Finnick Odair + fem!reader. Warnings : Cuss words, SFW but discretion advised, mature themes.

Desc. : But is it in his nature?

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

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'Suck on his sellout cock, go ahead', your mind taunts you as you traipse behind him into the Victor's Village, a place where you simultaneously hoped you'd live and you'd never step into again.

See, Finnick had always dominated your childhood.

You grew up watching him charm the nation, be welcomed back to the District like he was God.

One of your biggest flexes was that you got to see him in person in a parade once, when he'd come back from one of his many Capitol visits.

However. That all changed once you became fifteen. Because you'd finally got some fucking sense and realized that the people at the Capitol, the Hunger Games, none of it was fair, it was all fucking shit.

And you hated Finnick all the more for it.

Prancing around, doing promotions, adverts, sending children to die, being the Capitol's bitch. You'd narrowly escaped your last chance to be reaped, but you still wished he'd choke on his ridiculously expensive Capitol meal.

You couldn't respect him.

But. But, it wasn't like you'd ever tell him that, though. Because when Finnick Odair talks to you, you fucking talk back.

And when he tells you he wants you to come back home with him after seeing you by the ocean one night, you go, no matter how much you'd rather fucking kill yourself.

"This is my house.", he smiles, and waits expectantly, as if you're supposed to applaud.

"It's nice."

He doesn't look disappointed or surprised at that. In fact, he seems mildly entertained. "Get in."

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"And then, maybe, just bring your hand up the side of your leg? Yeah, yeah, just like that. Okay, yeah, sweetheart, that's it."

Click.

"And this is for..."

"Modelling."

"For the Capitol?"

"Who else?"

You raise a brow, your mind immediately picturing some rhinestone encrusted Capitol asshole getting off to a picture of you. You shudder.

"I'm joking. It's for me."

"For you?"

"Feel free to look around.", he says, offhandedly, as he looks through the camera at all the pictures he'd just clicked of you. "Maybe something will catch your fancy."

"You brought me here to... take pictures of me and... let me take whatever I want from your house?"

"I'm a weirdo, sweetheart."

"What will you do with the pictures?"

"I dunno. Can't publish them anywhere. I guess I'll just use them.", he mutters, more to himself than you, but you catch it. He looks up and then clarifies, "To improve my photography skills."

Thank fuck.

"Why me?"

"You're a good subject."

Your fingers move almost fluidly past various things, bottles of expensive liquor, watches, jewellery that he probably stole from his long list of Capitol lovers, and a single, slightly pathetic looking conch.

"I'm a subject? Like... math?"

He snorts. It's condescending, he's aware - there's no way you'd know. You've never been out of the District.

"It's photography lingo. A subject is who you're taking photos of. You have the correct facial structure for my lighting to illuminate you how I want it to. Hence, you're a good subject."

"Oh."

He continues flicking through photos and adjusting the background, taking a few trial shots with the result of his tinkering, until he seems to notice that you haven't spoken in a while. "You like the conch?"

"It's pretty."

"So are you."

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Ugh. There he goes again, back to Finnick Odair, Capitol man-whore instead of Finnick, photo geek.

You turn to him. "How much did it cost? Twice the wine?"

"I didn't buy it. I found it, back when I was eleven."

"You've had it for almost a decade?"

He licks his lips, his hands pausing their scrolling of the camera's gallery for a moment. "I guess it has been a decade."

"What was it like, though? When you won?"

"Won? Won what?"

"The Games."

"Oh. Uh... bittersweet."

"Bitter? Why would it be bitter?"

"You ask a lot of questions. Sit down."

You know the truth. He just didn't want to admit that there was nothing bitter going on. He won because he was hot, and now, he continued reaping the benefits of his genetic lottery win.

You sit, still looking up at him as he comes to kneel in front of you, turning his camera to you. "What do you think?"

The pictures he's taken of you have an unsettling ethereality to them. In one, you're looking out the window with your back to the camera, your outfit hidden by a rose he'd apparently been holding in front of the camera.

A white rose.

It featured in every fucking picture, so much so that you almost asked him about it. Key word : almost.

In one of the more lighthearted ones, the rose sat in your mouth.

"They're pretty nice."

"Is your vocabulary limited to those two words? Pretty. Nice."

"I don't know what else to say."

He regards your face for a moment - like, really fucking observes you - before fiddling with some knob on the camera. "Take off your clothes."

That shouldn't have surprised you as much as it did.

"What?"

He looks up, confused. "Take off your clothes and I'll take some pictures."

"What? No."

"You don't want to? But you were okay with all the previous pictures."

"Yeah, because I was clothed."

"Being unclothed is a problem for you? Being exposed? Hm? That bothers you?"

What?!

"I- look, man, I'm not trying to offend you."

"But you are. You said you'd let me take photos of you. You are not your clothes, are you? You are your self, your soul, your body."

"Yeah, but I'm just not comfortable."

'Y'know what, sweetheart, people do shit they're not comfortable with all the fucking time. Twenty-five/eight. If you can't deal with it, you're weak. Take. It. Off."

You had a feeling there was another reason he was so angry about your non-compliance, but you didn't push it.

"Please don't make me do this."

"Fine! FUCK! Am I asking you to suck my cock? Huh? I could, y'know that? I could've, but no, I asked you to help me make art, and you chickened out!", he yells, his finger scarily close to poking your eye.

Finnick Odair was no longer pissing you off.

Finnick Odair was genuinely scaring you.

"Just get out.", he mutters, setting his camera down in defeat on his couch. "Get out, seriously."

You don't even have two seconds of backing-away-time before he stops you again. "What if I killed your family?"

That scares you more. "What?"

"What if I killed your family? Or at least, threatened to? Would you do it? Would you?", he asks, and now, he's not angry at you, or frustrated, he's more desperate, frantic, as if your answer would shake his fucking world.

As if your answer would change his self perception.

"Please don't kill my family."

"Would you suck my cock if I threatened to kill your family, Y/N?!"

"YES!", you scream, flinching, almost. "Yes! I would, but please, PLEASE don't!"

Finnick Odair gazes back at you with relief, and you want to strangle him. "You would, wouldn't you? You'd do unspeakable things for your family, yes?"

Well, of course.

"Things that would make your skin crawl. Not just because you love them, but because you're responsible for them. Because you got yourself into this mess."

He's no longer talking to or about you, that much is clear.

"And it's up to you to keep them away from it."

Slowly backing away, you try your hardest not to show up in his peripheral, to make sure he stays in whatever zone he's in.

But he is Finnick Odair. So he doesn't even look up at you as he instructs you. "Don't take the conch." Like stealing from him was the first thing on your mind.

"Wasn't planning to."

"Don't tell anyone about today."

"Wasn't planning to."

"Stay."

Wasn't planning to.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. Please. Stay."

The apology only solidifies your urge to stab him in the gut. "I have to get home."

"I didn't mean stay the night. I don't want you staying the night."

Finnick Odair, as you had begun to gather, was debilitatingly honest.

"I just mean stay for a while. Have dinner and then go."

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. I have turkey from the Capitol."

"What's that?"

"It's a kind of bird. It's just like chicken but better."

"What's chicken?"

"Another kind of bird."

"Oh."

He frowns at you for a moment. "You're not okay with eating birds, are you?"

"They're just... very rare, so I don't see why you have to kill them."

He sighs, looking around the room in deep thought. "I could make fish. You know fish. You like fish."

You do know fish. You do like fish. You nod.

~~~~

Finnick's fish is unlike any you've ever fucking eaten.

Living in District 4, you'd figured you'd had fish every way it could be cooked. But no.

You can't help but take more. And more. And more. You weren't hungry, and momentarily felt guilt, thinking about kids in the other districts who were, but it was divine and you couldn't bring yourself to care much.

"You like that?", he asks, from opposite you, raising a brow in amusement.

"It's really fucking good."

He whistles lowly. "Ooh, nice, vocabulary expansion. So you do cuss. I was afraid I'd corrupted you with my rough Capitol language.", he muses, looking at your plate. "You have room for dessert?"

"Doesn't everyone, always?"

He nods. "That's fair. Cake?"

CAKE? This Capitol whore managed to bring cake back to District 4?

"Sure."

That was divine, too.

"You like that, too?"

"Yeah. It's really good. The Capitol has it really good."

"The Capitol is filled with cunts who throw up food because they want to taste more."

Was that... disdain? Interesting.

"Well, seeing as you spend most of the year there, I just thought..."

He stands, clearing the plates. "What? That I was one of them?"

You watch him go into the kitchen, taking a sip of water as you do. "No, just that... no, yeah, I did."

"It's okay, I get that a lot. I just... I gotta go, do these promotions, adverts. I have to. I made a deal."

You sigh, standing and pushing the dining table chair back to its original position. "Contract?"

He clenches his jaw momentarily, before nodding, his shoulders tense. "Yeah. Sm'n like that.", he grins, his dimples emerging once more. Thirteen year old you would have swooned and fainted and died.

Eighteen year old you just lets him lead you to the door.

"I'm leaving for the Capitol tomorrow. Along with the tributes from this year."

Why he's telling you this, you have no clue.

"You should come and wave me off."

"Do we know each other well enough for that?"

"No, but I know you know the tributes well. One of them goes to school with you, doesn't she?"

Yes. Little Faye.

"Yes, she's in the eighth grade. I used to tutor her."

The reality hits. She will probably never be able to high-five you when she gets a question right again.

"You should give her courage.", he suggests. "Going in thinking you're going to die will get you killed. Let her know she can make it."

"Can she?", you ask, quietly. The answer will ruin you, you can tell.

"She's a Career."

"Yes, but can she?"

"Chances are slim." Finnick fucking Odair. Finnick "debilitatingly honest" fucking Odair. "I won't tell her that, though."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Finnick."

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His hands grip your chin and you swear you're about to kill him. You look up at him, hanging out the open door of the train carriage and holding onto you, and you're half tempted to pull him down with you because what the fuck was he doing?

You can feel it coming, the urge to slap him away, but then again, it's still Finnick FUCKING Odair, and you're not sure if there's a law against rejecting his advances.

So you just kind of let him kiss you. It's not bad, no, far from it, it's just... unexpected.

Considering it's in front of every camera in the district.

Considering you'd only known each other one night.

Considering his last words were 'you're the only thing I care about.'

Considering he said your full name an unsettling amount of times.

Considering little Faye was watching and wondering why you were calm enough to be making out with some hot guy instead of sending her off.

Considering now the entirety of Panem was either going gush at you or rush at you.

~~~~

You can't bring yourself to watch the news.

Everyone assumes it's because of Finnick.

But, ironically, Finnick's the only one who knows it's not.

It's because of Faye.

"Finnick's on TV.", you're informed at least twice an hour.

"'Kay.", is your usual response. "Faye?"

"I'm sure Finnick trained her well. And besides, the 11th is this weekend! You'll find out."

Right. You'd been invited by Snow him-fucking-self to the Capitol. Apparently, the cameras outside your house weren't enough. He needed you there, with Finnick, for promos. While children were dying.

You receive gifts from your family, your neighbours, your teachers - basically anyone you'd breathed around - for your journey to the Capitol, as if you're going to some dreamland.

As you ride the train, your head against the seat, you try to imagine this is the train that leads you out of District 4. Your family will be waiting at the destination - in your head, an actual dreamland - and you'll be fine and dandy.

As you're escorted out, you imagine you're hanging from the ceiling in full display on the TV instead of Faye having to go through the Games.

And as you're directed to Finnick's room, you imagine slitting his throat. It's funny. You almost laugh. Then, the door opens.

Dimples.

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"How is it you've never worn lip tint before?", he mutters, tutting as if you'd just misspelled a basic word. "C'mon, pucker up.", he instructs, his thumb smearing red on your lips.

You have no idea what you look like and you're not sure if you want to find out. "I thought you were a merchant."

You shake your head. "No, I said I live by the merchant sector of 4."

"Not in it?"

"Of course not. Why would I have been picking seashells to make necklaces out of if I were a merchant? I just sell shit in the marketplace. Doesn't make me a merchant."

"I mean, technically... yeah, it does.", he says, his thumb accidentally slipping and smudging your makeup over the left of your cheek.

"Right, well, I'm not merchant class.', you shrug, trying to wipe the results of idiocy that was Finnick Odair off the side of your cheek.

Finnick... seems to get it. He nods along as he continues trying to de-plague your face with makeup.

Guilt is etched on his face. Regret, a tiny bit. Sadness, festering throughout.

"What's that look?"

He doesn't seem like he's out of whatever thought he was in moments ago when he hums in response, before quickly leaping towards his bedside and taking his camera, holding his thumb next to your bottom lip, with your still messy lip tint just about seen. Click.

"What's that look?", you repeat.

"What look?"

"That one.", you say, pointing to his face as if he can see it.

"That's my sorry look. I shouldn't have sprung the kiss on you. It was a dick move.", he says, gently moving behind you and guiding your shoulders to manoeuver you to face the mirror.

He says it as if he already knows you'll forgive him.

Yes, you do. But it irks you that he seems to assume that.

"Yes, it was."

"I'm sorry. What do you think?"

"I look like the 12 escort."

"Trinket? No, no way. You look great.", he assures, and you try to believe him, but you haven't seen yourself in makeup before and it doesn't look as though it's you standing there.

"Beautiful.", he says, as an afterthought, almost, as if he were trying out the word to see if it sounded right or not. He seems to decide on the former. "Beautiful.", he repeats, nodding.

That gets your attention and you take a second glance, and suddenly, you see what he sees. The makeup isn't subtle and hidden, but it isn't what the Capitol wears. It's... pleasant.

He brushes some hair in front of your shoulders. "See? Beautiful.", he reiterates, like he can't get enough of that word now.

"You sure I'll fit in here like this? Like... dressed up?"

"Yeah.", he says, vehemently nodding before doing that thing when he looked in your eyes again. "Well, mostly. I mean, I'd prefer it if you had the easiest time possible, 'cause I kinda got you into this mess."

You nod. That checks out. "Thanks."

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The night sees you staring at the ceiling while Finnick breathes softly in sleep beside you. It's pleasant. Domestic, almost. Like what Finnick wants, you think. Like the Capitol believes, you know.

He shifts and your eyes snap shut. Why you're so afraid of him finding out that you are awake, you don't know, but you are. He reaches out, his knuckles grazing your cheek with enough purpose that you realize he wasn't asleep in the first place, either.

And then he does it.

His hand reaches out, gently feeling around for your hand, before he grips the middle three fingers on your left.

He squeezes them softly, then brings them to his chest, where his own hand lays. That's it.

You watch him actually sleep until he mumbles, shifting again. 'Y/N?"

"Yeah?", you respond immediately, kicking yourself internally. Cover blown.

"Can't sleep?"

"No."

"Scared?"

"Mhm."

"Of the photos we took today? I promise, the makeup isn't bad, and you won't have to take any more - they'll publish them and pass them off as taken over a few months, so it's not-"

"No, for Faye."

Silence. "Oh."

"I feel like I didn't get to even tell her how well she's going to do."

"You can see her."

You can what?

"When?"

"Well, not in person, but we can watch the live feed of the Gam-"

"Yes. Yes, please, thank you.'

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes. Yes, absolutely. When can we?"

"Well, technically, it's always streaming, so I, I guess we can go now."

You nod.

He raises a brow as if he never expected you to agree. "Okay, uh, just, uh... gimme a second to wake up, okay?"

He comes out of the bathroom after washing his face to find you pacing, biting the inside of your cheek. "C'mon."

~~~~

The Viewing Room is desolate except for a few Gamemakers' Assistants (GAs), that have to watch footage 24/7.

"We have to record these things all the time, just in case something happens during the cover of nightfall", he explains, as he walks in front of you and gestures to the large screen in the opposite side of the room. "Usually, the stronger Careers, from 1 or 2-", he cuts himself off. That was not what you needed to be hearing right now.

He watches as you slowly walk up to the screen, as though the soft glow from it could lead you to Faye. Your eyes dart around the entirety of the enormous screen, looking for something - anything - to announce you of Faye's survival.

"She is still alive. You'd have heard a cannon and seen a picture of her if not."

It's not the most comforting thing he can say. He's usually better at this. God, if he didn't miss his old self, but the guilt of essentially using you to keep Snow's interest off his family and on you, the - to the extent of Snow's knowledge, anyway - love of his life, isn't exactly letting him be warm and inviting to you.

But he wants to. Let it be known, he wants nothing more than to do what he usually does. Brighten people up.

"Where is she?"

"WE'VE GOT A RUNNER!", calls one of the GAs and your head snaps to a blue triangle tracking one of the tributes on the screen, and you run over to that side of the massive screen.

The lights come on in the room, and people flood in. Sponsors, gamblers, Gamemakers. Because this is prime TV. He imagines every screen in the country lighting up, because you have to watch. Every child has just been woken up because the feed's back on.

"Who's the runner?", someone asks, and Finnick turns to you, diligently tracking the blue triangle with your eyes. Blue. Ocean. District 4. It's Faye.

"Girl from Four. The boy's already dead."

"How much did I have on her?"

"Oh, c'mon, you didn't have shit on her! No one thought she'd make it this far."

"Fine, fine, but now how much?"

The sounds of cruelty almost have him zoning out, going back into Capitol-Party-Finnick-Mode. That is, until, you call him.

"Finnick?"

He rushes to your side, a guilt induced speed to his gait. "Yeah, y'okay?" No the fuck she isn't. What the fuck is wrong with him?

"Who's the gold triangle chasing her?" Gold. Luxury. District 1. CAREER.

"Uh..." Deliver it softly. Sweetly.

"Unless she's a shapeshifter, the girl's DEAD!", laughs one of the sponsors. "It's my tribute, the Career boy from 1 chasin' her, with... wait, zoom in? Oh, yeah, a dagger!"

Your eyes widen and Finnick wants to kill himself. "She'll be fine. She can swim, he..."

Can also swim. Fuck.

"... he won't be able to keep up with her." , he says, finally.

Partially true. District 1 Careers didn't have access to the ocean, not like those from 4, so it was very much possible that he wasn't trained to know about tides and currents and shit.

There's a moment where no one in the room says anything. Because they both just jumped into the water, and Faye went under.

Finnick holds your head to his chest as you cling onto him in fear. It's not even remotely close to making up for what he's planning to put you through - well, already putting you through - but he at least feels a bit like the old him. The one who could actually comfort.

The tribute from 1 splashes around a bit, looking for Faye. You've turned a bit now, your head's still in his chest, but half your face is facing the screen. You're watching, anxious as ever.

"She's not drowned.", he mutters, stupidly. Duh.

"What if something pulled her under?"

Oh fuck. Yeah. Valid point.

"I'm sure it's just a strategy."

One that he remembers teaching her.

Maybe if she uses this and beats this District 1 Career, he could be one more step closer to gaining your forgiveness, and his redemption.

For a crime that the victim wasn't even aware was being committed.

The Career flounders around a bit more, screaming, clearly, but the audio is muted here. He looks around, not willing to look under, in case that might trigger the release of any muttations the Capitol cooked up for them.

And then, he's tugged a bit, his leg down, and he springs away from the motion. Please be Faye. Please be Faye.

He's jerked fully under, and a splash of Faye's hair can be seen before both disappear underneath the midlly murky waters, a struggle very evident in the way the water's splattering about.

Suddenly, it stops.

Faye leaps exhaustedly onto the bank, gasping for breath.

A cannon goes off. Florian Jentry. District 1 , Luxury. Score : 10.

Finnick holds onto you tighter as you sigh in relief. He softly kisses your hair because he doesn't know what else to do.

Relief is the only possible emotion to feel.

No one's happy. No one's sad. You're only either relieved that your loved one isn't gone, or relieved that they're not gone in a torturous way.

Wait, scratch that. The patron who just bet on Faye is happy.

[cinnamoneve]

𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐲.

idolatry \ īˈdälətrē \ (n.) - extreme admiration, love, or reverence for something or someone.

❆ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gojo satoru x fem!reader ❆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: your boyfriend just makes the perfect wedding date ❆ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader is wearing a dress, is called beautiful, shorter than gojo, reader drinks alcohol ❆ 𝐰𝐜: 1.8k ❆ 𝐚/𝐧: you are all subject to me writing self indulgent fics ♡ currently stuck at an airport for a wedding tomorrow and this man would look so fine in a suit (also i Would Like to marry him). anyways i love you thank you for reading !!!

any excuse gojo satoru had to dress up and take the night off, he’d eat up.

you offhandedly mentioned to your boyfriend that you had a family wedding coming up. fortunately, you were given the opportunity to bring a plus one–and you knew just the man for the occasion.

“should we match? and coordinate our outfits?”

“it’s not high school prom, satoru. we don���t have to match”

he didn’t know. while his life had been very well lived in his 28 years, attending a wedding hadn’t been crossed off his list yet. he’d secretly hoped that the first one he would attend would be yours, with him standing across from you to seal in your devotion to one another for the rest of your lives.

but alas, he can’t get what he wants this time.

while he’s met your family here and there, this will be the first full-scale event where you’re hard launching your boyfriend into the family. it’s a lot at once. for a normal person, it’d be overwhelming. but most weren’t people-oriented the way your boyfriend was.

“can you at least tell me the color of your dress?”

“it’s green”

“green suit then. got it.”

reading your body language and glare burning the back of his head, satoru was quick to write it off as ‘kidding!’ of course you believed him, but half of your brain told you not to.

you had almost forgotten about it all until the day of the event, when satoru picked up his suit from the dry cleaner. you tried to steal a peek underneath the white bag, but he playfully swatted you away with a “nuh-uh.” you pushed it from your mind and continued to get ready.

satoru’s cologne was always the indication that it was time to go. subtle yet overwhelming, the musky scent filled the air of any room he walked into. it felt like he applied enough so everyone could smell it, but you could only appreciate it if you were buried into his neck. it sucked you in and was warm enough to feel like an embrace. when you could hear him applying his cologne, the scent came moments later, and so did the nerves.

usually in uniform or in sweatpants, rarely could satoru go all out and dress to the nines. you’ve only been lucky to see it once or twice, but never to this extent.

you walked out of the bathroom to meet him, and man, he looked good. it took everything in you to remember the commitment you made to your family and your rsvp instead of staying home and jumping him there.

in his black suit, he definitely cleaned up well. the black suit only contrasted his snow-white hair, which matched into the white button-up he paired underneath. after the first wave of nerves and infatuation passed, you were relieved to note he wasn’t wearing a full-green suit like he’d teased. the harder you looked, though, you could see glimpses of yourself and his love woven in the outfit. a green pocket square, a thin green tie, and even socks to match.

he even matched his cufflinks to the type of metal your jewelry was.

gosh, he was so perfect sometimes, it infuriated you. this time, you could let it pass. maybe just this once.

he let out a whistle when his eyes met yours.

“you look beautiful, love”

“you don’t look so bad yourself, satoru”

“oh don’t be mean, you were practically drooling over there”

“shut up,” you laughed. he pulled you into a kiss to meet your giggles halfway. he just loved to kiss you when you were smiling, just so he could taste how happy he made you.

satoru wore his happiness on his sleeve; probably more, if there was even a phrase for it. you could hear that he was smiling when he talked. he would smile while kissing you, which would always pull and curl his lips in a way that made you melt. he was so unapologetically and irrevocably in love with you, and the best way to show it was with his smile–in any way he could.

he pulled your hand close, placed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, and led you outside to the car. opening the door for you like the gentleman he was, you feigned a “wow, thank you, baby” to make him feel so chivalrous, as if he doesn’t do it every time

and you did the same, as you always had, when he opened the door for you at the venue. he took your hand so tenderly in his as you walked inside.

the ceremony was intimate, so you and most of the party were only attending the reception. satoru was already confused by the proceedings and this didn’t help his case.

“so they’re already married? they already kissed the bride? we missed the vows?”

“yes, love,” was the only way you could answer. it was almost a soft launch into a wedding for him. no formalities of ceremonies that were following any specific practice or culture, just dancing and alcohol with a side of celebrating love.

boy, you needed a drink. gojo had a million questions about family members he hadn’t seen in a while, how they were, and if they would remember him.

you both made your rounds during the cocktail hour to greet old and new friends and family. always the social butterfly, satoru seemed to command every conversation and have everyone feel included and heard.

he had a certain air about him that made anyone he was talking to seem like the most important person in the world. he was an avid listener, eye-contact enthusiast, and lover of remembering details about people. oh, you told him you were looking to vacation in europe last time he saw you? best believe he’d ask if you’ve gotten there yet.

because he was driving, satoru drank just enough to get him loose. meanwhile, family events made you slam drink after drink. something about all your family in a dance hall with an open bar just spoke to you.

the rest of the night flowed as it usually did. you had found your seats with some of your favorite family members, and gojo made a point to sit as close to you as he could.

it was one of your favorite things about him. he unconsciously always scoots his chair closer to you, so at least your legs would be touching. such a clingy man–he’d die before anyone at that table but you knew it though.

so under the table his affection stayed, in the form of foot taps and unconscious shapes drawn on your thigh as he talked to one of your cousin’s boyfriends.

the alcohol had made you a little spacey before the reception truly kicked off. the couple had their first dance, and afterwards, all the couples in the room were invited to share it with them.

satoru giggled at you.

“why are you looking at me like that”

“i just think you’re pretty, satoru”

he slowly stood up and adjusted his suit jacket.

“if you wanted to ask me to dance, you could’ve just asked. there’s no need to be shy about it, baby”

maybe it was the alcohol, but something about satoru tonight made your heart skip a few beats. it did turn you a little shy, you realized. you felt the blush creeping up your face as he grabbed your hand.

“may i have this dance?”

so lame. it was so lame. so cliche, overdone, movie-esque…the list can go on. normally, you would’ve faked a gag at this line. he loved to pull out the cheesy lines to make you squirm.

nothing came out this time. you just looked at him with your cheeks hot, shyly looking away as you rose to meet him.

satoru led you to the dance floor before putting his hand on your waist with your clasped hands at your sides. you found yourself buried into his chest, listening to his heartbeat in line with the slow song playing in the background. the music seemed to fade out of your mind as it felt like the two of you were the only people on the dance floor.

he kept the pace (and kept you upright) as the two of you stepped back and forth with one another, bodies falling into each other to the tune of the song.

his cologne was intoxicating. something about it made your heart soar. you wanted to get ready with him for the rest of your lives. stupid how something as simple as whatever he decided to spray had you wanting it to be your reminder of plans every time you made them. you hoped that scent would be your own personal alarm every time you and satoru had somewhere to go. hell, you’d make plans if it meant he’d fill up the house with this little piece of himself.

“what do you think our wedding will be like?”

the vibration of satoru’s chest with his question pulls you out of your thoughts.

you think about it for a bit. you wondered what the two of you would be like by then. it could be tomorrow or in five years–either way, you wouldn’t be the same as you are now. just the thought alone made you excited.

you were in love with him, definitely. in love with who he was about to be, in love with who he was when you met him. who he was when he woke up this morning, yesterday, last week, and who he’ll be tomorrow. it was all unknown. but not a scary unknown, no; it was comforting that you two grew adjacently to one another, yet, together.

that’s love, you realized. maybe it’s not sharing your first dance among your friends and family, or standing face-to-face professing your vows, or wearing white or taking some seal to honor and love each other for as long as you live.

it was something in-between, something unwritten; hidden between open car doors and cufflinks.

you would dance with him as long as you could, though. at least you had known that for sure. happiness with satoru must be between slow dancing together, wondering when he’d pull you close and dip you, each time pretending he was going to drop you because he thought it was funny, just to kiss you when he pulled you back up. or maybe when he’d twirl you off his hand, stealing a glimpse at the way your eyes stayed on him while you slowly spun.

the rest of the night was incredibly uneventful. satoru danced with all of your aunties and your mother, stealing them away to tell them how beautiful they looked so they’d feel loved.

maybe it was the alcohol clouding your mind, or maybe it was the most sober thought you’d had all night, but like satoru, you found yourself wishing that the next wedding you go to would be your own.

all content © cinnamoneve 2023. do not repost, modify, steal, or copy without permission.

[colonelarr0w]

Starry Night

Sypnosis - Sitting together on a starry night...what could possibly be wrong with that picture perfect scenario?

Pairing - Satosugu x ! Female ! Reader

Warning(s) - mature themes

Word Count - 0.7k

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"'Toru? What are you still doing up?"  

The sitting man jolts, his eyes flickering to you, their bright hue dimming as you cautiously enter the living room, draped in one of his shirts. His legs spread, palms patting once, twice against his thigh in a silent invitation for you – one that you accept without hesitation.  

Your head tucks into the crook of Satoru's neck, nose inhaling his scent and committing it to memory – a pleasant mixture of sandalwood and the Earth. To you, it was comfort, it was a reminder of the home that you had built with him and Suguru.  

"The stars are nice tonight, aren't they?" Satoru comments, his arms looping around your waist, holding you against him and tilting his head to rest his cheek against your hair. You hum against him, eyes flickering to the window.  

Painted against the inky black sky are the stars that you and Satoru often watched together, laid out on a blanket on the front lawn and pointing up at them as if you had never seen them before. It was always cold during those nights, which usually resulted in Satoru tugging you against his chest, your body molding against his like a perfect little puzzle piece.  

You two would lay there for hours, simply basking in the other's presence and staring up at the flickering yellow lights that adorned the sky. Both of your trances were only broken by Suguru's softened voice, scolding you both for being out so late and commenting how you would both likely be sick by morning.  

Only then would Satoru roll up the blanket, helping you stand with gentle hands and allowing you to make your way back to the front door first. Softened aquamarine eyes watch as you beeline for Suguru's opened arms, hugging the raven-haired man and smiling brightly as gentle kisses are laid out over your face.  

"Yeah, they're nice," you mutter offhandedly, biting back the yawn that claws up your throat. Your nose scrunches up, an action that Satoru once teased you for – though he stopped once he received a loving smack from Suguru, one paired with a gentle scolding.  

Satoru hums, his eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that radiates from your body. Your breathing had deepened significantly, a telltale sign that you had fallen asleep against him – likely lulled by the gentle thump of his heart and the even rise and fall of his chest.  

He tilts his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head and looping his arms underneath you, lifting you against his chest and standing from the armchair. He couldn't have his darling wife sleep in such an uncomfortable position – you deserved much better than that.  

Satoru walks silently to your bedroom, closing the door with his foot and gently laying you down in the sheets, tugging them around you and smiling gently as you adjust yourself. A content sight falls from your nose, cheek smushed against your pillow as you doze.  

He climbs in beside you, tucking you against his chest and tangling his legs with your own. He blinks once, twice...then allows his tired eyes to finally close, welcoming sleep as it beckons to him with softened hands – hands that felt oddly similar to your own. 

And somewhere across the way, resting on numbed legs and rubbing together cold hands, another pair of eyes watches the stars as they glitter in the night sky. He thinks back to a time where he would have enjoyed the stars – maybe even admired their bright yellow hue.  

But that time is not now, and it is a time that he knows he can never go back to – not after what was said and what was done. Besides, he knew it was for the better. His departure from a domestic life was challenging...he had lost count of the tears that he had shed.  

Tonight was one of those nights where he longed for the warmth of a bed, he longed for those two familiar bodies pressed against his own. He longed for the mornings where he would only half-listen to Frank Sinatra and watch as breakfast was prepared for him. He longed for the two people who had shown him endless care and support...but those two people were nothing but a pained memory.  

Tilting his head up at the stars and at the crescent moon, shaky lips turn upward in a smile – one accompanied by salty tears that drip down his cheeks. His mind flashes images of those he longed for; one with snowy-white hair and the other with the kindest smile.  

"The stars are nice tonight, aren't they?" Suguru mutters to himself, hoping that somehow – someway – maybe you and Satoru would hear him. 

[pipipyuni]

Hiii💗 are you able to write a oneshot/scenario of human!Jake x FEM! Scientist! reader?( Their already dating btw) you can ignore this if you'd like,there's just barley any human Jake on here😭 Thank you!

All Mine, Forever and Always

wc: 830

gender: fem

cw(s): decent amount of cursing, mentions of (unintentionally) not eating

pairing: human!jake sully x human!reader

an: i hope you enjoy this short little thing! i definitely had fun writing it, that's for sure!!

content can be read below the cut!

There’s an evident pout on your lips as you slump against the lab table. “I just don’t get it!” You sigh dramatically, picking your head up when Norm scolds you for nearly knocking down some test tubes containing some local fauna.

You hold up three fingers to his face, “Three years! It took me three years in college to learn a language! And it only took you, what, a month?!”

Jake snorts, rolling over to your side of the table to place a kiss on your temple while his hand rubs soothing circles into your back, “Two months, actually.” You let out a groan at his obvious displays of faux sympathy.

“Don’t pity me, Sully!” You scowl at him, but lay your head on his shoulder regardless. He’s gotten thinner, you note offhandedly, gaze drifting to his unshaven jaw. His cheeks are sunken and his eyebags have grown darker since you’d last checked.

Before you can comment on his appearance, he barks out a laugh, “Guess I’m just better at learning languages than you.” Now it’s your turn to laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you stand to stretch your tight muscles.

“Nah, maybe you’re just a shit teacher. If I had a teacher like Neytiri, I’m sure I’d learn Na’vi twice as fast as you.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’d just complain to me about her like you did back in college.”

“No, I wouldn’t–”

“It would go something like: ‘How was I supposed to know that door and shit had the same spelling?!’” He flailed his hands dramatically, unironically imitating the exact reaction you had just a few years prior.

“...Do they though?”

He gives you an odd look in response.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you make your way over to the fridge. It’s painfully empty and the only thing worthwhile is a half-eaten tube of food with Norm’s name scrawled messily on a crumpled yellow sticky note on top.

“Hey Norm,” you call out, eyes never leaving the tube in search of any signs of mold or decay. The man in question hums in response. “It alright if I take this?” He looks up with a raised brow, lips parted in silent protest when he sees the food held haphazardly in your palm. He can only sigh once he sees your worried gaze focused on none other than Jake.

He swallows the complaints bubbling within his throat, “Yeah, it’s fine.” He could survive a day or two without food. 

Would it be painful?

Yes, absolutely, but he can’t bear to see you hunched over Jake’s link pod, checking his breathing, his vitals–everything, really, when he goes for hours on end in his avatar body, only to return for a brief moment before being off again.

He can’t help but watch the two of you fondly, though his nose wrinkles when you place an audible kiss on Jake’s forehead. 

Jake merely rolls his eyes at Norm’s aversion to your affection, turning his gaze back to you in a silent plea. You comply happily with a chaste kiss to his admittedly chapped lips. Their still his though, and that’s all that matters.

You find it funny that his nose still crinkles when he takes a bite from the tube. He nearly spits it out, but one stern glare from you has him reluctantly swallowing the tasteless substance.

“The hell is this anyway?” He mumbles when the tube is finally empty after what feels like an eternity (it had really only been about two minutes). You offer a shrug, managing to snag the packaging back from his clenched fist.

“Says it's…Peach flavor?” You lick your lips as your brows furrow in a mix of amusement and confusion, “Didn’t know these things came with flavors.”

“No wonder it tastes like ass.” You stare at him for a moment. He stares back knowingly. Small giggles fall past your lips at first, followed swiftly by peels of hearty laughter.

As you laugh at his elementary-level remark, Jake takes a moment to admire your features. He watches your shoulders shake, and how the curve of your smile is so wide he’s almost worried it’ll split your face in two. He watches the way your chest heaves for gasps of air, even though he knows his joke wasn’t funny enough to warrant this kind of reaction. But, most of all, he watches as the hand-crafted ring glints beneath the early Pandoran sun when you lift your hand up to quell your fit of laughter.

How could someone like him ever manage to land someone as brilliant and beautiful as you?

“Maybe Neytiri is right, you really are a skxawng, you know that?” 

Jake rolls his eyes playfully, smiling proudly at your pronunciation before pulling you by the shoulder into his side and mumbling lowly into the crown of your head, “But I’m you’re skxawng, right?”

Nuzzled comfortably against him, you can’t help the small, breathless laugh that falls from your lips, “Mhm…All mine.”

©pyuni 2022 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

[masterlist]

[anzynai]

Day 28 - Massage

Xingqiu & Chongyun (Genshin Impact)

a/n: guess what?! it’s ANOTHER xingyun fic (i can’t get enough of them) i don’t know which one this is but technically it’s been in my drafts for a long while so i decided to use it for tktober ofc since it fit the theme LOLLL hope u guys enjoy!! this MIGJT be the last prompt being written for tktober.

——

For the past few days, something felt off. Xingqiu seemed a bit.. tense whenever he and Chongyun hung out. As dense as Chongyun was, it didn’t take long for him to figure out the reason behind his friend’s behavior. Xingqiu was stressed. And frustrated. It felt as though he just couldn’t relax. No matter how much he tried to hide it, Chongyun had known him for far too long and far too long to see right through his act.

The only issue was that Chongyun had no idea what to do. He didn’t know how to help him. He wasn’t the second son of one of the most important guilds in Liyue, maybe even Teyvat. He couldn’t imagine the pressure and stress that came from that. Though, he was often stressed from his congenital positivity and being an exorcist, so he thought about what Xingqiu had done for him in those situations.

Perhaps he could go out and treat Xingqiu? No, he was sure Xingqiu wouldn’t like that— when they went out, Xingqiu always insisted he pay and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He felt that Xingqiu wouldn’t want him to waste his money, when Xingqiu had so much. Or.. he could buy him a gift. A book? No, that wouldn’t work either. While Xingqiu ranted endlessly about his books, so he had a general idea of what he liked, he couldn’t be sure Xingqiu hadn’t already read it. He grumbled as he pondered longer, until he could come up with an idea.

He went off to Xingqiu’s house, a new feeling of determination taking over him. It was a bit late and the exorcist offhandedly wondered whether he should wait until tomorrow. He decided against it, though, because he knew Xingqiu wouldn’t mind his arrival. He wasn’t able to come by earlier, since Xingqiu had been too busy with his duties, but he knew that Xingqiu would often retire around this time. It was around this time Xingqiu would sneak out to meet up with him.

Xu, who had answered the door, when Chongyun knocked, sighed in reliec. He likely knew that something had been wrong with Xingqiu lately so he let Chongyun in immediately. Chongyun thanked him, walking the familiar path to Xingqiu’s quarters. Often, guests would have to be escorted, but the exorcist supposed that Xu trusted him enough to be alone.

Reaching Xingqiu’s door, Chongyun brought his hand to knock before hesitating. Would it be too awkward to offer him a back massage? Of course, it wouldn’t be able to solve the problem, but it could offer some relief. That had been Chongyun’s original idea, but the closeness.. and the touching could make him feel awkward, even if it was a normal thing.

“No,” he decided, whispering to himself. “If Xingqiu didn’t want it, he would say so.” Xingqiu had always been blunt with. honeybun. He took a deep breath, knocking on the wooden door, once and then twice.

“Yes?” He heard a clearly exhausted, but familiar voice on the other side of the door, muffled. Chongyun didn’t say anything, as he took it as an invite to enter. Wrapping his fingers around the cool handle, he pushed it open, revealing the room which was dark aside from the small lamp on the desk. Apparently, that was not what he was supposed to do as Xingqiu, laying down on the bed, shot up immediately and glared at him.

“I did not give you permiss—“ Xingqiu began, a sharp tilt to his voice. He stopped, his eyes widening and all anger relinquished. He cleared his throat and Chongyun thinks that his face was red, but it was too dark to see. “Oh, Chongyun! I apologize. I wasn’t aware that you had come to visit.”

“Sorry for just coming in.” Chongyun mumbled, observing the other. He looked.. rough, to say the least. Perhaps he had been staring too long when Xingqiu had sent him a questioning gaze and he shook his head, fidgeting with his fingers.

“That is a right reserved for only you.” Xingqiu admitted, seemingly guilty. Chongyun would never admit his heart going crazy in a way he should not for his friend, but remembered what he was here for.

“I just wanted to.. well, would you like a back massage? To help you relax?” Chongyun asked, waiting. The embarrassment slowly settled in when Xingqiu’s face shifted from shocked to an amused smirk.

“Oh? My dear Chongyun is offering to give me a back massage? I thought you exorcised spirits, not.. knots.” Xingqiu teased, cheekily. Chongyun sighed, crossing his arms.

“Please never say that again.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t tease. That’s sweet of you.” Xingqiu smiles.

“So, is that a yes?” Chongyun asked, confused. Xingqiu considered it. A back massage did sound nice…

“Well, then I accept gratefully.” Xingqiu nodded, a soft smile grazing his face. Chongyun patted his hand down on the bed, gesturing him to lie down. Silently, he moved to sit on top of Xingqiu, straddling him. Chongyun began kneading his back, rolling into the skin with his thumbs. A satisfied groan left the other’s lips almost instantly. The exorcist let out a relieved breath, glad to see Xingqiu enjoying it and increased the pressure slightly.

“Hffff…” Suddenly, Xingqiu seemed to tense up and.. was he squirming? The exorcist leaned forward, easing the pressure of his hands, to take a look at Xingqiu’s face. He was surprised to see a crooked smile, as if he was trying to.. suppress something. The other, noticing Chongyun was staring, buried his face in the pillow as the tips of his ears slowly turned red. Chongyun was a bit concerned and almost stopped, until he heard faint giggles.

“Xingqiu?” He asked, wondering what could have sparked that sort of reaction. Why was Xingqiu laughing. All Xingqiu did was let out a hum, as if trying to act casually. “Does this.. hurt?” Chongyun continued his movements, slowly.

Xingqiu didn’t respond and began to shake. Chongyun furrowed his eyebrows. What was going on? Was the pressure too hard? He lessened the pressure but if anything, it just made things worse as Xingqiu jolted, letting out a squeal.

Chongyun removed his hands, immediately, fear coursing though him for a split second, fearing he had hurt his best friend. Then, it finally dawned on him.

“Wait.. Xingqiu, are you ticklish?” Chongyun gasped. It all made sense now! That’s what the strange reactions were! Unluckily for Xingqiu, he seemed to take his question as Chongyun mocking him as he turned his head away, his face blossoming a deep red.

“I— what, no! Chongyun, y-you just startled me, that’s all!” Xingqiu stammered out a response, muffled by the pillow and the fact he was turned away from him. Chongyun was oblivious quite a bit, but anyone could tell he was lying. No one laughed at being startled. And well, Xingqiu only ever stuttered when he was flustered or lying. Or even both.

So, Chongyun knew it was a lie. He honestly was a bit curious, but he decided to let it go and focus at the actual task. Then, he thought about it. Couldn’t tickling help people relax? He recalled a time when Xingqiu did that to him and when it was over, he was feeling floaty and well, much better than he was before.

His face shifted from an innocent and understanding smile to a mischievous grin. He didn’t bother hiding it, since Xingqiu wasn’t looking at him anyway. He put his hands back on Xingqiu’s back, kneading it carefully. Xingqiu jumped, likely shocked that Chongyun decided to keep going, but he seemed to let him continue, as his laughs slowly and awkwardly began to pour out.

Chongyun inched closer to his ribs and sides, finding it adorable how ticklish Xingqiu was. Being on the receiving end the majority of the time, it was easy to forget that Xingqiu was as ticklish as he was, if not more. It felt nice to.. be the one to do it for him for once.

“Eheheheh…” Xingqiu giggled when Chongyun poked at his ribs, no longer under the guise of massaging him. Chongyun beamed. He lightly scratched over the sensitive ridges, delighted in the way Xingqiu’s face slowly became a rosy red.

“Does it feel nice?” Chongyun asked, though he was sure Xingqiu was enjoying it. He was squirming, but he didn’t seem to be telling Chongyun to stop.

Xingqiu didn’t answer, burying his face in the pillow. “Hahaha, C-Chongyun!”

“Yes, Xingqiu?” He answered, quite casually. Xingqiu didn’t respond; he only laughed more as Chongyun scribbles his fingers right under his ribs.

“Y-you cheheheheeky lihihittle…!” Xingqiu cried as Chongyun let out a mock gasp.

“You’re calling me names now?!”

“Shuhuhut uhuhhup!” Xingqiu giggled. Chongyun, which he had just realized, had a different method of tickling that Xingqiu did. While Xingqiu’s were more precise and calculated, his were more.. all over the place. Not that it mattered much. Perhaps it was a good method or perhaps Xingqiu was so ticklish that any method worked. He traced his fingers down his torso. Chongyun testingly squeezed his side with his left hand, excited to see another reaction from Xingqiu.

It was hilarious, really. Seeing Xingqiu flailing so much. He supposed it would be hard to move when he was being straddled and he was laying in his stomach. He knew it from experience. Specifically from the one under him. Really all Xingqiu could do was laugh and Chongyun made sure to savor every second of it.

“Chohohongyuhuhun!” Xingqiu sputtered. So far, all Chongyun had been hearing was giggles. Was there anywhere that would make him go crazy? He turned around quickly so that he was facing Xingqiu’s legs and giving Xingqiu a short break. “W-whahahat are you doing?!”

He sounded panicked. Did this mean that his worse spot really was somewhere on his legs? His thighs? His feet? Chongyun reached his hands down to the backs of the other’s thighs, squeezing it gently, eliciting a squeal from Xingqiu.

“Nohohoho!” Still giggles. So this wasn’t his worse spot. He looked at his feet. Xingqiu was wearing black socks. Chongyun leaned over and ran a finger down his sole. Other than an embarrassed gasp, his reaction wasn’t much different than his thighs.

Suddenly, his eyes caught a glimpse of the back of Xingqiu’s knees when an idea popped into his head. He wasn’t very ticklish there but Xingqiu had tried to tickle him there before. He knew other people were ticklish there, too. So maybe….?

He scribbled the back of Xingqiu’s knee and the sound that left the other’s mouth is something Chongyun knew wouldn’t leave his kind for days. He howled and burst into loud, boisterous laughter, kicking his legs with more desperation than before.

Chongyun smiled, feeling a sense of pride.

“N-nAHAHAHAHA C-CHOHOHONGYUN! N-nohOHOHO…!” Xingqiu squawked, pounding his fists on the bed. Chongyun lightly traced the inner parts of Xingqiu’s knee with a smile of nothing but pure glee.

“This is it! This is your worst spot, isn’t it?” Chongyun asked, already knowing the answer.

Either Xingqiu hadn’t heard him or he had decided not to dignify him with a response because all that had left Xingqiu’s mouth was shrilled laughter.

“PlehEHEHEASE NOHOHOHO MOHORE!” He squealed. Chongyun slid off of Xingqiu, not wanting to cross his boundaries. Xingqiu laid motionless beside him as his laughter slowly died down and all that could be heard was the sound of Xingqiu trying to cat his breath.

“Y-you sure had fun, didn’t you..?” Xingqiu breathed out, sending him a half-hearted glare. Chongyun gave him a nervous smile.

“I did… you’re more ticklish than I thought.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m glad you take enjoyment in my suffering.”

“I doubt you suffered that much.” Xingqiu looked at him, face still red from the tickling, Chongyun assumed.

“What makes you think that?” Xingqiu muttered, agitated.

“You never said stop.” Xingqiu froze like a deer in headlights for just a second before he stuffed his face in the pillow. If Chongyun squinted, he could vaguely see the tips of Xingqiu’s ears going red but he just guessed he was seeing things. “Well?”

“Well what?” Xingqiu’s voice was muffled in the pillow.

“You did enjoy it, didn’t you?” Chongyun asked. Xingqiu turned his head away from him.

“…I didn’t hate it.” Chongyun grinned.

“Then that means my plan worked!”

“Plan?” Xingqiu looked at him. His face had returned a normal color.

“To cheer you up, of course.” Xingqiu paused, expression unreadable before it flashed into something more smug.

“Aw, you were worried about me, weren’t you, dear?” He sent a knowing smile to the exorcist and Chongyun chuckled nervously.

“Well, I— I mean that’s what friends are for, right.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Chongyun.” Xingqiu looked pleased, much better compared to his stressed expression at the beginning of the night. “Now, it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

“Alright. Thank you for letting me stay.” Chongyun scooted up to Xingqiu beside the bed. There was a couch in his bedroom that Chongyun had used only twice. It was only when they first became friends, but now it was a habit for them to just sleep together side-by-side, basking in one another’s presence.

Xingqiu switched off the lamp that dimly lit the room, settling down next to the exorcist. It didn’t take much time for Chongyun to fall asleep.

“Thank you.” Xingqiu muttered, before he felt himself doze off as well. He felt much better.

[gifti3]

asmo x reader x priest AU rough outline

I had a nightmare I was being chased by a monster in a church and ended up coming up with this au because of the priest i saw in it! So I just wrote an outline cause I wanted to get it down I'm calling reader mc here (i use these two interchangeably in relation to obey me)

mentioning religion, i also mention sex like once or twice

------

i wanna say it's more of a modern setting cause it's easier to write but that lowkey doesn't make any sense so we are gonna just glaze over setting the time period (so its whatever makes sense in ur head)

asmo is asmo (so kinda unhinged at times especially in this AU)

mc i feel is one of those people who have had a lot of supernatural experiences their whole life

since they were young they would see and sense things other people usually wouldn't and i feel that's part of the reason asmo was attracted to them in the first place

one time mc offhandedly said that asmo isn't the first demon they've talked too but he is one of the nicer ones

this ability is an aspect of themselves they've accepted and even embraced at this point

but because of this, some people might be put off by them since they give off a "unique" vibe

i wanna describe the priest a little: -- he's an oc (i guess lol) cause he appeared in my nightmare for a moment -- he's probably in his 40s and could be considered a dilf to some people -- pale with dark hair and clothes (you know stereotypical broody, reclusive character) -- takes his position very seriously but lacks that warmth and approachability i feel a priest should have -- tldr: priest you would see in a horror game taking place in a church/cathedral

the story starts off with mc needing somewhere to reside for a few weeks until they can find a permanent place to stay -- they probably got kicked out of their home for various reasons related to their "gift"

i don't think the priest himself had the actual idea to bring in mc

instead it was one of the other cathedral hands who suggested it to help them out and whoever is in charge agreed to it (so i'm guessing the bishop??)

the thing about mc though is that they have a special friend no one else can see who likes to pop up time to time to spend time with them

(sometimes this friend can be sensed by people who are more sensitive to the environment which can freak them out)

this friend is Asmodeus, a demon who decided to keep coming back after meeting mc and ended up befriending them over time

they've known each other for 2-3 years at this point and would consider each other good friends

sometimes they toe the line of more than friends though -- they're interested in each other and there was no denying it since asmo could literally feel the moment when mc began feeling attracted to him (and of course he's attracted to them too, that aspect was there from the start for him)

however mc is worried to get intimately involved with asmo cause they think they have actual feelings for him and don't want become more emotionally attached to someone who doesn't like them just as much as they do (they are assuming this)

so sometimes they're kinda flirty but don't do anything past that

when asmo pops up to visit mc he's a bit shocked that they're just hanging out in a cathedral

i feel this demon has a bad rep with priests in general

its our boy asmo, i know he has been up to some nonsense in the past (and recently too)

he's probably been exorcised out of several facilities over the years for stuff that could have easily been avoided

and according to asmo, MAYBE he was trying to corrupt some religious figure's son or something but they didn't need to be so harsh~ -- we aren't gonna get too detailed we just know he has had bad experiences with religious folk

and even if he didn't have bad experiences, demons are usually code red level threats to humans involved in religion

anyways mc tells asmo they literally have nowhere else to go and they get a free room and food staying here as long as they help with chores, so he needs to just hold on tight until they find somewhere else to go

mc and the priest surprisingly kind of get along

I think mc themselves being somewhat (unwillingly) isolated from others and being used to putting people off made them kind of gravitate towards the priest

They aren't put off by his demeanor at all and treats him like any other person

asmo is whatever about it and is actively trying to stay away from the priest UNTIL he releases that the priest is starting to actively gain an interest in MC

And not in the ahah i have a small crush way

Like this is a I WANT you physically, mentally and emotionally type deal

I feel like the priest is so lame too trying to convert the mc behind the guise of him being a priest and that's what he does--save people's souls from possible damnation. when it's actually for very personal feelings

And mc is like nah its not really my thing (their current lifestyle would literally clash with this)

now asmo is a little worried

but he shouldn't be because hes asmo right?

he's beautiful and gets pretty much anyone he wants. mc is already interested in him too!

but part of him fears mc might fall for someone else one day

especially since mc always cuts things off before things get too spicy

also him being a demon and mc a human makes things kinda complicated for multiple reasons that i wont go into -- just know mc preferring a human partner is one of the things he worries about

So now he's like….i'm sabotaging and makes sure to actively monopolize mc's time so they won't seek out the priests company

no way is he losing his precious lamb to a PRIEST of all people

the priest has started expecting mc to show up like they always do to talk to him but they haven't in awhile so he goes looking for them

when he goes to their room mc is talking normally to asmo and the priest can hear them through the door

he knocks and mc is like oh shit and motions for asmo to get gone for a moment but asmo's being a brat and doesn't actually leave

so when MC opens the door, the priest is immediately like something is wrong

there's definitely something not of god in here

and mc is like huh what are you talking about but the priest is insistent and comes in to investigate

but there's not really anything obviously amiss since he can't see asmo and he fortunately leaves after

but after that he's paying more attention and starting notice weird things are happening around mc

sometimes for a split moment he'll see a shadow near them and sometimes even in mirrors (yes asmo is probably just moving casually about the building even though mc told him to be careful)

i'm thinking later on, he's passing by mc's room and thinks they're in there cause he hears humming and sees the shadow of feet passing by the door

but when he knocks and enters no one is there

and i feel that's when he does some shit to like purge evil spirits out of mc's room, cause he there's definitely something wrong and he's worried something has latched onto mc

so when asmo is like Okay time to go visit mc~! Nothing happens

he can't teleport like he usually does to them

and he's bitching and whining about it later after mc undoes whatever the hell the priest did

now i'm jumping to the last few days of mc staying in the cathedral

at some point, asmo and mc have a heart to heart and end up doing the devil's tango (out of all the places they can have sex it happens here SO cool of them lol. the priest may or may have not heard something going down. why is he always near mc's room hmmm 🤔)

the story is coming to a climax once mc is like yay i have found a new place to live and will be leaving soon and the priest is a bit surprised when he hears the news

he's gotten used to mc being in this place with him and he doesn't want them to leave (what will he do oooo~ i think he would suggests to the mc for them to stay and like join the church or something but mc is just like...no thanks)

asmo on the other hand is like I AM READY TO HIT THE BRICKS 🏃‍♂

he literally doesn't even have to be here, like go home dude but nah he wants to be with mc A LOT

he doesn't like the vibes of the place and honestly the priest is starting to annoy him with how he's always lurking around mc

i think this is around the time asmo and the priest have a proper confrontation

i don't exactly know what happened to make it get to this point but for some reason asmo shows himself to the priest

i'm not sure who even initiates it but asmo is just taunting the shit outta him for wanting mc in a worse way than asmo himself

in my head, the priest doesn't exactly see mc as a person with their own agency

they're more of someone he can hopefully mold into a more "god honoring person" (something like that)

someone he could be with long term without feeling like he's going against his own values

So it's ironic in a way having a demon being the better option of the two

and i bet asmo has like so much unresolved anger from past interactions he's had with religion, and then all of his feelings for mc and being in this place too often

just all these emotions mixed together just has him REALLY reckless

and he's projecting everything on to mr priest (regardless if all of it is his fault or not): "God you're so annoying! I wanna splatter your innards across the walls…" (Can demons use the lords name in vain idk lol)

So yea idk how this would end but I think at least one person should die fr AND i've decided i'm gonna talk about asmo dying cause of the angst:

He's already gone by the time they arrive. They quietly call out Asmo’s name, hoping he's just passed out or maybe even messing around. But the way he was laid upon the dirty floor wasn't right at all.

They kneel on the bloody ground. "S-Stop joking around Asmo." They gently shake the demon's rapidly cooling body. Realizing they will receive no response. They wouldn't hear his voice ever again.

A step sounds nearby and they sharply look up into an apathetic pale face. "Why?"

"Demons don't deserve mercy. It doesn't deserve your sorrow or tears."

"But he was my…" They trail off knowing it wouldn't be smart to finish.

"Even though you were…intimate with a demon. God is benevolent with his children." The priest reaches a hand out to them. "Repent and you shall be forgiven."

----

Mc would run away in this ending but i think its so sad they lost someone very important because they got too close to someone they thought was safe…

There can be other endings too tho! My favorite being mc and asmo leaving the church and being all happily ever after (well as happy as u can be after running off with a demon who attacked a priest in a cathedral and now you can never return to this town cause it's suspicious that you disappeared the day the priest was found dead/half-dead in the building)

Okay that's all! Thanks if you read this far. Hopefully some people liked it Heres a shoddy edit of asmo blocking someone's reflection in the mirror:

[iwanttomeetdavidbowie]

@prettybadmagic posted an idea over on Twitter that I can’t stop thinking about, and it’s:

“Sandor watches toy youtube bc he never got to play w toys like he wanted growing up w gregor”

So I said

“Sansa makes toy videos as a way to process her grief of losing her father at a young age & b/c the last interaction she had with her dad was her having a normal teenage response to a present that didn’t fit her age. But in her head all she can remember is the look on his face.”

But then I KEPT thinking about it. And like, yeah I love the idea of Sandor trying to heal his inner child, but I don’t think he would do that willingly, he’s too much of a hard headed idiot and he’s too emotionally constipated to understand why it would be so good for him.

But of course things don’t always have to make perfect sense in fan fiction land. And in typical fashion my mind started going the rated M line of thinking… so… remember when only fans decided they were going to try and push family friendly content like people with cooking channels and stuff?

So Sansa gets approached by OF to start one of those pg channels because she’s got a pretty big YouTube following and they’ve promised her better monetization. But she realizes that the best way to grow her following is using cheeky video titles like “watch me play with my toys” or “stuffing my toy chest”

That’s how Sandor finds her channel, he sees some pretty little red head and thinks he’s going to get this fantastic show. At first he’s pissed, is this some kind of a joke? They can’t all be this can they?! So he looks at another video, then another, then another. And before he’s realized what happened he’s subscribed to her top tier on patreon.

During one of her videos she offhandedly mentions a toy she used to have as a kid, but doesn’t anymore and it was one of her favorites. A week later it shows up in her fanmail pobox. This happens once or twice before he starts sending her toys he had as a kid with little notes. Then he starts sending things he wished he had. After the first few times of him sending her something she decides to do a video just for him, and then a video for the main channel. Sandor is obviously really into that.

One night he gets shit faced and sends her a vibrator. He totally forgets about it until she sends him a video of her cumming all over her hand with it.

He can’t stop thinking about that and soon sends her another and another. Each video becomes longer and longer and more involved. He can’t stop imagining her underneath him, his hands on her body, her writhing with her legs wrapped around his waist.

She’s never seen his face. She thinks it’s because he’s married or someone important. But the more they interact the less she finds herself caring.

In one of her public videos she throws out that she’ll be going to a toy convention… in his city. She doesn’t ask him to come see her, she’s got this romantic idea in her head that he’ll find her if he really has any feelings for her.

He sees it as an invitation to fuck.

There’s just the problem of his face! Maybe she’ll be into blindfolds?

[planetpolyglot]

[006] thanks, but no, but thanks!

speaking both french and japanese means that more often than not i am caught between two polar opposites.

according to my mother, when someone gives you a compliment, the polite response is to refuse it, because accepting it comes off as arrogant. (think regina george and her "so you agree, you think youre really pretty" spiel.) that backfired real quickly in front of non-asians. when i first started learning french, my teacher offhandedly said to me, "tu dessines bien, toi!" to which i responded "je ne suis pas d'accord" with a big smile on my face. the poor woman, she was so shocked. "mais astro, on ne dit pas ça, il faut dire merci!" i was very happy to have something to be humble about, but not many westerners seem to understand that, even when i spell it out to them. i think it might be because self confidence is such a prized quality in the west, it tends to overshadow everything else.

and then there's japan. somehow the only situation where saying thank you is wrong is when receiving a compliment. on top of that, most compliments that the japanese give are usually extremely backhanded but will be played as sincere to disguise whatever negative sentiments they may have. i once went to a 24-hour karaoke with friends i didnt know very well at the time, the cheap chain kind where we could get drunk without breaking the bank. one of them took a bite of their food and without any prompting, announced that their plate looked and smelled great, implying that it tasted like shit. if she had meant what she said, she would have told us before she started eating. some japanese people steer clear of me because i almost always mean exactly what i say, and that terrifies them. on the other hand, ive met plenty of people who find my candor refreshing.

i was bullied for all sorts of things at school, by mean popular girls who disguised all of their insults as compliments, including but not limited to: "your calves are enormous, where did you get those?" "you know so much, it's like you're autistic or something" "wow, you fit through the door!" and when i was visibly sick, "you've lost so much weight thanks to your aids infection!" i now have a hard time working out whether someone means well or not because ive gotten so used to being in defense mode all the time.

things are looking up for me though. cant believe im now surrounded by people who actually like me. it takes getting used to. maybe one day i can accept their love without having to think twice, but until then, my life will still be a delicate balancing act between "thanks" and "no", and im ok with that.

[talkingpointsusa]

Chaya Raichik AKA LibsOfTikTok is a terrible journalist who should never ever be taken seriously by anybody with even an ounce of credibility.

(but it does seem like she's really into white nationalist conspiracy theories).

Fyi, the woman on her shirt is the person who's interviewing her. I'm not sure if that was supposed to be some kind of "own", but it just screams desperate (source: Taylor Lorenz on YouTube)

So, LibsOfTikTok (real name: Chaya Raichik) is kind of adjacent to my blog but I haven't really covered her outside of offhandedly mentioning her once or twice. This is mainly because there's not much to cover in my style. I cover videos and Chaya is an entity that exists on Twitter. However, I have always wanted to take the piss out of Chaya and I was overjoyed to hear that she did an interview with a journalist named Taylor Lorenz.

Trigger warning: Chaya is a complete infuriating bigot in this interview and if you aren't comfortable with that, maybe skip this one.

So who is Chaya Raichik?

Chaya Raichik is the woman behind LibsofTikTok, a far-right Twitter account that pushes anti-LGBTQ rhetoric that is regularly cited by blog favorites like Matt Walsh and Charlie Kirk when they are pushing their anti-LGBTQ narratives.

Chaya is most infamous for using her influence to single out people and organizations that she disagrees with.

For example, Chaya infamously targeted Boston Children's Hospital by falsely claiming that they were performing gender-affirming surgeries on minors. This resulted in no less than three bomb threats being called into the hospital.

Another prime-example of Chaya lying to her audience in order to drum up anti-LGBTQ hate in her audience would be the case of Sam. Sam is a transgender woman who lives in Georgia. Chaya used a photo of her to peddle the false statement that the Uvalde Shooter was transgender. This led to Sam facing harassment online. But we'll elaborate more on that later on in the debunk when Taylor confronts Chaya why she hasn't taken it down (spoiler alert: her answer is absolutely disgusting).

Chayaraichik.net has a pretty comprehensive list of other times when Chaya incited violence against people and organizations but the main takeaway here is that where LibsOfTikTok goes, death threats follow.

The interview comes in the wake of the death of Nex Benedict, a nonbinary teenager in Oklahoma who died on February 8th after being involved in a fight in a girls bathroom. Raichik was recently appointed to a library board position in the state.

Another thing you need to understand about this interview is that there's some serious bad blood between Chaya Raichik and Taylor Lorenz that underscores the entire conversation. Taylor Lorenz was the person who broke the story that Chaya was the woman behind LibsOfTikTok which led to the entire griftosphere accusing Taylor of "doxxing" Chaya. This accusation is pretty ridiculous given Chaya's history of using her platform to demonize and single out others and the fact that her identity was thinly veiled at best.

Anyway, Chaya did this interview with Taylor Lorenz and it's....not a good look for her to say the least.

Lets get into it.

01:06, Taylor Lorenz: "So when did you start, I guess, what got you into all this? I always wanted to ask you, I know I wrote a bit about the history of your Twitter account but how did you get involved in politics?"

Chaya Raichik: "Uh, if you watch any of my interviews I talk about this all the time but uh -- just you know, COVID radicalized me."

Taylor Lorenz: "Yeah, in what way?"

Chaya Raichik: "And they were like, forcing us to wear masks and not letting us leave our homes and uh -- not letting us work and people losing their jobs and then people now forcing a vaccine, an experimental vaccine, people dying from the vaccine."

You'll notice a very clear pattern of Chaya acting like she's one of the most oppressed people in human history running throughout this interview.

If COVID radicalized her, the fact that none of the rights predictions about COVID "oppression" being used to create a left-wing dictatorship should deradicalize her. We are more or less back to normal since COVID and none of what the right was saying about it came true. As for vaccine deaths, there's no evidence linking the COVID vaccine to an uptick in deaths and most people making these kinds of claims don't have any sourcing to back up their claims. Serious side effects to the vaccine are extremely rare and all the evidence points to the vaccine saving countless lives and helping with the effort to end the pandemic.

If COVID is the thing that radicalized Chaya, which I doubt since her Twitter revolves around b ashing LGBTQ people, then I would urge her to look at the evidence and see that the bedrock of her belief system is completely bogus.

01:41, Taylor Lorenz: "So how did that get you interested in LGBTQ issues?" Chaya Raichik: "It got me interested in politics and then -- and then once I was interested in politics I stumbled upon this whole movement and I was absolutely appalled by what I was seeing."

That's code for "I saw people expressing themselves in a way that makes me uncomfortable and I decided to make a cottage industry out of making their lives miserable."

Anyway, Chaya doesn't really know anything about this issue outside of the standard right wing talking points and it becomes blatantly obvious the more she talks.

02:03, Taylor Lorenz: "Appalled by what?"

Chaya Raichik: "Um, the -- the radicalization of it, the -- the way they come after our most innocent and vulnerable population, our kids. The way that it makes -- it makes -- there's nothing logical about it. There's nothing logical about chopping off kids body parts, there's nothing logical about giving kids porn in school, there's two sexes and that's it so you know, anything out of that. It's just based on lies and nonsense."

Then Chaya would be extremely happy to hear that all of those things are a load of made up nonsense pushed by right-wing grifters looking to drum up outrage. Not that it matters as Chaya is one of those grifters and is herself completely full of shit.

Now, these narratives serve a purpose and that's to justify the demonization and oppression of an already marginalized group. By pushing these kinds of conspiracy theories on her audience, Chaya creates an easy framework that can be used as an excuse for both violence and the proliferation of the right-wing ideas that she wants implemented.

But it's interesting how when taken away from her Twitter page and put in a mildly unfriendly environment, Chaya clearly struggles to back up her own arguments and has to fall back of repeatedly debunked claims of children getting gender transition surgery. It's ridiculous.

Anyway, this next clip is pretty revealing. Here's how much Chaya knows about the people she hates so much.

02:42, Taylor Lorenz: "Did you grow up -- I know you grew up in a more conservative community. Did you know any LGBTQ people growing up? What was your exposure to that community just in life prior to sort of understanding the world through politics?"

Chaya Raichik: "Um, I never really paid attention to it."

Taylor Lorenz: "So you didn't have any LGBTQ friends or anything?"

Chaya Raichik: "No"

Taylor Lorenz: "Family members?"

Chaya Raichik: "No"

That's a pretty bad look. Especially for a self-proclaimed journalist.

Chaya just admitted that she hasn't even bothered to meet any of the people who she's devoted her entire career to hating.

Maybe if she actually bothered to meet a transgender person her worldview that they're all evil predators would be at least challenged. Unfortunately, I kind of doubt that she'd be willing to be open minded. She is a bigot and a grifter and backing off from her hateful worldview would lead to her losing her following. She's built an empire of hate and I doubt she wants to see that disappear.

03:03, Taylor Lorenz: "So your first exposure to the LGBTQ world was through -- basically through learning about it through the media ecosystem."

Chaya Raichik: "Through themselves actually, they would say exactly what their intentions are, what their whole movement is about, so I learned about it through watching their own videos."

Yes, because random videos that are on TikTok are highly indicative of the entire LGBTQ community as a whole. You don't have to go out and actually meet any of them, you just need to watch out of context clips on TikTok of....people sharing their pronouns and trans people existing.

As some of you may know, I am currently a student majoring in journalism. Here's my journalism major pro-tip of the day: TikTok is not a good place to do your research, especially when you're going to base your entire opinion of a marginalized group on the research that you are going to do.

03:32, Taylor Lorenz: "I feel like there's, especially on -- my colleagues have done great reporting on sort of, like this rift on Twitter. I know that you have a very conservative fanbase and in your comments sometimes you'll see a lot of commentary about sort of, the great replacement theory. What are your thoughts on that?"

Chaya Raichik: "What are your thoughts on your comments -- the comments on your post telling me to kill myself."

Taylor Lorenz: "Horrible, yeah horrible."

That's a massive sign of Chaya not wanting to answer the question if I have ever seen one. Whilst people telling Chaya to kill herself is wrong and isn't a productive way to address the content that she puts out, this is kind of rich coming from a person who incites violence against the LGBTQ community every day on her Twitter page.

But again, you see Chaya retreating from confronting the rhetoric that she pushes and instead playing the victim card. Plus, the "gotcha" moment was immediately deflated by Taylor immediately condemning the comments telling Chaya to kill herself. I'm not sure what Chaya thought was going to happen here. Did she think that Taylor would struggle to condemn the death threats and she'd get this big gotcha moment? If so, she has a massive persecution complex.

Chaya does this "Oh, will you condemn death threats against me" dance for a while and Taylor just keeps saying yes. Taylor finally gets to the meat and potatoes of why what Chaya is saying is ridiculous, which is that this logic clearly should also apply to Chaya.

04:21, Taylor Lorenz: "So are you saying that like, someone posts something and then attacks follow that person should answer for those attacks?"

Chaya Raichik: "No, that's not what I'm saying."

Taylor Lorenz: "Oh, OK."

Chaya Raichik: "I'm saying that they -- people like you tell me that all the time so I'm just asking if you think the same thing."

Chaya's basically pinned herself into a corner here. She's basically stated that people should be responsible for actions caused by their content, so Taylor naturally goes "Yeah, well what about you?", and Chaya's response is basically "No, not like that!"

This is embarrassing. This is what happens when you take a reactionary with no concrete positions outside of "I hate people" and actually start asking them to explain their ideas, they flounder.

Speaking of tactics that reactionaries use when put under pressure, Chaya diverted the conversation from the topic at hand which was the great replacement theory. Taylor decides to try and get things back on track. This doesn't work at all.

04:38, Taylor Lorenz: "I think it's kind of interesting, I guess -- in the conservative movement there's this ideology around sort of, white nationalism which is obviously kind of a hardline ideology that's generally been pretty critical of Jewish communities and I'm wondering, as a Jewish woman, how do you feel about sort of aligning yourself with those people and accounts? You know, you see this sort of rhetoric in your replies and I only bring it up, I'm not saying that you endorse that rhetoric, I would imagine that you don't. But how do you kind of think about those nuances when you're thinking about, kind of the audience that you're building."

Chaya Raichik: "Some of your audience says we should chop off kids body parts, what do you think about that?"

Taylor Lorenz: "I don't know what you're talking about."

Chaya Raichik: "Like, a girl says she wants to be a boy so she chops off her breasts."

I could definitely see somebody like Ben Shapiro being able to field this question by simply condemning the extremist and oftentimes antisemitic people that follow him, but Chaya can't do that because she understands that a really sizeable chunk of her base is made up of those people and it would be acting against her best interests to condemn them.

Unfortunately, her way of handling this question is simply regurgitating a heavily debunked talking point about children getting transgender surgeries. This does nothing but make Chaya look like an overly confrontational idiot who is only capable of communicating in right-wing talking points.

As for the question of Chaya being Jewish and supporting things like the Great Replacement Theory, that's a valid question. Either she has never thought about who "they" are or she simply doesn't care and both are extremely damming.

05:34, Taylor Lorenz: "I mean, I believe in gender ideology I guess. I personally -- my feeling is that I believe in personal liberty. I grew up in a town where a lot of people for their middle school graduation, women got nose jobs. I knew somebody that got a boob job at age 14 and I -- I guess I struggle to kind of understand the criticism when there's certainly no criticism of that sort of thing, right? But then there's criticism of this other sort of gender affirming you know, stuff."

Chaya Raichik: "So you're comparing a boy being allowed to chop off his penis to a teenage girl getting a nose job?"

Taylor Lorenz: "Well, just to be extra clear I don't believe that thirteen year olds are able to make those sort of medical decisions."

Chaya Raichik: "Minors are, yeah."

Taylor Lorenz: "Oh really?And where?"

Chaya Raichik: "Children's National Hospital in DC gives sixteen year olds hysterectomy's."

Taylor Lorenz: "Oh, sixteen year olds?"

Chaya Raichik: "They told me that directly, they said 'sixteen girls and younger'. That's what they said."

Alright, this phone call was not what Chaya is saying it is so lets just get this narrative out of the way.

While the recordings themselves are authentic, what Chaya left out was that the people that she talked to weren't doctors or anybody involved in providing care to patients. Chaya talked to a receptionist who provided inaccurate information about patient care whilst being badgered and pressed by Chaya about a nonexistent sixteen year old patient. The receptionists were essentially answering Chaya's questions about surgery and trying to do their job which is setting a patient up with an expert who absolutely would have stated that bottom surgery doesn't get performed on minors.

This is a complete load of horseshit meant to stoke outrage. And by the way, Children's National Hospital received threats after Chaya's post. I can't stress enough how vile targeting a children's hospital for political points is. It endangers doctors and nurses who already have difficult jobs as it is and it also puts the lives of the children being treated in the hospital at risk.

Anyway, Chaya finally gives her thoughts on the Great Replacement Theory and they naturally smack of white nationalism.

06:54, Taylor Lorenz: "Let's just get back to the great replacement stuff because I'm curious, what are your thoughts on that whole ideology?"

Chaya Raichik: " I mean, how many — there were times that — there were some months over the past three years that there were more illegals coming into our border than children being born in the U.S. Is that not — does that not look like they're trying to replace us?"

Yeah, this claim about more migrants entering the US than children being born is also a complete lie. Elon Musk has endorsed this claim because of course he did, but lets talk about it.

The tweet that originally claimed this used data from the US Customs and Border Protection Agency. The problem with this is that it doesn't represent any official data documenting how many migrants are entering the United States because that data simply does not exist. The data from the United States Customs and Border Protections Agency is about data that the CBP calls "encounters". These encounters not only encompass people who the CBP catches entering the country illegally but; people trying to enter the country legally but get denied, people who the CBP have encountered previously trying to enter the country again, and people who simply don't enter the US successfully. The notion that this dataset represents how many migrants are entering the United States is flagrantly ridiculous but if you just look at the CBP data for how many migrants they apprehend at the border, it's lower than the US birthrate.

What's more concerning here though is that Chaya has essentially given her stamp of approval to a white nationalist conspiracy theory and it gets worse the more she talks.

07:35, Chaya Raichik: "I just look at the facts and the numbers."

Apparently not closely enough otherwise she'd find the info that reveals that this claim is bogus. Seriously, it took me a twelve second Google search to figure this out.

07:39, Taylor Lorenz: "Well so, let's just give a corollary, right? A lot of Jewish people fled, you know Europe, came here also as immigrants and there's a lot of criticism towards Jewish people in those movements, in those far-right movements. So I'm just wondering, as a Jewish woman, sort of how you feel about that and your role in cultivating this fan base that might think of you as a minority, an outsider." 

Chaya Raichik: "Not all cultures are equal. Yeah." 

Taylor Lorenz: "So, I know you have a lot of concerns about educational materials and books, library books and things, especially —"

Chaya Raichik: "They're importing people who want to destroy America and who want to — who come here and do not stand for what America stands for. So, and I think, and we see it, there's time after time after time after time, they come in, they're destroying our cities, they bring crime with them, and they are bringing them in to replace us. And, yeah, I think people from various countries, they're all different." 

These are talking points straight out of the white nationalist playbook.

The replacement of the white race (who else could "replace us" be referring to?), the portrayal of migrants and immigrants as bringing crime and destruction, the outright statement that "not all cultures are equal". This isn't just saying the quiet part out loud, it's screaming it through a megaphone on full blast.

And again, in all of these alt-right circles one of the key groups that get demonized is Jewish people. I've already mentioned how terms like "globalist" and "them" are dogwhistles for Jewish people in alt-right circles but it seems like Chaya is willfully blind to this fact because she gets attention for being a hateful POS on Twitter.

This is also why I doubt the "COVID radicalized me" narrative. You don't just go from not wanting to wear a mask to repeating white nationalist talking points. While COVID might have pushed Chaya towards this world, there's a large portion between then and now that we don't know about.

I know I'm probably preaching to the choir a little here but if anybody doesn't really know who LibsOfTikTok is and reads this, here you go. The fact that she can so calmly and matter of factly repeat a talking point that was used by the Nazis to justify the holocaust should tell you everything that you need to know.

08:43, Taylor Lorenz: "Just back to the sort of, education stuff, I know that you're interested in removing a bunch of books from libraries that you consider inappropriate. I was just wondering, out of all the books that you've sort of tried to get removed, how many have you read?"

Chaya Raichik: "I've read a couple of them."

Taylor Lorenz: "Which ones?"

Chaya Raichik: "Gender Queer. I've read This Book is Gay. I've read uh, Flamer. I've read uh -- what were some of the other ones? My Shadow is Pink, It Feels Good To Be Yourself, there's so many more. Tons of them."

Just to be entirely clear, Chaya absolutely has not read any of these books or if she has she's read them in an extremely ignorant and reactionary manner that interprets them as pornography simply because they contain LGBTQ+ themes.

But the part in the middle of that quote where she struggles to remember the names of the books she's trying to ban speaks volumes.

10:11, Chaya Raichik: "I'm not trying to ban anything."

Taylor Lorenz: "So you're not trying to ban any books."

Chaya Raichik: "Who said I'm trying to ban books?"

Taylor Lorenz: "Are you trying to remove books from libraries?"

Chaya Raichik: "From public school libraries."

So, she's trying to ban books. Banning something is the act of removing something from a space and not allowing it back in. This is literally what Chaya just stated that she's trying to do.

So my answer to "Who said I'm trying to ban books?" is as follows: You just did.

10:27, Chaya Raichik: "What kind of literature?"

Taylor Lorenz: "You tell me."

Chaya Raichik: "Gay porn. Gay porn."

See, this was one of the things that Chaya bandied about as a "win" in this interview. The issue is that Chaya's idea of the definition of "gay porn" is completely filtered through her narrow minded worldview. A book simply depicting LGBTQ+ people existing is "gay porn" to her.

Parents absolutely can opt children out of courses that teach these books (although those classes are usually limited to older youth such as high school students). Chaya Raichik should not be the grand arbiter of how people parent their kids or what kids can and cannot read.

Plus, I wonder if Chaya would be equally opposed to the Bible being allowed in schools? She'd probably freak out over it on Twitter despite the Bible having scenes in it that make most of the books she's referenced look like The Very Hungry Caterpillar by comparison.

11:45, Taylor Lorenz: "How would you describe the type of sex education that you would like to see in schools?"

Chaya Raichik: "At this point I want all sex education actually removed in schools because I don't trust the schools to do it."

So, Chaya wants to ban sex ed because it seemingly acknowledges the existence of LGBTQ+ people too much. Who should we trust to write sex-ed curriculum? Chaya, a person who just admitted to believing in a white supremacist conspiracy theory and having not met any LGBTQ people before the ten minute mark?!

No sexual education is a categorically bad idea. A recent report by the American Association of Pediatrics

For example, in Texas a link has been drawn between abstinence-only sexual curriculum and unwanted teen pregnancies. A study found that areas in Texas with abstinence only sexual curriculum was being employed were above the national average in terms of teen pregnancy. Who would have thought that not educating kids about how to have sex safely would lead to more STD's and more teen pregnancy? Apparently not Chaya.

You've got to keep in mind that Chaya has no training or expertise in any of these subjects. She's a real estate agent turned bigoted internet troll. She absolutely should not be treated as an expert or put in a position where she as treated as one, which is why her position in the Oklahoma Library Board is extremely concerning.

12:50, Taylor Lorenz: "I guess, speaking of posts, you still have a post up accusing the Uvalde Shooter of being trans. Um, obviously that's been debunked."

Chaya Raichik: "Yeah, there's a community note on it."

Taylor Lorenz: "Uh huh, so why not remove that post if you are so comfortable removing posts?"

Chaya Raichik: "Because there's a community note, I think it's clear. It's obviously it was -- obviously it was unintentional. There was a watermark on it, it was from a meme account that was going around. Um, and I'm glad there's a community note so people know that that was a mistake."

This is terrible from a human standpoint but from a journalistic standpoint this makes me want to tear my hair out. You don't get to just say "I saw a meme and posted it without verifying it first" and think that's a valid excuse for publishing misinformation, that's not how journalism works! Mostly because you wouldn't have used a 4Chan meme as a source in the first place!

The banner on the LibsOfTikTok page on Twitter says "News you can’t see anywhere else" and I wonder if Chaya has wondered why you can't see that news anywhere else. It's not because the "left" is suppressing it, hell if Sinclair Broadcasting's existence has taught us anything it's that the right owns a sizeable chunk of the media. The reason you don't see the "news" on LibsOfTikTok anywhere else is because most news organizations have these things called "editorial standards" and "verification" which make it so that you can't just run your mouth off in an article without checking to make sure what you're saying is true first.

Chaya on the other hand will just find a meme on 4Chan, post it, and rake in the sweet attention and likes regardless of who gets hurt. This is not journalism, it's targeted harassment and spreading of disinformation.

Another thing that journalists do is print retractions when they get the facts in a story wrong. If Chaya wants to call herself a journalist she is to be held to the standards of one and that means that she has to retract information that she knows is false personally instead of letting Twitter do all the work for her, that's how this works.

What Chaya did meets the textbook definition for defamation. Prima face defamation in the United States is defined by these four characteristics:

1) a false statement purporting to be fact; The false statement in this case being that Sam was the Uvalde Shooter. While Sam wasn't mentioned by name, her photo being used led to people tracking down her social media account and harassing her.

2) publication or communication of that statement to a third person; By posting that accusation to Twitter, Chaya was communicating the statement that Sam was the Uvalde shooter to her thousands of followers.

3) fault amounting to at least negligence; She clearly didn't check the sourcing or even wait to see if her claims were true. She just posted the meme without adhering to the most basic rules of journalism.

and 4) damages, or some harm caused to the reputation of the person or entity who is the subject: Obviously, accusing somebody of carrying out a mass shooting is going to seriously harm somebodies reputation. Especially when the accuser has primed her audience to associate the accused's sexual identity with baseless conspiracy theories about pedophillia.

Chaya is lucky nobody has sued her for libel yet but if she keeps up this pattern of behavior it's only a matter of time, and she won't get an ounce of my sympathy when it happens.

13:16, Taylor Lorenz: "Do you believe if say, a journalist posts something factually incorrect or wrong, especially about someone else, you know if somebody was to say something factually wrong about you, do you believe they should remove that or do you think they should be able to keep that content up?"

Chaya Raichik: "Uhm, Twitter is free speech uh, you know people lie about me all the time there and they don't get --- they don't get taken down. If you want --- it has to go both ways."

Taylor Lorenz: "So you believe that people should be allowed to keep up wrong information about you and have no -- be able to keep that up."

Chaya Raichik: "Free speech is free speech."

I wonder what lies Chaya is talking about? Because as I've pointed out, many of those things that Chaya might immediately point out as lies such as her connection to incidents of harassment and violence are established in the basis of fact. Criticizing somebodies actions is significantly different from defamation as long as it's based in reality. Chaya accusing a random person of being a mass shooter just because it fits her transphobic narrative isn't based in reality, it's based in lies and bigotry.

14:01, Taylor Lorenz: "So I'm kind of curious how you square that with the letter that you sent this morning to V Spere claiming that, you know, you were gonna try to sue her for slander. You know, if free speech is free speech than why are you threatening your critics with lawsuits."

Chaya Raichik: "Well defamation is different."

Taylor Lorenz: "So would you call misidentifying a shooters sexuality defamation?"

Chaya Raichik: "Uh, no I wouldn't."

"Because defamation only applies to me and not the people I hate."

Here's the thing, in Chaya's mind she hasn't committed defamation because the person who she defamed was trans and she's already stated her hatred of trans people time and time again. She hasn't defamed anybody because that person has committed the crime of being trans in Chaya's presence.

If I'm being too subtle, this woman is starting to piss me off.

14:30, Chaya Raichik: "I wasn't the creator of that image."

But she amplified it to her massive following. If she hadn't done that, those claims would probably be a lot more obscure.

14:31, Taylor Lorenz: "Sure but you can if somebody amplified wrong information you're-"

Chaya Raichik: "You know, the media like --- like Washington Post and other places, they lie all the time. They're never held accountable, they never remove it, they lie and lie and lie. So I'm not gonna --- if you want to hold me to that level, than I get to hold you to that level as well and all the other media."

This is all she's got, "No u." See, if I was Taylor my follow up question would be "OK, name an example of us publishing a lie and not removing it."

Even if Chaya is correct, someone else lying doesn't excuse her lying. If everyone else is lying, hold yourself to a better standard. She also clearly has zero empathy for the person who she misidentified as the Uvalde Shooter.

15:21, Chaya Raichik: "Um, is there a law against lying?"

A): Defamation, while not something that can get you in jail, is a legally actionable offence so yeah it kind of is.

B): Those words coming out of your mouth should immediately discredit you as a journalist from here to kingdom come.

15:37, Chaya Raichik: "It's different with defaming a journalist like that."

Let it be put on the record that she has claimed that she's a journalist. I don't think she is, I think she's an alt-right troll, but she claims she is one. If she wants to be a journalist she needs to follow our rules, and that includes journalistic ethics which she has demonstrated a stunning lack of in her tenure as LibsOfTikTok.

They talk about Chaya's life a bit, mostly her complaining about the evil leftists lying about her nonstop. Chaya then starts to talk about Nex Benedict and Oklahoma.

20:48, Taylor Lorenz: "How do you feel about Nex's death?"

Chaya Raichik: "It's very tragic. It's horrible."

Taylor Lorenz: "Do you believe Nex should have been allowed to receive gender affirming care?"

Chaya Raichik: "She should not be allowed to go on irreversible puberty blockers or get sex change surgery."

Puberty blockers are not irreversible and the qualifications a youth has to go through are pretty long. A doctor isn't just going to prescribe a minor puberty blockers during the first session, the minor needs to have displayed a long lasting pattern of gender dysphoria.

Also, gender affirming care for youth has been shown to reduce suicidal ideation for trans and nonbinary youth by 73%. These medical treatments are valuable and oftentimes lifesaving for transgender youth.

Taylor brings up the bomb threats, Chaya brings up the "No u" argument again, and we don't need to cover that. Here's Chaya being really embarrassing about trans people.

26:11, Taylor Lorenz: "You know, if you eradicate transgenderism which I believe you suggested in a post today-"

Chaya Raichik: "I never suggested that"

Taylor Lorenz: "Ok, you reposted a post that was advocating for that. What would happen to the people that have already medically, socially, completely transitioned and are leading happy lives? What would happen to them? I mean, what's your plan for that? If transgenderism doesn't exist, which you seem to believe, what happens to all the people living happy lives as trans people?"

Chaya Raichik: "First of all, the whole 'trans' is based on a lie. You can't --- you can't change your gender."

I have a lot of trans friends who are living proof that that's not the case.

Gender itself is the social construct of the characteristics of a male, female, etc. Sex is biological.

27:16, Taylor Lorenz: "And what harm is it causing? Do you believe."

Chaya Raichik: "I like the truth, I like truth."

Taylor Lorenz: "Right, but I'm saying what's the harm of people expressing their gender identity differently than you believe it to be? What harm are they causing?"

Gee Chaya, I thought lies were just no big deal, after all there's no law against lying! Seeing her switch from "weeeelllll, you know there's technically no law against lying so when I defame an innocent person by telling my followers that they're a mass murderer it's totally A-OK" to this bold crusader for the "truth" (which is in and of itself based off a transphobic lie) is pretty glaring and nauseating.

28:00, Taylor Lorenz: "What is the material harm of them living their life as a woman or man or gender that you don't agree with?"

Chaya Raichik: "Not anything that's wrong, is there a material harm necessarily."

Taylor Lorenz: "So there's no harm?"

Chaya Raichik: "I didn't say that"

Taylor Lorenz: "So can you name a single harm?"

Chaya Raichik: "The way that it's pushed onto kids, first of all."

All she has is barging in and shouting right-wing talking points without addressing questions that are being asked. This is embarrassing.

Here's Chaya begrudgingly admitting that gender is a social construct.

31:32, Taylor Lorenz: "What if somebody said to you, you know, you're not a real woman? You're not a real woman cause maybe you don't meet these certain specific definitions of femininity."

Chaya Raichik: "That's fine, I don't care. They can call me whatever you want."

Taylor Lorenz: "But what if you would be forced to live by that system? Do you think it's fair that you would be forced to like--"

Chaya Raichik: "Is that based in like, science?"

Taylor Lorenz: "Well I don't think any of it's based in science--"

Chaya Raichik: "Well, it is. There are two sexes."

Taylor Lorenz: "Gender is a social construct"

Chaya Raichik: "Well, gender is actually made up."

She figured it out! It took her a ridiculously long amount of time but she figured it out. Granted, she immediately retracts that claim by blathering on about how there are "two sexes, zero genders, and unlimited personalities" right after (which is a quote that I'm pretty sure she stole from Charlie Kirk by the way) but at least she kind of got there.

32:25, Taylor Lorenz: "You know, a lot of LGBTQ people say that your posts cause an enormous amount of pain. How does that make you feel?"

Chaya Raichik: "How does it make you feel that your reporting on me causes me pain?"

"No u"

They talk a bit about what a public figure is and trans surgery. Chaya's arguments are stupid but not stupid in an important way. Chaya then IMMEDIATELY contradicts herself and then admits that she wants transgender people to not exists in public.

36:42, Taylor Lorenz: "Where do you, sort of, hope this will end up? You know like, all of this sort of --- the advocacy that you're doing. I know you said that you don't have a five year plan for yourself but what are some --- if you were sort of like gonna describe you're platform --- what are some thing's that you'd like to see? Meaningful changes in terms of policies, laws."

Chaya Raichik: "Oh, I want to eradicate gender ideology from public life."

Remember back at 26:11 when Chaya said that she never suggested that she wanted to eradicate "transgenderism"? Chaya certainly doesn't. But the key thing here is that what Chaya is advocating here is the complete suppression of transgender people from the public sphere, that's what she wants and that is a blatantly disgusting goal.

Conclusion:

Chaya Raichik should never ever be taken seriously by anyone ever.

From supporting white nationalist conspiracy theories to splitting hairs over the legality of lying as a journalist, Chaya demonstrated massive breaches in journalistic ethics and just generally atrocious behavior. She came off like a mumbling idiot who can only throw up right-wing talking points instead of backing up an argument. Surely this is the person you want making decisions about kids futures.

I really only did this post because LibsOfTikTok comes up a lot in the griftosphere and this is a super helpful resource to point to when she gets mentioned. On the bright side, we've found a contrarian queen for Tim Pool the contrarian king.

Cheers and I'll see you in the next one.

[luxlightly]

The important thing about the Werewolf Bob AU of Bob's Burgers is that it would be central to the plot of an episode MAYBE once or twice a season. It would be as relevant as something like the racoons in the alley. Brought up off offhandedly or mostly happening off-screen except in a few specific episodes in which they play a larger role.

Like, an episode in which Bob goes out to a state park to run around as a wolf on a full moon would not be about that. The main plots of the episode would be Tina babysitting the other kids and some shenanigans Linda gets into at a diner she stops at on the way home from driving him there. Or her forgetting to pick him up the next morning and a naked Bob trying to hitchhike his way home. It's so important to me that, like basically every other buckwild thing that happens to them, this would almost immediately be relegated to the category of "whatever. adult life is already so goddamn weird and I have a failing restaurant to run."

[thegreatarlecchina]

Chapter 2 suckas! Link to Ch 1 here: https://www.tumblr.com/thegreatarlecchina/718252328860483584/its-clown-time-bois

EDIT: Y’all I did a stoopid and printed the last few paragraphs twice. That should be fixed now.

Suddenly a soft “Hullo Luv.” echoed from behind them. Kyonia turned to see Mirage giving them a shy wave. Mirage was dressed head to toe in an adorable scarecrow costume. It had a brownish-red top with pants clearly meant to imitate woven straw. Their face was painted a pumpkin orange with yellow glow paint and shimmering gold eyeshadow around their eyes and mouth. Their hair had little bits of hay strewn about in it and overall they looked like a cutie patootie. “Oh, Mirage! I didn't see you there!” They exclaimed. Mirage had a tendency to sneak up on people without knowing it; for a 6ft 150 lb hunk of metal, that bot was very quiet. “Ready for the show M?” Kyn inquired, noticing Mirage somewhat stress stimming with their hair. “Oh me? Yes-well um just a bit nervous luv. Nuffin to worry about…” They mumbled. Kyonia gave a skeptical look as Mirage turned away from their gaze, instead focusing on the ground. “Somthin bothering you friend? Pre-show jitters maybe?” Kyonia asked, softening their tone. It wasn't unusual for Mirage to be a bit shy now and again, but for the most part they loved performing. “It’s just that- well…um, you see… I um…” Mirage tapered off, clearly frustrated at their own inability to articulate their feelings. “Its ok bud! Take your time. If somethings upsetting you, me and Quinn wanna help!” Kyn reassured the bot. Taking a moment to gather themselves, Mirage began again. “Well you see luv, Ery really wanted to be here and watch… b-but she’s not part’o the act y'know. And I-i don’t want her to get hurt or nuffin backstage so I had to leave her in my room. But now I’m thinkin she might get lonely wiffout me…”. Kyn took some time to take in all that Mirage had said. They knew it took a lot for Mirage to feel comfortable sharing something like this so they took a second to respond, delicately they replied, “Don’t worry M! I’m sure she understands, you can’t be everywhere at once. Besides, she has Pierrot and Colombina to keep her company!” The Jester seemed unconvinced for a bit until Kyn added, “Oh! I’m pretty sure one of the techies is gonna record the whole show for one of our new advertisements! I can get you a copy and you can show Ery then!” At this the bot perked up, “I’m sure she’d love to see that! Thanks a bunch luv!” Mirage smiled brightly before being called over by Quinn for their check. Now if they could just find Zavy… “Hey best friend!” Chimed a jubilant voice as Kynonia was quite literally swept off their feet. “Woah! Warn me next time bud!” Kyn chuckled as the darn near 10ft robot twirled them around. The lanky bot finally set Kyn down, giving them a chance to look at the costume Zavy had on. It was a truly beautiful display of color, beginning with a black based suit coat splattered with a vivid mixture of neon pinks and purples with an orange dress shirt underneath. In place of his conical clown hat was a small decorated top hat; hot glued to a sequined headband. He had bracelets with various voodoo-like charms and a necklace to match as well as vibrant face paint meant to resemble a calavera. “So how do I look?” Zavy remarked smugly as he struck a pose. Kyn chuckled, Zavy was such a goofball but he was their goofball. “So are you gonna stay and watch the show? Quinn said it was your first time and I’m so so SO excited for you to see me out there!” Zavy shared, doing excited stims with his bottom set of hands. “Dee and Helia are in the crowd, but me and Quinn are gonna be in the wings in case you need us. Don’t worry though we’ll still be able to watch!” Kyonia explained before being approached by Quinn. “Ready for final checks Zav?” Quinn cut in while prepping his tools. “You know it!” Zavy practically sang, somewhat bouncing on his heels. Quinton gave Zavy a fairly quick check while chatting with Kyonia and the other bots. “...Too bad Mirage’s costume has to burn off. I thought it was really cute.” Quinn thought out loud while giving Zavy his final once over. “What was that best friend?” Zavy questioned practically doing a 180 to face Quinton. (Who was working from the back)

“You didn't know? Mirage is doing Diabolo fuega. Their costume burning off is part of the act.” Quinn stated quizzically. Zavy’s eyes darted around the room scanning for the others' reactions, trying to hide the anxiety that plagued his sensory system. He stemmed anxiously as he forced the words, “No… I-I did Not know that… Cool!” He chuckled nervously, Quinn and the others didn’t seem to notice but as Quinn began to move towards one of the sets to ensure that everything was in tiptop shape, Kyn pulled Zavy to the corner of the room.``Zavy, is everything ok? You seem tense, what’s wrong?''They whispered while rubbing the back of his hand with their thumb. “O-oh, N-nothing’s wrong best friend, nothing's wrong at all, everything's fine… just fine! I’m ok.”He laughed nervously. Kyn wasn’t satisfied with that answer but their time was up. “OK PEOPLE WE ARE GOING ON IN 2 MINUTES, 2 MINUTES!” Quinn yelled from somewhere in the mess of people. “Welp! Looks like I have to go get ready!” Zavy squeaked, “See you after the show!” He said pulling away, quite obviously trying to escape the topic, but before he could get too far Kyn had grabbed him by the wrist, “I know something is up,” they pronounced, loosening their grip as they held his hand with their’s, “just… sigh…I just need you to know that if something starts going wrong,” they tightened their grip a bit, “you can come off stage… just be safe.” They finished, letting go of his hand. Zavy, a bit taken aback, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could Quinn yelled, “1 MINUTE FOLKS, WE GO ON IN 1 MINUTE!” Zavy started moving away but before he left he turned and responded, “I’ll tell you later, I promise.” He disappeared as he ran to get into position for the show. Kyn took a deep exhale and went to go find Quinn. “There you are!” they turned to find Quinn heading straight for them. “I’ve been looking for you! Come one we gotta go!” He whisper-yelled running for the wing Mirage was in. Kyn ran to follow, still worried for the bot, wondering what had made him so anxious. As they got to the wing they and Quinn were in charge of, Quinn asked, “What were you doing over there?” Kyonia took a minute to contemplate telling him, when they finally decided to say, “Something is going on with Zavy. I’m not sure what it is but something is up.” “Is he ok to do the show today?” Quinn questioned readying his walkie-talkie. “I’m sure he can, but pay attention just in case please.” “Yeah of course, should I call it in so the others can watch as well?” “ No… I’m sure it’ll be fine… just… I wanted to let you know in case anything goes wrong… you shouldn’t be in the dark about that at the least.” “Ok”, Quinn said sliding his walkie-talkie back on his belt. “Thanks for telling me, I’ll keep an eye out!” He walked away to talk to the light crew and as he did the lights dimmed and the amphitheater roared as Zavy and Mirage stepped on stage. Kyn knew this night was big when it came to company funding. They just hoped that whatever happened out there, that Zavy would be ok.

[kaeichi]

ღ ˚⋅ coffee talk — reo.

mikage reo is not addicted to caffeine.

that's what he keeps telling nagi, anyway. the latter doesn't know why he keeps reiterating that “fact” either—he doesn't even care, nor does he believe him in the first place—but even someone like nagi would suspect something is amiss solely by the way reo keeps coming back to the coffee shop that the heir deemed second-rate not too long ago.

today marks day eleven of visiting said coffee shop in a row; nagi barely steps his foot in, and he already wants to leave.

“welcome, reo! and nagi too!”

that something that nagi suspects comes in the form of a living, breathing person; one that usually takes reo’s order and makes his specialized coffee for him.

(“it tastes different somehow, nagi!” reo had explained to him the other day, justifying his countless visits and spending too much on tips—though for the pro soccer player and CEO of a business corporation, absolutely nothing is too much for him. “you should give it a try. i swear, that barista has magic hands or something. i've had so many macchiatos before, but none of them has tasted so…delectable, so lush, and so—”

“oh, i’m sure.” nagi commented offhandedly, zoning out and hoping this is just another one of reo’s many fleeting interests.)

unfortunately that is not the case this time, especially not with the way reo’s legs immediately go stiff when he advances rather awkwardly over the counter, as if he suddenly forgot how to walk just by the sound of your voice. nagi can tell how you pretend not to notice, a gentle smile on your face beckoning him closer, your eyes as warm as the yellow string lights hung on the walls around the quiet shop and the freshly ground arabica beans that you’ve been brewing in the back.

this is so…yeah, no. nagi should definitely just leave.

“the usual caramel macchiato today? or just a regular latte this time?” your eyes look up from the register when reo doesn't verbally reply, peering at him through your lashes, and he wants to smack himself for accidentally being entranced by your lips moving and taking too long to answer. he can already hear nagi’s voice taunting him: get a grip already, reo.

“yes, please.”

“…sorry, which one?”

he takes a second to breath. he has to, or else he'll end up making an even bigger fool of himself. “uh, i'll just get a latte. since i already had one this morning.”

you then focus your full attention to him, a teasing look evident in your gaze. “you should really tone down the caffeine intake, reo. i can't imagine how that'd be healthy for you.”

“haha, consider it as a compliment to your coffee-making skills.”

there is an actual growing concern that you have for him, since he has been showing up for the past eleven days and getting macchiatos or lattes; at times even twice a day, so your mild unease is valid. there is also that possibility that he's been getting those for someone else, but you discard that thought when you see him stay in the shop sometimes, leisurely drinking from his steaming mug as he types away on his laptop on nights that he's not overly busy.

nonetheless, he remains your favorite customer, and it's not just because of his generous tips and all. you do wonder what he does for a living; would it be rude to ask? though, you suppose you can reserve that question when you start to get to know him personally on some other occasion.

wait, get to know him personally? you glance towards the elegantly dressed male once again once you're done pouring the scalding liquid onto the disposable cup, taking in his lavish appearance and slicked back violet hair—you can't help but think he may be out of your league.

but something tells you that you shouldn't be afraid, not with the hint of pink dusting his cheeks and the earnest, tender smile that always adorns his face whenever he talks to you.

“my shift is ending in five minutes. if you wanna wait, then maybe we can head out together…?”

you're relieved to have taken the chance, because the purple-haired male suddenly jolts, “y-yeah, of course! let me just tell–” when reo turns around to see that his companion is nowhere to be found, he sighs. “…nevermind.”

he hears you stifle a giggle, a sweet melody falling in his ears, and he's so glad he found the time to squeeze in this quick trip tonight despite his hectic schedule. when you hand him his latte, the corners of his mouth inadvertently lifts up as he sees your handwriting on the cup in black ink:

Reo ღ ◡̈

a few minutes later, after you have changed out of your black apron and gathered your stuff, reo walks out of the coffee shop with you, the chilly autumn air breezing past his skin.

his eyes flit downward when you rub your hands in an attempt to heat them up.

it's cold tonight, coldest it has been in a week, yet reo feels warm all of a sudden, even though he barely had a sip from his drink. he wipes his free hand on his slacks, a build up of sweat coating his palm. he regrets not taking his blazer off in his car, because it now feels uncomfortably tight around him, and since when did it get so hot—

“you okay, reo?” you cast him a side glance over the shoulder, eyes raking over his restless form, “you're so fidgety.”

“sorry, yeah. it's just the coffee.”

you give a pointed look, wordlessly reminding him again that maybe he should dial it down or some. it's fine, he's not addicted to caffeine, to something else maybe, but not caffeine. reo’s gaze drifts downwards again, glancing at your empty palm again, and… oh.

that must've been why his fingers kept twitching. for now, he refrains from reaching out, hopeful that this wouldn't be his last encounter with you, and that he'll eventually find the courage someday.

slicked back hair reo.... reo i need u so bad ples

[astarab1aze]

Her ass was sore and she was more exhausted than she'd ever say, going through a handful motions all her own while Geralt tended the fire and Asuka snuck off to relieve themself; First, the buckles and laces of her boots to loosen, knapsack slung between her legs that she might, second, rifle through it for odds, ends, and anything that could make an awkward, perhaps thoroughly uncomfortable day riding a little easier for them all. Too much time spent on too long a road, the rolling spine of her celare giving cause for thighs to chafe and old aches and pains to irritate, too much mud, rain, maybe leftover sporefilm over her riding leathers from their passage through the pseudocilium forest - not enough rest, quietly fretting over the dangers of too much of everything, and her insistence on continuing besides.

But the gravel of Geralt's apology interrupted her, and only too soon had boot laces and weybread gone nearly-abandoned, hands slowing further and further with the addition of his cape draped across her shoulders. It was heavier than she thought it would be, and...much warmer. Smelled horrible, though - like sweat, mud, horse farts, gore, and possibly Myhala shit, but also him. Natural musk, campfire smoke, the forest, the mountains, the-- She blinked once, twice quickly and offered him a smile, gaze tentatively flitting between him and the fire. Something comforting about this, in the moment. Pleasant. Some meager taste of something she'd never again have, apology included (however unnecessary). Some glimmer of hope in a wilderness she couldn't stand. Setting the bundles of food in her lap, she took to pulling the cape closed around her.

She was quiet for a time longer, listening to faintest flame-crackles and twig-snaps on Asuka's path - nothing to worry over insofar. "An apology," she hummed, "that I should be giving you. Pushed us to keep going when resting before we reached the pseudocilium would have served us best - Keep your apology, Geralt, and we may yet call it even."

Their journey across the continent would take years - two, three, perhaps even four - and it was best now that like be met with like, reciprocation, to ease it. He rode with them, protected Asuka (and her to a lesser degree), and was an effective witcher besides; The least she could do was- Deft hands reclaimed the bits of food in her lap and faced him, offered them to him with no small pinch of care. Wondering what he was thinking offhandedly, meanwhile, hoping he might think to inch closer and warm himself beside her. She wouldn't have him go without.

"Asuka should return soon; Best get your bites in now a'fore they snatch it away. I'll... see about a proper breakfast at sunrise."

@astarab1aze

It's just a spark, and he's too stubborn about it. But it puts his mind at ease to try again and again to bring it about with his hands, no magic, just enough pressure put to stone to get the fire going. To remedy just a little the cold brought about by the sunset, ease the sore muscles, make food that's a little easier to chew on that dried meat they've relied on during the day's travel. All that's to say, he knows sooner rather than later is a better option. But his tired mind leads him elsewhere. To watch the spark turn into a fickly flame, dry grass dancing with it, threatening to be put down by the weakest breeze. For thinnest branches to give way eventually, caught in the heat. For the fire to grow steadily, finally big enough to envelop them in its warmth.

"I'm sorry." The ritual of mundanity should have brought about some satisfaction, and usually it would, but this time it only serves to deepen the frown on his face, to strenghten the sinking feeling he carried for most of the day. He's used to travelling alone and doing things at his own pace. What a lame excuse for being a selfish bastard. And even now, he doesn't look up, staring at the flames, as if the apology was directed at it, not the person sat across from him. A bastard, and a coward.

His face contorts as he shifts, mixture of dull ache and bitterness. Crouched before, he pushes himself up and makes his way around the bonfire. Slowly, almost hesitantly. It's hard to move, harder yet to open his mouth. Tiredness plays its role, of course. But it's more than that. The nagging sense of shame. In truth, it's not that he is pushing forward to get his way. It's not what it feels like. It's never quite catching up, always missing something. Getting it wrong. He was entrusted with their safety, hers and Asuka's life becoming easier. But what did he knew about either? Carefully, he takes off his cape and puts it around her shoulders, but remains at arm's lenght.

It's just a spark, but it brings him peace when he sees it reflected in her eyes.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

lesson

pairing: harry styles x reader

warnings: smut, masterbation, daddy mentions, heavy degradation and humiliation (lots of sluts and whores) but also some good girls !! teasing (so much teasing), orgasm denial/edging, choking, bondage, cum play (so also unprotected sex), pussy play (including spanks and cock thumping), pillow humping (for like a second), spitting, panty fucking, harry has a very dirty mind, please, only 18+ !!

word count: 6.4k

synopsis: he only has one rule, and she still can’t seem to follow it (or in which harry teaches y/n a lesson)

author’s note: hello! this took a little longer than i expected, so thank you for being patient with me! this is absolute, pure, unadulterated filth (absolutely no fluffiness about this—be proud for me) please, note the warnings and don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned above (that’s why i put them there :)) xx

masterlist

—

Y/N’s heart races in her ears as she scrubs at her hands, foamy soap slipping down her wrists in her haste. Harry calls for her downstairs, the front door slamming shut, shaking the house. She can’t find her voice just yet, traces of a stolen orgasm lingering in her tired body. The sheets are crumpled from her quick highs, and her legs are weak. She feels giddy, despite the odd numbness that seeps into her bones. She finally feels fulfilled after a long day of insatiable throbbing between her legs.

Clad in a simple tee and underwear, she steps out of their bathroom when he finally gets up to their bedroom. She dries her hands off, eucalyptus, mint, and other artificial scents lingering. She’s still catching her breath.

“Hey, babe,” she smiles, just like she does every time he gets back home, but there’s something behind it that’s unfamiliar, a devilish hint.

It’s her eyes that give her away.

They’ve been together long enough for him to know what she looks like after she comes, her shaky legs, dopey smile, and glazed over eyes. The mischievous glint is different, however.

“How was your—”

“How many times?”

“What?” She tilts her head to the side, brows furrowed innocently. It angers him; it actually makes his chest tight, and he has to bite his cheek to keep from snapping. She has the nerve to act as if nothing is wrong. Lip tucked between teeth, she steps forward, hands splayed in front of her. An unfamiliar feeling bubbles in his stomach. Not quite possessiveness but certainly close, this feeling is akin to lust and indignation, and it melts into a pool of gluttonous desire.

Normally, he takes a step back to collect his thoughts when he’s this emotionally invested, but it’s difficult when she looks so tempting, so divine, so satisfied. Fresh faced with a cheeky grin, she beckons him, imploring him to punish her, challenging him to ruin her.

He stalks forward, their gazes never faltering, until she falls onto the bed, still looking at him innocently.

“How many times did you make yourself come?”

His words bite, but she looks indifferent, the glazed look in her eyes taunting him. She doesn’t answer, but then again, she knows that she doesn’t need to. He cups her throat, so tender, pliable, and exposed, and he can feel her swallow thickly.

“I’ll ask again. How many times?”

She stares at him, jaw set and ready to hold her own. It’s different from her usual demeanor. No matter how bratty she would act, she easily fell into her submissive headspace, answering his questions obediently and listening to him eagerly. She doesn’t seem to want to break that easily today. Instead of her usual shy and shameful glaces at her hands, she sits up fully, looking him dead in the eyes, and grins, a twisted little smirk that makes his stomach curl and his cock grow thick. She wants to play a game, but it seems that she has forgotten that he is the one in charge. His fingers tighten around her throat, pressing into the spots beneath her jaw that leave her vision hazy.

“Only once,” she says sweetly, albeit weakly from her grip on her neck.

Lies.

He knows that.

She knows that he knows that, but maybe a part of her just wants him to piss him off.

“Don’t you dare lie to me,” he snaps. “How many times?”

His patience is wearing thin, and this game, this teasing, is getting out of hand. She thinks that she can have an advantage over him, while still playing the submissive. Someone needs to put her in her place.

“Almost three times,” she admits finally, sinking back. He finally lets go of her neck, and she holds the spot where his hand once was, vexing eyes yearning for his touch. He cocks a brow.

“Almost? Did I interrupt the third?”

“Yes,” she whines. That’s when he notices her thighs pressing tight together, and she shifts on the bed.

“Does daddy not please you, babylove? You need to touch your princess parts because daddy doesn’t make you feel good anymore.”

Filled with hurt, his words seem to get to her. The familiar docile look in her eyes slips in, and her lips sink into a pout. She’s drinking from the palm of his hand.

“Maybe I just shouldn’t touch you anymore—”

“No,” she cries, sinking further into her headspace. “But—daddy, you left this morning,” she says, her lips pouting.

That’s true.

The night before, she was his soft babylove, who just wanted to be as close to him as possible, be held and comforted and loved. That’s how he awoke this morning: warm with his cock soft inside her. He kissed her awake, as she deserved, and even though he felt comfortable simply being wrapped in her warmth, he needed to taste her. He was slow with his movements, languidly licking along her lips until wetness coated her thighs, teasingly sucking on her clit until she was trembling, wanting to build up the pleasure.

Admittedly, he had to rush out before she could finish and go to a meeting regarding his upcoming tour. He had quite the time trying to hide his semi for the better part of the morning.

“And I was feeling achy,” she continues rambling; the poor thing is close to tears. He feels for his pretty girl, he truly does, but he pushes that aside. A part of him feels hurt, like she couldn’t trust him to take care of her when he came home. Harry doesn’t ask much. She can be as bratty as she wants to, purposefully teasing him when they’re in public or refusing to do the simplest of requests, but he just asks that she let him take care of her.

She couldn’t even give him that courtesy.

“Don’t make excuses,” he scoffs. “I thought you were a big girl.”

“I am,” she promises.

“Big girls wait for daddy to come home and help them come,” he says, stroking her cheek. Tender touches mask his true intent. He suddenly shoves her back, hand tight to her throat once again, and she gasps, head tilting back into their pillows.

“Naughty girls touch themselves. Whores come almost three times at their own hand.” He grits his teeth. “Are you a whore?”

She doesn’t answer, but he can feel her heart racing beneath his grasp. A glimpse of a smile is enough to let him know that she’s fine; she’s enjoying herself, seeing him so riled up, possessive, and ravenous.

“Are you still wet? Achy?”

She nods.

“Whores get wet when they’re in trouble,” he says offhandedly. Her body quivers at the malice dripping from his tongue. “Arms up.”

She does as told, holding onto the headboard, eagerly awaiting his next demand. This is what she wanted, after all.

She has no idea what’s coming.

Usually, whatever punishment he gives her is what she also enjoys, from the occasional spanking to overstimulation. He usually has her coming until she can’t take anymore, until an ache seeps into the bliss.

Not this time.

He tugs her shirt up and over her head while his other hand fiddles in their bedside drawer. Moments later, a pair of silk scarves tie her hands to the headboard.

“Not too tight?”

She tugs on the restraints and shakes her head.

“Color?”

“Green.” She beams, breaking character for a moment.

Even if they were in the midst of a deep fantasy, he has always made a point to make sure she knows that it's alright to voice any discomfort and vice-versa; she often asks for his color whenever he seems to be overwhelmed. They both know how volatile headspaces can be, with the slightest changes making a huge difference in the experience.

He runs his nose along hers, lips tracing along the curves of her face, nibbling teasingly at her chin, down her neck, and grinds himself against her. He sucks on her breasts, biting at her nipples until they’re peaked. She closes her eyes, savoring every spike of bitter pleasure he has to offer. He sits back after a moment, appreciating the glimpse of light that catches her wet skin. He palms himself.

“It’s only fair that I get to come three times since you did. Make us even, right, lovie?”

“But I only made myself come twice.”

Y/N really has the nerve to talk back to him with her hands tied to the headboard, her body exposed to him, the only thing covering her modesty a flimsy pair of underwear. He cocks his head to the side.

“Should we make it four?”

That makes her hesitate, sinking back in the sheets. She shakes her head, cute pouty lips puckering. He would love nothing more than to run his cock along that pretty, dirty mouth, to feel her greedy tongue tracing the underside of him lazily, to wrap his hand around her throat and feel it expand as he fucks her face.

But he knows that she would enjoy it too much.

Too much for a punishment.

Harry traces along the curves of her features, from the slope of her nose to the round of her cheek, soft and lingering, a harsh contrast of what’s to come. He smirks. She parts her lips like a good girl when his thumb passes over them, biting it teasingly. He, then, drags it down her chin, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

He can’t help but think about how pretty she would look with cum and spit dribbling from those sinful lips, eyes barely able to stay open. Fucked beyond belief, she would moan his name and other incoherent thoughts oh-so sweetly, her voice wrecked. His grateful babylove, his lovely, satiated Y/N would whisper a soft thank you after taking him so well. He truly wishes he could do that, give her anything she ever desired, make her feel euphoria like never before, a high no one other than him can give her, but she was greedy and naughty and misbehaving.

And she needs to learn a lesson.

Now, he has to tease her, to bring her to the brink of orgasm, only to shatter her, again and again, until she’s on the brink of tears. She’s going to be left unsatisfied, trembling beneath him, while he brings himself to orgasm, again and again, until he’s milked himself dry. She will be grateful if he gives her even a bit of pleasure, but it is not enough to push her to the end.

It would never be enough.

He leans in close, his lips a fleeting embrace, just past her reach. He wants to taste her, but he needs to be patient.

A warmth buries her, and his overwhelmingly familiar scent swallows her, safe and comforting. She doesn’t know she’s even pulling on her restraints until her fingers are numb and tingly, yearning to feel his skin.

Maybe this was a bad idea, but it’s too late to turn back now.

“You can beg and plead all you want,” he says, “but know this: you will not be coming again tonight.”

Her eyes darken, and a satisfied little grin graces her pretty face.

She got what she wanted, tied up and vulnerable to him.

However, this isn’t her game anymore.

Now, she’s at his utter mercy.

“And if you do come, somehow, I will not touch you for a week; not only will you not feel my cock, my fingers, or my tongue, there will be no kisses or cuddles. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s my good girl.”

He unbuttons his shirt, slowly, diligently, his fingers lingering a little long on his inked stomach, knowing that she likes to take her time and admire that part specifically. After he peels the button up away, he finally sits next to her on the bed, his back to her. His belt falls to the floor with a clatter, and she holds her breath.

The silence is deafening, thick with tension. She waits, knowing that patience will help her. She also knows better than to say anything, since it would probably worsen her current predicament. Harry has always been level-headed, even in his dominant headspace, being very patient, especially in trying circumstances. He can take a lot before he snaps. She usually has to beg him to slap her, to spit in her mouth, or to fuck her so hard her legs give out.

This new persona is unpredictable, new, and alluring.

It’s different and all the more arousing.

She shifts, the bed frame creaking. A feeling of naughtiness courses through her, as it did earlier. She wants to see how much she can get away with and how far she can go before he loses control and puts her in her place. She watches him closely, her breathing ragged. She drags a pillow up by her feet, and Harry pays her no mind, perhaps assuming she’s just getting comfortable. His shoulders shift as he nimbly undoes the buttons to his pants, his back muscles tightening and relaxing. He begins taking off his pants, billowy and undoubtedly expensive fabric slipping down one leg at a time slowly, meticulously. The pillow now nestled between her legs, she grinds her hips down, wishing it was his thigh, the one with tiger on it, bared teeth and hungry.

He turns suddenly, and she’s caught yet again, but she doesn’t stop. Instead, she works herself harder, imploring him to stop her—to punish her. The pillow does very little to satiate the pent up tension between her legs, but it’s better than nothing.

Honestly, she knew he was going to catch her in her lies. That's why she made herself come right before he got home. She wants to get caught, the thrill of going against his rules giving her a high she’s still coming down from. And as he looks at her again, fury in his eyes, she could just fall apart. She wants him to put her in her place, punish her for being a naughty, filthy brat.

She wants him to ruin her.

“No,” he growls, ripping the pillow away and effectively knocking her legs back apart. He slaps her pussy with little warning. She squeaks, tugging at the silken restraints. A shaky, guttural moan shutters from her chest, deep and desperate, and her head falls back into the mattress.

“Fuck,” she cries.

The skin of her swollen pussy burns in the most addicting way, leaving her legs spasming, feet slipping down the sheets. She can feel his rings through her panties, just a slight sting, but her clit takes a brunt of the force, and perhaps, that’s what makes it so good.

“No moving.”

He rubs her soothingly, a stark contrast to the fire behind his eyes. Despite how bratty she’s been, her sweet, attentive Harry is still there, making sure she’s taken care of, comfortable, and safe. Her needy hips chase his fingers, a broken plea on the tip of her tongue.

Again.

He twists her panties with his index finger until her puffy pussy swallows them, the swell of her mound bulging from the tight elastic bands. He smacks her again, a little more gentle this time, but hard enough to still make her toes curl. She laughs through a breathy moan, her heart racing. He tsks, mumbling under his breath.

“This is your punishment. You’re not supposed to be enjoying it.” He tugs her panties up tight to her clit. “You’ll take anything I give you. Won’t you? I could spit on you and call you a bitch, and you’ll say thank you. Right, babylove?”

He delivers another resounding slap to her cunt, and then, another for good measure. This time, her back arches from the mattress, eyes rolling back. Fire licks her skin, and it hurts, no doubt, but in such a way that's indescribable; it burns, but it spreads throughout her whole body, and it makes her limbs tingly and warm, yearning for more. Again, he runs his hand along her exposed mound to ease the ache.

“Thank you,” she moans, and he smiles. He spanks her poor pussy raw, again and again, until his hand hurts and her arousal drips onto the sheets. Her thighs threaten to close, but she digs her feet into the mattress, aching for more pain, more pleasure, just more. Her world spins, but at the center of it all is him—striking eyes, teasing smile, and pretty lips—and he’s all hers.

“Taking it so well, pretty girl,” he says, moving to kneel between her spread legs. He can feel the wetness through her panties, and he nudges his head around where her clit is, still blocked by her useless underwear, her pussy visibly tightens with anticipation. He leans back, still close enough to feel the heat from her, and he slips his cock under her panties, the tight, elastic band pulling at his tender skin while her lips massage the underside. She’s wet, perhaps from her orgasms from earlier, but likely from the spanking. He thrusts, wrapped in soaked panties, until the tip of his cock nudges the fabric at the top of her mound, and he twitches when the underwear pulls at the sensitive head in a certain way.

“Such a naughty girl,” he moans, thumbs pulling at the fabric to wrap tighter around his cock. “I’m only fucking your panties, and you’re already soaked.”

He pulls out reluctantly, his cock heavy on her wet underwear. He spits on the fabric and spreads it over her mound, just to tease her little more. She tugs at her restraints and whines from the sudden cold.

A drop of saliva slips past his puckered lips, landing on his open palm, which now cradles his cock. He hasn’t resorted to jerking himself off in a long time; he hasn’t needed to, but he works himself easily, finding a calculated rhythm, fast then slow, quick, eager strokes along the head then long, languid strokes along the entire length. He sits on his heels, and his legs ache from the weight. Her thighs twitch, and she pulls at the restraints. His balls brush against her mound with every movement of his hand, and he swears he can feel her jump with every movement, so sensitive, so responsive. He fucks his fist, hips unconsciously bucking, wishing it is her warmth that coats him, squeezes him, and pulls him in. He yearns to touch her, to feel her smooth skin, but he knows that this lack of physical touch is as difficult for her to bear as it is for him, and that makes it a little better.

Her chest heaves with unsteady breaths, eyes fixated on his hand working his cock. She pulls futilely at the scarves, until her wrists hurt. She knows that she’s not going to be able to get out, but she unconsciously reaches for him. She’s not used to being so exposed, body vulnerable to his gaze, without having him touch her. Sure, their thighs are pressed tight together, but it’s not nearly enough.

This isn’t what she thought was going to happen when she broke his rules. Truly, more so than usual, this is a punishment: to see him work himself to orgasm without being able to touch him. She wishes she was the one to make him squirm, moan, and come.

“Please,” she whines, eyes pleading with him, and he knows what she’s begging for.

“What? You think I want to touch a dirty little brat like you?”

“You’re being mean.”

“I’m being mean? I came home, hoping to spend a nice evening with my good girl, only to find out that she broke my rule,” he says. “My one rule.”

He wishes it was her hand stroking him, eager eyes and tempting smile staring back at him. It would feel so much better than his own calloused fist. He feels himself tighten to signal an impending end, weak but an end nonetheless.

“I wanted nothing more than to come home and to have you come on my tongue more times than you can count, but you couldn’t be patient, and now, you have to take your punishment.”

She twists and squirms beneath him, her body undulating on the sheets. The need that tugs on her features is almost enough to break him, to make him give in and make his pretty girl come on his face, but then he remembers that scheming smile she had on her face, that devious look that made him rife with lust. He remembers that she was on this very bed by herself just before he got home, making herself come, her head thrown back, whining and whimpering. The thought brings the fire back.

He cups her cheek and leans forward, stretching her legs apart, and his cock rests just above her belly button, still cupped in his hand. Her tongue dips out of her mouth. His eager, naughty girl waits for him to spit in her mouth, to shove his ringed fingers down her throat, to do anything, but he pulls back again, and she frowns.

“How did you do it? Did you use your fingers, baby?”

She nods pitifully, and he hums, his strokes quick.

“Yeah? Bet they weren’t as good as mine.” He runs his thumb along the head, pleasure sending chills down his spine, trying to prolong his buildup.

“No one’s fingers will ever be as good as mine.”

He wants to prove it to her, to pound his fingers inside her until she can barely breathe, arousal gushing down his wrist as she comes until she’s crying. He wants to kiss her tears away as she begs for more. Perhaps, with all the teasing and build-up, he could get her to come with just one finger with one well-placed thrust. Her hips buck, and he knows that she’s thinking about that, too. After the stolen orgasm from earlier and the burning spanks her poor pussy received, she must be desperate for anything he’ll give to her.

His orgasm builds quickly, with his thoughts running amuck, visions of her, on her knees before him, choking on him until tears stream down her cheeks, on her back, moaning while he pounds into her, on top of him, grinding down on him, not letting up because she just loves the feeling of him deep inside her belly.

He comes on her tummy, a broken moan slipping past his bitten lips, spurts of his seed stain her pretty skin, and her breath hitches, shocked at the sudden warmth; then, she hums contentedly.

“There,” he sighs, admiring his work.

“Thought you were gonna come three times,” she says softly as he steps off the bed, sore cock heavy between his legs. His knees tremble.

“Open,” he coos, slipping his fingers in her mouth, and she sucks away the remnants of his orgasm. He smooths out her brow with his free hand, brushing away a bead of sweat that sunk from her hairline.

“Who said I’m done with you? No, I’m gonna go shower, and you’re going to stay there with my cum on your tummy and think about what you’ve done.”

He kisses her nose, just like he does every morning after loving on her. It’s a sweet gesture, one that doesn’t match his demeanor. He leaves her there, like he said he would, tied up as he moves to the bathroom, shoulders pushed back, self-assured and composed. Harry steps into the steaming shower, washing away the sweat from his skin.

Y/N whimpers in the next room. She has given up on tugging at the silk scarves; instead, she’s trying to ignore the insatiable throbbing between her legs, her arousal slipping out onto her thighs, like a greedy slut. His words ring in her ears, and it makes the arousal worsen.

She rubs her thighs together to alleviate some pressure, but it’s little use. Perhaps, if she tests him just a little more, he’ll throw away all willpower and ravish her until the early morning hours, but her resolve weakens with every passing minute. She wanted to tease him a bit, maybe get him a little mad, so he would put her in her place. She wanted him to fuck her to oblivion, until she can’t keep her eyes open.

This is a different kind of punishment, one she’s never even considered. In her fantasies, she’s tied up and vulnerable, but he lavishes her with touch until she’s overstimulated, drunk on him, his scent, his touch, his voice.

This is a different kind of punishment, a true punishment in her eyes. The teasing, lingering touches is enough to make her burst, and to have him there but just beyond her reach is near painful.

His cum has nearly dried on her belly, and she wishes he came inside her, stuffed full of his warmth; at least, then, she wouldn’t be so cold, so exposed.

She perks when he steps out of the bathroom, and he wastes no time straddling her hips, his cock twitching against her tummy. The weight of his body on hers is suffocating, her overstimulated senses taking him in, his warmth, his touch, his scent. She can feel every ridge of his body, every drop of water that slips from his clean skin, everything.

It’s almost too much all at once.

“Color?”

She blinks.

“Daddy, please,” she whispers, “want you to fill me up. ‘M such a greedy cock slut. I won’t even come, promise—”

“Y/N, I need you to tell me what color,” he says.

He doesn’t usually use her name when they’re this far into the fantasy, but it seems she needs it now.

“Green,” she breathes out. “Green, green, you feel so good, H. ‘M sorry I touched myself; I just couldn’t help it. Wanna make you feel good, please.”

“I wanna believe you, baby.” He cups her cheek, cold water dripping from his hair and melting into her skin. He takes her in, relishing in the sight of her craving, trembling, and begging for his touch. He likes seeing her on edge like this, dangerously close to teetering off into oblivion.

“But I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.”

He traces the head of his red cock along the seams of her panties, like he did earlier, but this time, he tugs her underwear aside, mouth watering at the sight of her pretty, puffy pussy, surely sore from the spanking earlier. He spits on her, and he watches as it slips down into her most intimate fold. She’s so responsive to the slightest touch. He spreads her open, lips parted to reveal her wanton pussy. He tugs back the hood of her button, hard and throbbing.

He slaps his cock against her clit, the skin tacky with his spit. The slight, sudden touch is electrifying, and it makes his cock twitch, hungry for more. He can see her tighten up, and her hips jolt. Shivers trail from her spine to the tips of her peaked nipples. He thumps the head of his cock on her clit quickly, concurrent with every keen thrust of her hips, spitting in her every so often, leaving her wet and swollen and filthy, just like she is.

“Thank you,” she whimpers. “Feels so good, daddy.”

He teases the head of his cock just past her lips and nestles himself inside her finally, her warmth swallowing him easily. His eyes flutter closed, savoring what he so desperately needed.

She breathes out sharply when he stops with just the head inside her. This teasing is almost becoming too much.

“More,” she whimpers, “Please?”

He looks at her with fire in his eyes.

“No, you don’t tell me what to do. Besides, I don’t think you deserve my cock.”

She could almost cry. He’s so close, but he won’t go any further, just teasing her with what could have been. She tries to pull him in deeper, her walls tightening around his head. It makes his toes curl, burning pleasure forming in his belly. She tries to pull him in, aching for just a little more. He holds her hips down to keep her from moving.

“Please, I’ve been good. I said I was sorry for making myself come. I’ll never do it again, promise. Please, I just wanna feel you, daddy. That’s all I wanted today.”

“This isn’t about you anymore, babylove. You’re just daddy’s little fucktoy, my little cock slut.” He thrusts slightly, the tender head dragging along her tight opening, never pushing further. “And right now, I wanna hear you cry for my cock.”

Her feet trail up his legs, knees hooked at his hips, frantically trying to pull him in entirely. She tried to be good; she asked him nicely to just fuck her already. At this point, she doesn’t even want to come. She just wants to feel him, to alleviate at least some of the pressure throbbing between her legs. It’s humiliating because she’s near tears, desperate for his cock.

He came not even fifteen minutes ago, and he’s still sensitive. He pulls back until the head is nestled just past her entrance, muscles tight around the tip. He jerks off the base of his cock for more stimulation. A part of the pleasure comes from watching her squirm; she’s so desperate as she yanks at her restraints, hips thrusting and pussy clenching to pull him in deeper. It’s such an odd sensation, her entrance being fairly sensitive, but it’s not enough to stimulate her.

It’s never enough.

“Maybe you’ll come just by the feeling of my cum inside you.”

She honestly might.

The skin of his cock drags back and forth along her sensitive walls as he jerks himself off inside her.

“I bet you will,” he grins. “Just remember, if you come, I will not touch you for a week. Be very careful, Y/N.”

She wiggles pitifully, her arousal dripping down his shaft, and he uses it as lubricant.

“I bet your poor little clit is throbbing,” he teases. “‘M so sorry, babylove.”

He’s not.

There’s a wicked smile that splits his face.

He pulls out suddenly, making her gasp, and thumps his cock some more on her pussy, landing a particularly rough blow to the sensitive part of her exposed clit, puffy with arousal, the hood stretched back.

“Please, daddy,” she whimpers, “more. I’ve been good. I won’t do it again.”

He gives her some more, dragging himself along her fold in languid motions, circling around her clit before he thumps his cock on her pretty little button. She squeaks.

He stuffs himself inside again, just like before with only the head inside her. She groans, tightening up. It’s as if her body has a mind of its own, clenched and frenzied for any type of stimulation. She squeezes him so tightly, and she fights against his hold on her hips.

He comes shortly after, his body curling into itself like it usually does when he has a particularly strong orgasm, back arching with every wave.

Y/N moans when his cum fills her, reaching deep inside her, and her walls clench with need. It’s barely anything, but it’s still more than what he was giving to her before, and she could honestly come from that little bit alone. She’s trying to regain her composure, cunt still throbbing. He kisses her face, like he usually does after he comes, a gentle reminder that he’s still her Harry. He massages her waist, lingering down to her hips. They bask in each others’ warmth, trying to find the energy to move.

That’s normal for him, sweet and mushy and loving.

What she doesn’t expect is him tightening his hold on her hips and thrusting himself fully inside her, his cock still weeping out remnants of his orgasm.

She would scream if she could, but the breath is knocked from her lungs, choked moans passing through clenched teeth. Animalistic and brutal, Harry sets a quick pace, her entire body moving with the power behind his thrusts. Her mind is blank, and her body hums, pleasurable vibrations coursing through her body to every single nerve. She forgets that she isn’t allowed to come, but she couldn’t bring herself to care about the consequences just yet. Finally, she can taste the bittersweet euphoria, making her world dizzy as he fills her again and again. She could almost cry with utter relief.

Yes, yes, this is what she wanted—no, needed—and it’s even better than she dreamt. Her sopping pussy takes him easily, reaching the neediest part of her. She spreads herself further, angling her knees to her chest so he can pound himself deeper inside, cream dripping onto the sheets. Her legs are sticky with their shared arousal.

Harry’s face is flushed, brows furrowed as he loses himself in the feel of her. It’s been almost as torturous for him as it has for her; he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this frantic, never has he felt so desperate to plunge himself into her depths, never has he been so entranced, so sensitive to any touch. His head tips back, features twisted, chest bared, and teeth gritted. His breaths are weak, faltering and shallow. He groans as she tightens around him. Sweat drips down his chest.

“H? Color?”

It takes a moment to pull him back.

“Green, baby,” he says, smiling ever so slightly.

He’s never felt this before, this vulnerable yet powerful, on the verge of pleasure and pain, dancing along a tightrope threatening to snap at any second, such a thrill. He feels light headed, high off of her. He wants to feel her, embrace her, love her.

He rips at the knots around her wrists, fingers trembling, but they won’t budge, and he loses his balance, instead wrapping his arms around her arched back. He nestles his nose in her neck, pulling their chests tight together. She smells of salt and sin and sex, and he can’t control himself.

“So fucking good.”

He presses himself deeper, the head of his sensitive cock nudging the inmost parts of her. He fucks her easily with his cum spilling out with every hard thrust, leaving their connected bodies sticky. He can’t pull out much without his cock weeping with overstimulation, but he can’t stop, the pleasure all too addicting.

“Jus’ one more, lovie,” he whispers. “So close. Don’t you dare come.” He grits his teeth, rubbing at her swollen clit, subtly and just to make it throb, before his hands rest on her lower belly, thumbs connecting just below the button. He fucks into her harder, the bed frame shaking and smacking into the wall.

That’s when realization hits her.

She’s close.

She’s so close, one well placed thrust, one harsh stroke to her clit will push her over the edge.

But she has to hold it off.

His words ring in her ears in time with her racing heart, his threat of no intimacy sobering her. If she thought before was punishment, having to see him pleasure himself without being able to touch him, this is hell. Her orgasm burns painfully in her belly. It tastes so sweet. She clings to the silk restraints. She doesn’t want to give in, but it would feel so good; it would be a high that would leave her lightheaded for hours afterward, and shockwaves of pleasure tightening her muscles as a constant reminder.

She sobs, on the brink of breaking. Her hands tingle, drained of blood. She’s trying to relax, to breathe through the waves of euphoria that crash over her, and it works for a second, but with that, she opens up more, taking him deeper and more easily. That’s when the pleasure would shatter the calm in harsh waves. She closes her eyes, a drawn hum seeping from her chest. He grabs the back of her neck, using it as leverage as he fucks himself deeper into her, and she cries out.

“Look at me,” he demands. She does, barely, her teary eyes glimmering. He smiles, and she feels warm. “There’s my pretty girl. I’m almost there, just a little bit more. Doing so well for me babylove. Don’t come.”

“Please,” she moans, peering through her lashes. “Come for me, daddy.”

She lights a fire in his veins, sending a rippling feeling of ecstasy through his spine. His eyes roll back as he comes once again, his prick pulsating as he empties himself deep inside for a third and final time. Satiated, he grinds his hips against her, wanting to be as close to her as possible. She’s throbbing around him, legs trembling at his sides. She sighs, most likely out of relief but perhaps also out of frustration. As he nestles himself deeper, her lips tremble, features pinching as she tries to hold off an orgasm, clenching so tightly that his softening cock slips out of her. She moans.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing his lips sweetly to her sticky forehead. “You did so well for me, babylove. So proud of you.” Then again to her cheek. He traces up the backs of her thighs, hooking her legs around his waist.

“What did we learn?”

“Don’t touch yourself unless daddy says so,” she whispers, her voice dry. He nods appreciatively, eyes taking in her trembling form, and leans back.

Her thighs twitch occasionally at his sides, and he wants to bite them, skin surely sensitive to the slightest of touches. Sweat and cum and saliva paint her flesh, but the absolute masterpiece is her ruined pussy, swollen and wet and divine. He thumbs at her, gently guiding her lips apart to expose her pink inside, quivering with an insatiable need. He wants to lick up the cum that slips out of her, but she’s been through enough, the aftershocks of her stolen orgasms still visibly lingering in her sore body.

Another time, perhaps.

“That’s right, babylove. I think you finally learned your lesson.”

—

[wooahaes]

pink lilies

pairing: non-idol!mingyu x gn!reader

prompt: ... your housemate from here

word count: 0.9k~

warnings: n/a

daisy’s notes: written + scheduled during bday shenanigans.

Mingyu... never meant to fall for you.

The story was simple: you’d been looking for a roommate after your old one moved out, he desperately needed a place that was closer to work, the two of you made things work. There were a few basic rules in place to make things easier (warn before letting anyone come/stay over (you offhandedly mentioned your former roommate was awful about that), keep the common area clean), but you realized after a while that you had nothing to worry about with Mingyu. There were plenty of occasions when things had started building up in your room and you’d get a quick text asking if it was fine for him to tidy up since you were busy and you deserved a clean living space. You always said yes after thinking for just a second: you’d make it up to him by doing the dishes and insisting on doing it with no room for argument. The two of you worked things out, although half the time you swore he liked taking care of you (and his friends: the tall, quiet guy--Wonwoo--had come around plenty of times and you’d notice the way Mingyu would dote on him). Despite your initial impression of him being this cool, tall, handsome guy who you nearly declined, Mingyu was sweet. He made time for eating dinner with you at least once or twice a week, initially as a way of getting to know you better and later as a way of touching base with you and your life.

It wasn’t like he was looking for a partner in you: he wasn’t. He’d gone on a few blind dates over the past year, usually coming back with nothing but positive things to say. You’d always ask about the next time he was going out, only to be met with a “Hm?” and some reason as to why he wasn’t--busy schedules, different lives, the person not being someone he thought fit with him. You had asked after the fifth or sixth time he went out what he was looking for in a person.

“Someone kind,” he had said. “I think I’d like someone who I could get along with well.”

You had joked that he already met Wonwoo, and he had laughed. Looking back on that, he realized how many times he had thought of you as someone like that.

Mingyu never meant to fall for you in any way, and yet he stood in front of your bedroom door with a small bouquet of pink lilies in his hands. He’d stopped into the bookstore Wonwoo worked, asked for a book on flowers, and had sat with him at the counter looking for something that he thought you might like. Roses were far too bold of a declaration, in his opinion. The bonus add-on of them meaning love was something he prayed you didn’t know: if you reacted negatively, he could pass it off as noticing your room needed something to brighten it up. Despite his confidence, he felt tongue-tied as he waited for you to open the door. Maybe you weren’t home? He thought he saw your slippers missing, and that he had heard you shut your door earlier, but maybe you forgot something.

When you opened the door, you looked half-asleep. The room was dark, and immediately he kicked himself for not considering that it was late and this could have waited until tomorrow morning. “Gyu?” You mumbled, reaching up to rub at your eyes, seemingly not noticing the flowers in his hands. “What’s wrong?”

His gaze flickered down to the bouquet in his hands. “I bought you these.”

He watched the way you followed his gaze, gasping. “Oh. Sorry, hold on,” you looked away, straightening yourself up as best as you could. “Shit, Mingyu, you woke me up and now I’m just--” He watched you dust off your shirt, “--a really big mess, sorry--”

“I woke you up,” he said. “It’s my fault--”

You quickly spoke up over him before he could actually apologize, “You didn’t know--”

The two of you stood there in a moment’s pause, neither speaking or moving, just waiting for the other to continue. Mingyu took a deep breath, taking initiative.

“I think I love you.”

You said nothing at first, just standing there, staring at him. “What?”

“I think,” he repeated, slower this time, “I’m in love with you. If you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay--”

Maybe it was the way you’d been staring at him--or, really at his lips--or maybe it was because he had woken you up. But you stepped closer to him, already leaning in to kiss him. He closed the distance, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed you. It was clumsy, and his nose bumped against yours, but something felt right kissing you. The bouquet of flowers fell from his grasp as he went to support you, hands resting at your waist to keep you steady. His fingers grazed your warm skin, fabric folding over his fingers as the two of you were lost in this moment.

Was it wrong that he already missed your lips when you pulled away? So soon? Mingyu wasn’t sure, but he liked that bashful look on your face as you grew flustered in your own actions. You started to apologize, to make an excuse that you were tired and weren’t thinking and just wanted to kiss him.

“It’s okay,” he said, still holding you close. “I’ll take you out to make up for it.”

With a giggle, you reached up and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “I think I’d like that.”