#and I just have to be content with doing it for myself and getting to a point where my cholesterol is lower and I look how I want to

[callipraxia]

I’ll admit it - thinking of ‘but what will people think of me?’ has stopped me short of writing things before, in everything from writing actual content to writing part of a review on a friend’s story. “What will [Friend] think, seeing that I know that? Even if I explain the actually relatively innocuous reason why I know it, would they even believe me? This is an issue of how something is portrayed in media that I feel pretty strongly about, but in context, it might be better to just…drop it.”

I…tried actually including a detailed example of my next point here, drawing from Anon’s Robert Jordan remark, but it ended up breaking the thousand-word limit before I even got past the introductory explanations, so I guess I’ll write a separate essay about why I don’t really agree with the “dudebro is secretly obsessed with lesbians and BDSM” line of thinking, maybe link it back here later if I remember. In the meantime, the point was - if I start thinking “dang, I think Author X has an Issue with Y,” it’s usually a lot less because of what the author leaves in than what the author leaves out. As an author, one deliberately chooses to explore certain topics, including dark ones that reflect the issues that preoccupy us (isn’t Anne Rice’s work supposed to be kinda messed up? I mean, I’ve never read a word she wrote that I can recall, but aren’t they all, y’know, horror novels?). As distasteful as we might find it, incest and pedophilia and sexual assault and suicide and all those other words you can’t use on YouTube are real things that happen every day. There’s a plethora of reasons why any given author might want to explore such issues in writing, and at least half of ‘em have nothing to do with sex. I’ve never heard anyone imply that Dostoyevsky must have been really, really turned on by the thought of attacking pawnbrokers with axes, much less that he ever committed a murder in real life just for the heck of it. From what I’ve read - though to be fair, my reading on the subject is not extensive - Nabokov probably wasn’t really a pedophile, and Mario Puzo probably had nothing to do with real-life organized crime. I have heard a few people suggest Stephen King must be a perverted serial killer in real life to write what he writes, but those people were idiots. And so forth. Point is, an author examining evil through a certain point of view really should not lead to the assumption that the author has done or wants to do any of those bad things. That’s why we say that authors use their imaginations when they’re working.

Plus, well…nine times out of ten, nobody’s going to make you read a book. If you really can’t read a book without getting uncomfortable because you can’t stop thinking that X or Y means that the author might have wanted his wife to put him on a leash and spank him, you can almost always just…put down the book and go read something else. You can also do this if you’re uncomfortable with Anne Rice apparently having conflicting feelings about God - that isn’t a potential theme that bothers me, but I know people who would be upset for days about reading something that even hinted at someone Having Questions about the divine. Heck, I have a few books I 99% enjoy and I just skim over or entirely skip parts that involve actions I find uncomfortable - my one hard rule is that I won’t willingly even skim anything where bad things happen to pets, but even then, I don’t assume that everybody who ever earned a Newbury Medal is a bad person who likes thinking about such things. I just don’t read their books. Unless you are compelled to do otherwise for a class* or the like, just do thou likewise.

*I was, very reluctantly, compelled to read two books in my undergraduate Adolescent Literature class where bad things happened to dogs; it was the first and last time in my life that I’ve ever tried to get out of reading something, but the professor didn’t believe what I could bring myself to explain about just how negative of a reaction I knew I would have if I read any books with dying dogs in them. Now I still have one of those scenes lodged in my carousel of intrusive thoughts that drive my anxiety level up and make it really difficult not to engage in compulsive behaviors whenever they rudely shove their way up to the front of my brain, but I don’t think badly of Sherman Alexie because of it.

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS BONUS CHAPTER

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlwifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd @lupinqs @ohmybueckers

warnings sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! i hit 1k last night so i figured it would be perfect to give you guys this lil thing. thank you guys so much for all the love since i joined this community, i can’t wait to put out more works for y’all 🥹 THANK YOU AGAIN FOR 1K!

August 2025 — Los Angeles, California

“You’re really about to go have drinks and leave me here? All by myself?” I whine, my head resting on the mirror where I sit on Raye’s bathroom counter.

The last month of being with Maraye has been nothing short of an adventure to say the least. The honeymoon phase was absolutely real, because I honestly think we’ve spent more time with one another than apart. Aside from my last road trip.

Which I believe is the sole reason for my complaining and frowning in front of her right now.

“I’ve had these plans for weeks. I haven’t seen my girls in forever, it’s the first time everyone’s back in LA.” She explains to me, and I get it. I really do, but something about just landing last night and only getting a few kisses before bed makes the fact that she’s going out even more ridiculous in my head.

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you in forever. Do you just hate me, or what?” I continued. I reach for the belt loop of Raye’s denim skirt, pulling her in between my legs. “Ma, c’mon.”

She has this look on her face that makes it so hard to act upset. Wide eyes and a thin lipped cheeky smile. Concealer dabbed under her eyes, blush on her cheeks, Raye got her lashes done yesterday morning and the fresh set makes her dark rimmed eyes look even more enticing.

My girlfriend is fucking hot. I’ve had the privilege of having my eyes blessed by her since we started dating. But God, even the simplicity of her black top and jean skirt— with the tiniest sliver of skin on her stomach showing and skirt just short enough to bring a lot of dirty thoughts to my imagination— makes the realization stick to me like glue.

“You look good.” I murmur as I trail my hand behind her. It finds a home against her waist at first, but I could only be tempted to drag it lower over her ass. “Real fuckin’ good.”

“I know. Which is why I’m going out.” Raye jeers. She pushes off of me, reaching for her just slightly pink lip gloss. It’s sheer when she swipes it over her plump lips, a nice color contrast to the dark brown of her lip liner.

My fingers tap frustratedly against my knee. “Baby. Jus’ stay wimme, c’mon.” I groan again, hoping that my combination of puppy eyes and the line of my jaw is enough to convince her. I watch the way Raye pats her lips together and I know it’s not on purpose but it sure as hell feels that way.

“You had all day to try to keep me home. You didn’t care until I got all dressed up, P.” She rolls her eyes playfully. Raye shutting off the light and leaving me in the darkness of her bathroom. The sexy scent of her Jimmy Choo perfume briefly puts me in a trance but I get up and follow her anyway.

“That’s ’cause I didn’t expect you to look this…this fucking fine.” My bottom lip can’t help but travel between my teeth as I watch her walk, her boots clicking against the hardwood of her apartment.

“That’s not my problem, babe.”

I scoff. “Don’t go out with ‘em, Raye. You’re telling me we wouldn’t have more fun here?” My voice is suggestive, just enough to make her stutter in her step before slowly pivoting to face me.

She’s processing what to say, and a part of me is begging that she’s going to take her boots off and throw herself at me so I have her as I want for the rest of the night.

Raye struts over to me, pressing her palm against my cheek. We’re nearly at eye level like this, the smell of her hair product wafts up to my nose. I jut my lips out towards her, to be honest I’m not sure I even realized how genuinely needy I was until right then.

“‘M gonna get lipgloss on you.” She sighs.

“On my life, I don’t give a shit.”

It seems enough to get her to give in, enough for Raye to lean in and pull me to her by my tank top, slotting her lips against mine. She tastes like that same faint, sweet, coconut scent of her body wash.

I immediately reach for her hands, lacing her fingers with mine and dragging her other hand down my torso as I deepen the kiss.

She grips the waistband of my shorts, my tongue doesn’t even bother being gentle with the way I shove it between her lips, licking at her tongue in a tangled exchange.

Seemingly, she forgets that she had places to be, which fills me with a sense of pride that sends a rush through me, I think I’ve probably soaked my boxers into nothing by now. Maraye’s phone buzzes in her purse, making her hum in almost…realization.

“They can wait.” I grunt against her lips, our teeth continuing to clash in pure want.

Raye breaks the suction of our mouths, a vulgar popping noise cutting through the soft noise of the TV in the back.

“You can wait.”

“It’s been forever, ma. You gon’ let me go over a week without you? For real?”

A laugh erupts from her mouth, Raye’s thumb brushing under my lip, probably ridding me of any of her now transferred lip product. “There’s food on the stove, don’t touch my AC, and I promise—” the girl pauses, taking the opportunity to sneak a kiss off of me, “— I’ll let you have whatever you want when I get back.”

I can’t do anything more than sigh as I watch her walk away, the sway of her hips and swell of her ass and the light that her kitchen illuminates on those long, brown legs. She picks up her keys and slings her jacket over her arm.

Within seconds she’s gone.

—

When I got to the bar, enveloped in conversation with my girlfriends from college, all it really took was a few shots to get me going. The conversation flowed easily, like we really hadn’t even been apart for as long as we really did. I was having a good time. Which honestly, is surprising considering how much work I’ve been doing for the last handful of months.

The night was calm, the soft noise of 2000’s music pumping through the speakers and the occasional cheers at the expense of tipsy women dancing only a few feet away.

That was until Paige, even as wonderful and perfect as I think she truly is, decided to use my obvious obsession towards her to her advantage.

paige: You doin alright angel?

Yk without your amazing girlfriend and all read 10:38pm

I sip on my margarita, the heat of the alcohol and the almost sudden heat in the pit of my stomach is so strong that they’re one and the same. This is how it starts with her, I’ve learned. Short texts, asking how I am or about my whereabouts. I always find the second question amusing considering she has my location. It’s distracting in a way that makes me forget where I am.

“Oh my God, look at Cass.” My good friend who sits to my left, Nia, points up to my sister. The woman is obviously shit faced, too many drinks taken by this part of the evening. She dances carelessly alongside a few of the other girls.

“I swear she only had a few?” I look shocked, taking a mental note and making sure the only thing Cassie has to drink for the rest of the night is water.

“Multiply that by like, four.”

My ready response is immediately cut off by another text, the blinding light that comes from Paige’s contact makes me roll my eyes.

paige: Read? Wow what position y’all in rn 10:40pm

maraye: oh my god you’re dramatic as hell 😭

i’m fine baby, u? 10:41pm

paige: Nah not rlly

I’m wet as fuck rn just thinking about you

Made a mess on your couch :/ 10:42pm

My breath catches in my throat, coming off as a gasp to Nia. “You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Imma head to the bathroom real fast.” I explain, trying my best to mask any possible stutter as I stand up, fixing my skirt. She doesn’t say much, which is a relief to me as I dart off to the bathroom in the back.

This is classic Paige, trying to do anything to get in my head just because she can. And as much as I’d hate to admit that it’s working, it is.

The way she was so straightforward about it, drawing me into the conversation with lighthearted Paige-esque texts only to flip the script into something much more filthy within a matter of minutes.

I lean my back on the singular porcelain sink, gripping my phone in my hands. I reopen our text thread, racking my brain for what to say to her that won’t lead to me making a mess out of my panties.

maraye: paige quit itttt

i literally just got here 10:44pm

paige: I literally don’t care 🤷🏼‍♀️

Can’t get your ass in that skirt outta my head

Got my fingers all sticky and shit 10:45pm

I swear my heartbeat speeds up times fucking ten, my chest heaving like she sucked all the air out of my lungs without even being here.

The picture she just painted in my head makes my knees weak.

Hot and bothered even more than before I left. Paige’s fingers, long and so ridiculously skilled, between her thighs as she got off to me. The thought of her imagining me or looking at pictures of me, it’s so downright dirty that I can’t believe I didn’t indulge in sexting with her before this.

I take a deep inhale, wanting to blink back my thoughts of her coming on my couch, my name off of her lips like a prayer.

paige: 1 Attachment: 1 Video

I think you should come back home 10:47pm

Fumbling with my phone I finally tap the screen and get the video open. It’s pitch black at first, then the view of her lower body fills my whole screen. Paige’s legs spread wide on my couch, a foot propped up on the armrest as she lets out an audible groan.

Her hand tugs up the hem of her wife beater, then her fingers rub circles over her clit. The sound of how wet she is loud, too loud, almost drowning out her moaning. I whine, crossing my legs and shutting my eyes. Maybe if I stopped looking at her I would keep what was left of my sanity.

And then she moans my name, again. My full name. Over and over and fucking over. I can’t help but drag my hand under my skirt, over my panties.

Then she slips three fingers inside, the stretch is obvious but the moan she lets out. Paige curls her fingers inside herself, I watch the camera tremble in response— she’s struggle to hold it still.

Then she’s slamming them in and out, a repetition that makes her almost cry. It sounds like water sloshing on the other side of the phone. Wet. Wet and fucking messy until she comes with a sound that could really only be described as a scream.

maraye: fuck baby 10:50pm

paige: I can’t stop cumming ma

Needa fuck you so bad

Come home 10:50pm

My breathing is ragged, and I know I shouldn’t but I’m considering it heavily. It’s so hard to believe that not even two weeks without her was making me act like this but it was.

maraye: you gotta come get me 10:51pm

paige: Otw read 10:52pm

—

"So, What'd you tell 'em?" I murmur. We sit at a red light, my left hand gripping the steering wheel so hard that even in the late night lighting you can tell how strained they are. But my right hand, trails slowly up Raye's thigh. She didn't fight me, not at all, her legs spreading further in the seat of my Jeep.

I can feel the warmth exuding from her before I even get a chance to press against her cunt.

"Hmm?"

"Your girls. What was your excuse, ma?" I ask again, pressing my foot to the gas pedal as soon as that green light flashes in my face.

My fingers take their time traveling towards her center and the second they do, Raye adjusts in the seat. She pushes her hips up the leather, tipping her head back on the head rest.

"Told 'em you needed a good fuck?" I pull her panties aside, and the second they touch my fingertips I learn that she's fucking soaked. "That you were so fuckin' needy that you had to go home to me, huh?"

The soft sound of PartyNextDoor fills the car alongside the soft hum of pleasure from Raye's lips. My eyes dart down to her, the way she has her eyes glued shut, the heavy rise and fall of her chest. Then I follow the slope of her nose and the tip of her head. The city streetlights make her look like an angel, just glowing.

"Y’were the one begging for me." She groans as I slip my finger inside. The angle puts a slight strain on my wrist but I don't really care. I look back to the road, it's pure luck that the roads tonight are kind of empty.

“It worked tho’ right? Got you just how I want you.” I smirk at the fact, tapping my free hand against the steering wheel.

Raye is so damn warm against me, hugging my middle finger like a vice. "So jus' lemme know. Did you say how wet I make you, that's why you couldn't stay?"

"Oh fuck you." She moans, biting her lip so hard that I think she might draw blood.

“Imma do that, baby. Trust me.” I hum.

Maraye is reactive, if it’s the one thing I’ve noticed about having sex with her, it’s that. Sure the sound of her pussy around my finger is loud but her moans might be louder. Then when I slip in a second finger she lets out a whimper, an almost helpless one.

She tries to steady herself, splaying a hand on my center console but it only does so much. It stabilizes her for a moment until I curl my fingers in that way I know she likes. Her hips jerk up, riding up her skirt in the process.

“You tryna run? I thought you knew better than that, Raye.” I shake my head. I’m lucky we’re on a straight road, it gives me enough time to briefly let my hand leave the wheel to pin her hips down to the seat.

“Y—you’re so good.” She groans, blinking her eyes open. “M’gonna cum.”

I make a swift turn onto her street, racking my brain for all the ways I could turn this woman to putty until the sun came up. “Nah you gonna hold it until we get to yours.” I mutter, dragging my fingers in and out with a fervor. “Then you’re gonna let me fuck you with my cock.”

I watch her jaw fall slack at my words, either in shock or pleasure but regardless it’s addicting. She nods rapidly, whining as I slow my fingers until they’re barely even moving inside her and I finally get a chance to park the car.

“More, baby. Mor—”

“Gonna soak me up the way you’re soaking my seat. Jus’ fuckin’ up my car, huh? You’re gonna give it to me.” I turn my body to face her, gripping her chin so she’s looking at me. My fingers twist inside of her, the squelch of it all catches us both off guard. “Imma stretch you out so wide it hurts. Ruin that pussy, yeah?”

“Yes. God, yes.” Raye nods.

Her eyes roll back, more than enough to make me moan and pull my fingers out. They’re soaked with her arousal, a sheen that drips to my palm. I’m wrapped in the scent of her— sex, perfume, and coconut— a combination that makes me drip down my legs.

“Then let’s go.” I mutter, turning off the car sticking my keys into the pocket of my shorts. My hand comes up to my lips, cleaning them of the mess she had made. “Lemme get you right.”

—

Paige is fucking hot.

Her skin burns under my touch, yes, but it’s everything else too. How her lips chase after mine like I could run away, capturing my bottom lip in her mouth. Her tongue licking past my lips, into my mouth, and onto my tongue.

Our clothes are mostly long gone, my boots and skirt laying somewhere near my front door, and the rest of them occupied random spots across my bedroom floor.

And then that damn harness.

The first time we had sex and she brought up the strap I thought it was all a ploy to turn me on. Don’t get me wrong, it worked, made me cum so hard my legs shook until I fell asleep. But seeing it, seeing the way the dildo hangs from her hips— a long and girthy dark purple— made me drool.

She was blatantly vulgar with it, my cock, the words off her lips so dirty that i’m surprised they turn me on as much as they do. But that’s just Paige, everything she does turns me on.

She tangles her hand behind me to the clasp of my bra which she unclips and forces down my arms. Following that, a slap meets my ass hard. Hard enough that I’m almost positive she left a bruise.

“I been dreaming about this shit, y’know?” She starts. Her teeth nip at my lips, soothing the slight sting with short and soft pecks. “Tearin’ it open, how good that shit would feel.”

I hum against her, letting the blonde push me back against the bed. “That’s what got you so worked up, baby?” I tease. Paige watches me with wide eyes and an even wider mouth as I trail my panties down my legs, they’re soaked from her stunt over the phone and in the car.

“Fuck, Raye, y’ont even know.” She groans.

I watch the way her eyes flutter shut, like she’s imagining it all over again, and her hand travels to the strap. Her hand wraps around it, enough to remind me of how fucking huge her hand is. She strokes it as if it’s an extension of her. There’s a faint buzzing that I hear on the other end, and just knowing she’s getting off too makes this whole thing even more appealing.

“Been thinking about splitting me open, yeah?” I ask as my hands travel up to my chest, gripping my breast before bringing my other hand to my mouth. I’m putting on a show for her licking my fingers and shoving them between my legs, rubbing over my clit. “Make me cum on your cock, baby. Please?” I beg, widening my legs to make room for her.

“Scoot back.” The blonde instructs. And I do. I know better than to work her up some more.

I watch my girlfriend’s spit drip from her mouth and onto the tip as she hovers over me. She spreads it over the silicon before spitting on my cunt too. Paige teases the tip against me and I swear the minute she pushes it inside me, my body heat rises uncontrollably.

“Oh my—shitttt, baby!” I think I feel it in my chest, the pressure that fills me completely. My inner thighs sting as she slides the dildo in to the hilt, letting out a soft gasp that matches my expletive. Paige’s arms cage me in, palms pressed against beside my head as she starts rocking her hips.

I’ve had my fair share of sex and sexual experiences, but this right here, makes everything else I’ve ever done look like child’s play. The stretch is unbelievable. And even if Paige had taken it upon herself to try and prep me with her fingers all this time, they don’t even compare.

It’s so intimate, Paige’s breath fanning against my face and her thin silver chain dangling against me too. Her strokes are slow, and deep. Incredibly deep. She reaches a spot inside of me that hasn’t been tapped before, and she does it fast, almost instantly.

“Talk to me, pretty girl.” She murmurs in my ear. Paige’s hand wraps around my waist, raising my hips just enough to make my eyes water. “Tell me how that pussy feelin’.”

I gasp. “So… so fuckin’ good. Mmmm it’s perfect, baby.”

Paige speeds up, not rapid but just enough that I’m arching my back and throwing my hips down against her. My legs curl around her hips to pull her in deeper.

“Oh shit.” Paige grunts, the vibrator against her cunt coupled with the movement of my hips is stimulating her heavy. “This whatchu needed? Just good dick, yeah? He wasn’t hittin’ it right?”

I dig my nails into her biceps, which are huge from her All-Star break workouts, and shake my head. Her eyes flutter open, lip tucked between her teeth. She looks fucking incredible, Paige’s hair is down for the first time in a while. She’s always pulling it back, but right now with the way it shadows us in a curtain is goddess like.

“Answer me, angel.”

“Uh huh, yes! Fuck yes, I needed it so bad, P.” I moan. Paige only briefly pauses to change her angle, but then she’s right back against me. Skin to fucking skin. She unhooks my leg from around her, pushing it back as far as she could.

Her nose brushes against my own. “You take me so good. Keep suckin’ me up, ma.”

My eyes roll as the coil in my stomach tightens, I don’t think I’ve ever come this fast in my life. The way the strap rakes laboriously into my cunt is toe curling. “Needa cum. Let me, please.” I hiccup. My fingers tangle into her hair, tugging her locks slightly.

“Tell me you love it.”

Those five words are enough to make me fall under a spell. Paige’s voice is laced with fucking drugs, deep and breathy against my mouth.

“I love this shit. Love your cock, baby.” It comes out as almost a cry.

The admission makes Paige smirk and chase after my mouth, locking our lips in a kiss that draws the orgasm out of my body. She moans all high and drawn out into my mouth meshing our tongues messily.

“You wanna cum, Raye?” She stutters. I notice it, obviously. The change in her pitch and the way she slightly trips over her words. She’s close, probably overstimulated from her activities on my couch.

“Please?”

“I want it, baby. Cum for me.”

And I do. Gushing over the silicone almost instantly. Paige helps me ride it out, kissing the corner of my mouth before trailing her lips to my cheek. “Good girl. My perfect girl.” She hums.

She carefully pulls out, trying to be as gentle as she possibly can but I still hiss at the feeling. A whimper leaves my lips at the empty feeling, I miss her inside me already.

Paige flops beside me on the bed, she’s watching me catch my breath. I can feel her eyes on me even though i’m not looking at her. Her eyes like lasers, scanning over me. The blue says everything she’s yet to.

“Just say you wanna go again.”

She laughs at that while throwing her arm over my hip. It rests heavy on my abdomen. I finally turn my head to her, the sweat on her entire body only makes the chain on her neck glisten in the light.

“C’mere.” It comes out as a whimper and I can only assume it’s from the dull stimulation from the vibrator. Paige reaches for my hips, helping me straddle her hips. I happily lean down to her, kissing her perfect pink lips with a smile. “Ride it.”

I take the length in my hand, my release now decorating my palm. I tease my own entrance then sink down on it slowly. The feeling is even more foreign than taking her in missionary.

Before I even get the chance to take every inch my hands fly to her chest, I plant my palms on her for stability.

“Too big?” It’s one of the first times I’m unsure if she’s serious or just teasing. I press my forehead against Paige’s, my chest heaving and breathless moans leaving my mouth.

“N—No. Jus’ full. So full, P. Fuck.” I dart my head into the crook of her neck whining like an animal as she pushes me down her cock. I swear it sits in my stomach.

Her large and veiny hands grip my ass, she starts the pace off slow, using me like a fucking toy. “Y’know I gotchu.” Paige whispers into my ear.

“It’s—mmph— so fuckin’ deep. I can’t, baby.” I moan again, trailing my hand back to her hair as if the blonde locks would ground me.

It’s like Paige’s demeanor shifted within a matter of seconds. She’d been soft all night, at least for the most part, but the way her hand slaps my ass is anything but soft. “One month with me and you can’t take dick no more? What happened, mama? You were talking all that shit—”

I cut her off by getting on my toes and the first grind of my hips shuts her up. Her groan was thick, the kind of gruff sound that made it seem like she was barely hanging on herself. The blonde nips at my collarbone.

Paige watches me like a hawk, her breathing heavy and jaw slightly slack. “M’fucking God, Raye. Ohhh shit— you’re a fuckin’ slut.” She moans. Her body falls deeper into the stack of pillows, leaning back just enough to look over my body. My tits in her face and her strap sliding in and out of my soaked cunt.

“Your s-slut tho’. Right, baby?”

“Yeah. All fucking mine, ride me like a pro.”

The way her eyes snap shut makes me work harder. I bounce on the balls of my feet, any previous inhibitions disappearing as soon as I saw how good it was for her. How her legs trembled under me.

I bite my lip in an attempt to keep quiet, much to Paige’s dismay. She reaches for my bottom lip, untucking it from my mouth and forcing her thumb inside instead. I suck on it instantly, throwing my hips down harder.

“Feels so good, P…” I mumble around her finger. “S’in my stomach.”

“I know, ma. So tight, for me.” She groans. Paige’s hips snap up into mine, instantly ruining any rhythm I had for myself. I scream erupts from my throat, one I didn’t even know I was holding back until she does it again.

Her thumb leaves my mouth, hands gripping my hips, nails digging into the skin. I meet her halfway, matching her thrusts with my grinds. “Gonna cum. Need it, baby. Needa nut in this pussy, fuck.” Paige babbles, her better judgment clouded by the need to get off.

It’s sexy. Her voice frays around the edges, suddenly becoming much more weak than before.

“You love this pussy, right, baby?”

“Mmm. Love it, love this shit. Oh my God.”

There’s only been a few times I’ve gotten to see Paige fall apart. Like fully lose all of her dominance and just lose herself. This is easily one of those times.

“Raye, I’m— fuuckkkk, you feel so good, damn.” She tosses her head back, moan after moan meeting my ears as she finishes. And there’s a part of me, that hopes all the literal inaccuracies dissipate and she does come in me. Deep inside until I’m dripping with it.

That picture makes me work faster. She’s overwhelmed, clawing at my hips but I don’t care. The need to finish myself clouds my brain.

“Ma, hold on. Fuck, hold on.”

“Needa get mine too. Don’t be selfish, P.” I grumble. I sit back on my knees, grinding my hips back and forth. I don’t hold back anything for a single second, moaning and crying out her name. Paige’s hips jerk up, and that jerk pushes me over the edge.

I squirt. Hard.

I think I go blind for a minute, nothing but stars in my vision. Paige clutches my hips, I hear the whimper that comes from her. Getting off on my own orgasm.

When I finally stop, Paige is quick to turn the vibrator off, letting out a breath I didn’t even know she was holding in. She helps me off of her and my legs, that literally feel like jelly, give out immediately. I fall to her side, and the room is filled with a comforting silence.

Paige looks at me, it was caring at first, eyes silently asking me if I was alright. To which I responded with a small nod. Then it shifts. She looks smug.

“What?”

“I took your girl virginity.” She sings, making me roll my eyes.

“I hate you.” I mutter.

“Oh I bet you do.”

[puppy4vi]

Jealous Caitlyn and Reader :3

not writing for vi feels wrong lol but it was 3 am and I had a vision ^.^

cw: sexual themes but not super explicit (maybe part two will just be smut if u guys like it..) possessive / toxic Caitlyn, blegh proofreading

Caitlyn doesn’t like seeing you talk to other women, whether it’s to be friendly or not. She doesn’t see a point in you talking to others - she always gives you the attention you deserve, spoils you to your hearts content, and makes sure you are happy, so why do you need other women?

She wanted to be a good girlfriend, treating you to dine at a fancy restaurant as a reward for being so good for her lately. you’re usually on your best behavior for her, it’s the most you can do for your girlfriend who spoils you rotten - though, when one of the waitresses start showing slight interest in you - it causes Caitlyn to raise an eyebrow.

Caitlyn’s hand slides up your thigh at the booth the waitress seated you two in , she lightly taps your inner thigh to get your attention.

She whispers into your ear;

“Did you see how she was looking at you?”

You laugh and roll your eyes. You knew Caitlyn was the jealous type, but you felt like she was over-exaggerating this situation in particular. “Caitlyn, she works here. Do you want her to be rude to m-“ Caitlyn was quick to cut you off.

“I never said that, I just think it’s unnecessary to start a conversation with you when I’m right here. I’m more than capable to answer her myself.”

You just slightly shake your head at her words, which caused her to groan in annoyance. She didn’t like when you didn’t listen to her, especially when she knew she was right (and she always was).

“We’ll see who’s right later on.” Caitlyn whispered into your ear - lightly squeezing your thigh before pulling away. Even though you thought her jealousy was unjustified, you can’t help but feel a slight attraction towards it. The way she wasn’t afraid to tell you what’s on her mind and was so certain to stake her claim onto you made you flustered.

The waitress from earlier returns with refreshments. Before you could say thank you, Caitlyn made sure to cut you off before you could even muster a word. She thanked the waitress in a monotone voice, trying to get her to leave as quick as possible to have you to herself.

Caitlyn spots the waitress slightly ogling you before she left their table, and it just made her eye twitch. She wanted to leave the restaurant right now - to mark you up just to bring you back here - to flaunt her marks she freshly made on you to everyone who works here, but she already drove all the way here. Mind as well get food before you and her even plan on leaving officially.

Caitlyn eyes your short frame as you drink your beverage. She loved how much smaller you were than her, how easy it was to mark you up whenever she wanted. She wished she could get her mind out of the gutter, but when she thinks of any woman ogling you, she can’t help but admire what she makes sure they’ll forever miss out on.

The waitress came back shortly to take their main course order. You clear you throat before speaking;

“ Can I have the-“

“Honey, just whisper your order to me. I’ll say it for you.”

You were going to complain, you really were- but her forceful smile kind of intimidated you (and turnt you on), so you obeyed her command, and she spoke to the waitress afterwards.

“We’ll have the cooked black cod with lobster ravioli please. Apologies for the possible confusion earlier.”

the waitress nods as she writes the order down and smiles

“oh don’t worry if I had cute girl like her around, I’d be a bit protective too” the waitress giggles as she looked at you. It seemed more like playful banter to you if anything -

But oh, did Caitlyn like that. Caitlyn’s blood was practically boiling at the sight of this girl trying to steal you away from her. She wasn’t going to have it. She was about to bad mouth the waitress, though you (thankfully) cut her off.

“Thank you, that’ll be all” you gave the waitress a soft smile before she left the table, but that just made Caitlyn more infuriated. She couldn’t stand this anymore, or just witness this happen without doing anything to her, or you.

“I’m going to have a talk with her” Caitlyn didn’t even eye you as she gets ready to walk over, you grabbed her arm with both of your hands. You didn’t underestimate her strength - she could push you off of her with ease, but you had to try something.

“Caitlyn don’t do anything stupid”

“Everything I do is far from that.”

“Please.”

Caitlyn turnt her head to look at you - pleading for her to not do anything irrational. The mixture of jealousy and arousal running through her body was almost unbearable- she shrugged and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Either I go and take care of that waitress that clearly has a thing for you, or drag you out of this restaurant and have my way with you? Which one will it be?”

Your eyes widen at Caitlyn’s words. You knew how strong Caitlyn was - and how dedicated she is when she’s set on something which can end up ugly. You nod your head yes.

“Okay”

She tries to hold in the grin that’s threatening to slip out onto her face;

“Okay, what? You have to be more specific”

You look up at her. Your doe eyes captivating her as you finally say the words she’s been wanting to hear ;

“I’ll let you have your way with me”

She doesn’t waste any time after that, grabbing you by the arm - making sure to dig her nails into you to leave a mark for later. Caitlyn drags you out of the restaurant and takes you into her car. Once you two get in - she doesn’t bother to talk to you at all - just ready to take you home and play with your body for hours. The car ride is filled with silence and unspoken tension.

Once you two arrive to your shared home - Caitlyn turns to sustain eye contact with you, telling you it’s time to get out of this car before she doesn’t even bother walking into that house.

You both get out of the car and Caitlyn walks over to grab your wrist - leaving her signature painful grip as always. She drags you through the house and straight into her spacious bedroom. Caitlyn doesn’t even bother to close her door and starts to play with the edge of your skirt with one hand, and unbuckling her belt with the other.

“You liked the attention she was giving you, huh? You like seeing me get like this”

“Caitlyn no- I-“

“Save it.”

She successfully takes her belt off and bends you over her legs - sitting on the bed as she pulls your tiny skirt up.

“Gonna bruise your body up so no one will be able to look at you without seeing my mark.”

She teasingly rubs the belt against your butt. You can’t help but shiver at the cold metal against you. She tauntingly laughs at you.

“Should I spank you until you cry, princess?”

[plutoasteroids]

PAC - What are the basics of your soul contract

PILE 1 ^^ PILE 2 ^^ PILE 3 ^^

PILE 4 ^^ PILE 5 ^^ PILE 6 ^^

My readings are ALLEGEDLY for entertainment purposes only! Anything said in my readings do not replace professional advice from qualified and educated persons respectively!

Tarot readings are not a replacement for seeking professional guidance.

This reading MAY or MAY NOT contain triggering content - Proceed with caution

This is a general reading if you want a specific one for you and YOUR energy you can get a paid reading- PAID READINGS!

PILE 1

Your soul contract requires you to let your emotions out and embrace them for what they are because you are human and that is part and parcel of being human. You have been put into bad situations mainly from the people you loved and looked up to and that hurt caused you to in a way close your heart off Your soul contract needs you to look back at all of it learn from it and open up your feelings again instead of lying to yourself that you are this cold, unaffected person when in reality you are a sensitive soul and that is who you always will be. You need to learn to embrace that gentle nature of yours because it's not going anywhere, it's part of you in this life and the next.

PILE 2

Your soul contract is in relation to work and career. For you it is more so you are forced to conform to a certain societal standard in relation to career, basically picking more traditional careers like being a doctor, lawyer, engineer etc and deep down you know that's not what you want. You may come from a more conservative family. Your soul contract requires you to find a career that actually makes you happy, that doesn't really on other people's feelings and approval towards it. Once you let go of this you will open up a door that will flip your life upside down, making you happier and opening you up to greater more exciting opportunities that most people won't get.

PILE 3

You are the black sheep (most of you ended up becoming spiritual like tarot readers, astrologers, reiki healers in an attempt to heal and find your place) always have been always will be, you may have been bullied, treated badly by the people you care about or those closest to you (in proximity). You may have been left out in the cold which led to you developing a wall around you heart being this tough person when you really aren't deep down. Part of your soul contract is to make peace not with them but with yourself because once you do you are opening the door to building a happy, safe place for yourself. The basics of your soul contract is to heal family related wounds and build your own happy home, an environment that you never got to have or experience.

PILE 4

The basics of your soul contract start off with a tough childhood, you may have been shackled to the expectations of your family. Regardless, you have been put through situations that left you frustrated, upset, stressed and feeling like there is no way out or that there is nothing better out there for you. The basics of your soul contract need you to heal from all this hurt and trauma and once you do you will open yourself up to greater opportunities, you can't be in two places at once so your choices are live in the hurt and pain or heal and let the universe open the door to bigger financial, living and relationship opportunities.

PILE 5

For you there is a lot of karma in relation to relationships with other people in your life, you gave your all for and to other people just to be backstabbed and betrayed by the people closest to you to the point of maybe isolating yourself and believing that there is nothing good in terms of relationships for you. Your soul contract urges you to learn from those experiences. Not everyone is going to be your friend. You need to make peace with the fact that you are different and not everyone is going to appreciate it there is a negative and positive to everything you need to learn to sieve it out as well as the people in your life. Learn what you need and leave out what you don't especially in relationships. You are a people pleaser and that is not in your contract to be one.

PILE 6

The basics of your soul contract is to nurture both your emotions and your divine feminine. In the past you may have felt like you don't have control over yourself that other people are shackling you which has toughened you out and, in the process, you neglected your feminine and emotions. Now the basics of your soul contract urges you to be gentler, more fluid, to find peace in the toughest situations and be able to make choices without compromising your own emotions, values and beliefs. Your soul contract wants you to learn how to balance the masculine and the feminine know which to use in what situation instead of one over the other.

[meleebites]

🧸 Hugs, kisses, snuggles, words. He's very warm.

🦢 "You need to stop snoring, Gorey. I'm a light sleeper." "I told you far too many times that I can sleep on the couch if you can't sleep with me!"

🍡 How many times have I answered this question? He has no nicknames for me, I call him everything in the book that isn't "babe", "bae" or "baby".

🪽 Still working this part out but damn was it ever warm and comforting. He deserved it. His soft lips deserved it. <3

🪺 "Oh, he's pretty and he's nice and I kinda wanna hug him." to "Most charming man alive, 10/10, I'd marry him and start a new family with him."

🪷 Picture a divorced middle-aged man starting a selfship blog. That's literally it.

🧊 Proper grammar, emojis (particularly hearts), no extreme tones. Has autocorrect.

🍋‍🟩 Probably something cheesy. "My beloved Kannon ♡" "MY PRECIOUS BUTTERCUP ♡"

💍 We'd get married ASAP if we didn't care about how long we've been a thing for. Asgore would LOVE to get married, as his last divorce really affected him and he wants to get back what he once had, but he'd be nervous about me leaving him like he normally is. I'm a bit less ready for marriage, as I have less experience and am younger, but I want our bond to get even stronger so nothing could tear us apart.

🪻 In source his favourite is golden flower tea. He'll drink any herbal or floral tea. He probably doesn't drink them cold usually.

☁️ We don't actually do much, come to think of it. We just coexist and breathe in each other's air. And eat. And sleep. And play games. And go on walks. And make out. And cuddle. And travel. Or something close.

🛍 He always gives me flowers. They mean a lot to him. He gives me ones that remind him of me. I mostly get him food, or I make art for him, or whatever he asks me to get him... but if he does that, he's in a great mood. He usually tells me not to buy or get him anything as he says he is undeserving of gifts. He isn't.

🫧 Skipping this one yet again as it's difficult for me.

🪼 Writing fanfiction is something I do to cheer myself up. I'm good at writing (I think) so I always have a fanfiction I'm working on. Unfortunately, I don't really share these as the contents are usually sexual and might offend some people. It's not proshippy though, that stuff's gross.

misc. selfship asks ❤︎

thank you for 400! <3 answer these asks however you'd like, but please practice reblog karma if applicable! 💌

🧸 - how would your f/o try to comfort you if you were upset? 🦢 - what's a petty argument you'd have with your f/o? 🍡 - what nicknames do you have for each other?

🪽 - what was your first kiss with your f/o like, if you've had it?

🪺 - describe your f/os perception of you before you got together, compared to what it is now! 🪷 - if the roles were reversed and your f/o was the one selfshipping with you, what would their blog look like?

🧊 - how would your f/o text you? would they use proper punctuation/capitalization, or type more informally?

🍋‍🟩 - similarly, what would your contact names be for each other?

💍 - how do you and your f/o feel about marriage?

🪻 - what's your f/o's coffee or drink order?

☁️ - how does your f/o like to spend their free time with you? 🛍️ - what would your f/o get you as a gift? additionally, what would you get for them?

🫧 - what song(s) remind you of your f/o?

🪼 - what’s your favorite way to feel closer to your f/o?

proship/comship/neutral dni

[muchosbesitos]

WICKED GAMES

marriage. what usually came as a union of love came as a status of power to the gojo clan. but before you step foot at the altar, tell him you love him. only for tonight?

FEATURING: geto suguru x princess! reader

CONTENTS: 18+ content, mdni. non canon compliant/modern setting au, arranged marriage, infidelity (ish), some angst, smut, face sitting, 69, cunnilingus, fingering, blowjob, unprotected p in v, slow missionary -> fast sex, cum eating, mention of a guillotine, mention of blood, use of pet names (my lady, princess, your highness), kinda switchy i guess, satoru mentions.

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: happy late birthday to my wife 🥹ovulation n the weeknd helped me write this :p

the first time that suguru geto stumbled in through your window had been completely by mistake.

nothing other than a simple village boy with no actual sense of direction—just the instructions that satoru had given. pebbles dug into his palms as he climbed up the cobblestone walls of the castle—a climb further than he’d anticipated.

all just have a chance to play digimon with the only friend he’d managed to make in school.

he really should’ve stayed home.

dirt covered his once cream colored slacks, dripping and smearing all the way down to the brown boots he had on. leaving behind foot print after foot print marked on the once pristine porcelain floors.

“you should’ve given me a map of the estate grounds. your directions sucked,” he called out, his back turned as he attempted to carefully shut the windows behind him.

“i wasn’t expecting you to come in through my window in the middle of the night,” you retorted dryly, looking up from the book you were reading over to where he was standing. akin to a fish out of the water. mouth open, mouth close. you could practically hear the gears turning in his head, thinking of some excuse to get out of this.

“satoru’s room is across the hall,” you added before he had the chance to talk, flipping the page over. you expected to hear the sound of his boots squeaking across the floor, trudging to quickly make his way out of the room.

“you mind giving me a bandaid? i cut myself on the way up here,” suguru spoke unabashedly, nothing like the villagers who seemed to even be afraid to breathe wrong in your direction.

“come on, i have a first aid kit in the bathroom,” and bathroom was a severe understatement. it was practically the size of a small house and then some. suguru took a seat in front of the vanity you had set up, taking a chance to look around while you gathered the kit.

taking notice of everything scattered around, from the little trinkets of gold jewelry to the polaroids you had taped onto the mirror.

you came back a couple seconds later, plopping down next to him and opening up the red box.

“there’s a ladder in the stables for the next time satoru has you running around the castle,” you took his hand within your own, examining the cuts that littered his hands. nothing too deep, at least. you began wiping away the dried blood, a small wince leaving suguru’s lips as the alcohol seeped into the wound.

despite the sting, suguru took notice of how gentle you were being. wiping away the blood slowly and deliberately, dabbing some ointment into him with the utmost care in the world. “you didn’t have to help me,” he let out a scoff, trying to keep some of his pride intact.

trying (and failing) to hide the way his heart skipped a beat when your fingers held onto him for a little longer.

“you would’ve smeared blood all over the floor,” you answered, letting out a scoff of your own. you tossed away the dirty pads, cleaning up behind you. fully expecting suguru to leave your room now.

“do you need something else?” you raised a brow, looking over to see if he had any other injuries. for the sake of keeping the palace floors clean, of course.

“c’mon princess, no kiss for my boo boo’s?”

“get out.”

hello kitty bandaids adorned his fingers when you’d finished—bandaids that thirteen year old geto paraded around as if they were his very own medals of honor. even when the other gojo started to tease him relentlessly over them.

“they didn’t have spider-man ones or something?” gojo let out a snicker, turning on the monitor and illuminating the entirety of his dark bedroom.

“shut up. they’re not that bad,” a response that only got him more laughter from satoru. (and a long explanation to the queen after she’d overheard the two of them sneaking around.)

the second time that suguru geto stumbled into your room—he’d used the door instead.

the day of your sixteenth birthday—an event that you’d spent nearly two months in advancing preparing for. preparing the perfect invitations, the perfect decorations; trying to have the types of parties people raved about days after.

only for your parents to completely disrupt your plans—hosting a gala in record time. instead of pink sparkle decoration, three cream colored balloons floated across the room. and then to top it off, your parents had deemed you old enough to arrange your marriage.

“step forward and state your name.”

“prince kamo.”

“next. step forward and state your name.”

none of the boys that stepped forward bothered to give you a second glance—not even as to check who exactly it was that they were getting married to. treating it like a business arrangement. “if your daughter married me, think about the resources we’d be able to send. the decades of animosity would end.”

you snuck up to your room with a slice of cake in hand, taking a seat on the floor. the music continued to play outside, the saxophone slowly starting to drive you up the wall. the door creaked open before suguru stepped in, holding a plate of cake in his hand.

“not enjoying your party, princess?” he took a seat down next to you, using his fork to slice a piece of cake.

“you consider this a party?” you mused, taking a bite out of your cake. you leaned your head back against the mattress, “i’m being auctioned off as a bride and i haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”

“and you can’t say no to getting married? it’s your life, you know,” a naive question that even you’d considered since the event started. you shook your head, dabbing the frosting off the corners of your mouth.

“pretty much every past queen has done the same, i’d be considered a disgrace if i didn’t go through with it.

suguru turned to look at you, his expression completely serious, “then why don’t you let me be your first kiss?”

you almost spat out the piece of cake onto his face, your eyes widening like saucers. at your reaction, he immediately began to backpedal, “just so you don’t have to kiss a complete stranger. but don’t feel obligated. just forget i asked.”

you cleared your airway, letting the thought simmer in before answering, “okay, you can be my first kiss. just.. take it easy on me.”

suguru placed a hand on your cheek, slowly moving in to meet your face halfway. he tilted his head to the side, his eyes fluttering shut before his lips made contact with your own.

your own eyes soon fluttered shut, your lips slightly parting. everything that suguru did, you tried to copy to perfection. taking his bottom lip in between your lips and closing your mouth. gently biting down on his lower lip when you were going up for air.

“was that okay?” you opened your eyes, noticing that suguru hadn’t pulled away just yet. keeping you close for another couple seconds before almost seeming to hesitate when did manage to break away.

“more than okay, princess. you’re a natural at this.”

at the end of the night, suguru brushed a thumb over his lips. savoring the first kiss he’d received. even with nothing else to compare it to, he knew. he knew that you were the only one he wanted to kiss ever again.

but tonight that suguru geto stumbled in through your window had been anything but a mistake.

the night before your wedding.

whereas most soon-to-be brides would be pacing a hole into their bedroom floor, calling to check and re-check that everything was in order for their special day, you were doing everything but.

“c’mere and take a seat on your throne, your highness,” suguru beckoned you over with a flick of two fingers, raven locks splayed across your silk pillowcases almost perfectly. maybe he was the princess between the two of you. you moved up across his chest, your sloppy pussy leaving a slime trail in your wake before you finally got right where he wanted you.

hovering above his mouth like a five course meal waiting to be savored and devoured. not that it was nearly enough to have him completely satisfied, though.

before you had any chance to object, his large hands gripped the plushness of your thighs and pushed you down onto his expecting mouth.

“one would’ve thought you’d be good with following directions by now, my lady,” suguru clicked his tongue, firmly pressing you against his mouth. like he wanted nothing more than your thighs to suffocate him completely.

“i only give them,” a sharp gasp left your lips. kiss after kiss peppered your inner thighs as suguru moved up, purposely avoiding the very obvious dripping pussy in front of his face.

“well, follow this one for me. use me, princess. i’m all yours to use,” suguru all but whined, his hands slowly starting to move you against his mouth.

one of your hands wrapped around his hair, grabbing a tight fistful before your hips started to gyrate against his mouth. your drenched lips rubbing against his own pretty spit covered lips. you clasped your other hand over your mouth, muffling your shaky breaths and broken moans.

“that’s it, take what you want from me. all yours princess, just yours,” even with a mouthful of pussy, suguru managed to babble like his life depended on it. his tongue carded up and down your folds before swirling against your throbbing clit.

the taste of you had been embedded so deep within his being—like it’d completely rewritten the dna encoded into his system. rewritten it to where he would only be satiated by you, like a drug. a drug that suguru got addicted to from the very first time.

“f-fuck sugu, don’t stop,” your grip on his hair tightened, formalities be damned. you bit down onto your hand, your teeth indenting into your palm in a half assed attempt to keep it down. he spat into your cunt, lapping up the mixture of saliva and slick like a man starved.

and who could really blame him for being so addicted? when you sounded like that? your moans were practically a symphony that could rival any band, any person that performed in the town square.

his cock strained against the confines of his pants, drop after drop of precum leaking onto the thin material of his boxers. he was sure he could cum in his pants just from eating you out. suguru’s hips bucked up in an attempt to gain friction, feeling himself throb and twitch.

he pulled his mouth away, the bottom half of his face glistening in a mixture of liquids. “why’d you stop?” the protest that slipped out was almost immediate, your fingers tugging on his hair harder. only for him to simply let out a moan in response.

“tell me what you want, your highness. you know i’ll give it to you,” suguru had a cocky grin on his face, like he hadn’t been desperately humping the air just a few seconds ago.

a small huff left your lips at the very prospect of you, the princess who got everything with a flick of her wrist, was debating on resorting to begging. but you knew well enough by now that being bratty never quite worked out with suguru.

the man was somehow more stubborn than you gave him credit for.

“please, sugu. your fingers, your tongue, just fuck me,” you relented, grinding your hips onto his mouth. suguru traced his pointer against your folds, dipping the tip inside.

“yeah, you want it that bad?” he questioned, bringing his finger down to his mouth. licking away at your essence. “please, suguru.”

and who was he to say no to that?

suguru pushed two of his fingers into your cunt, pushing past the initial resistance before curling his fingers just right. his mouth enclosed around your clit, swirling his tongue around the nub. moving it in very particular motions once you paid enough attention.

G-E-T-O

“couldn’t help yourself?” you let out a breathy whisper, your nails digging into his scalp. a low chuckle reverberated through his chest, the vibrations hitting your clit directly. “gotta give you something to think about throughout your marriage, princess.”

your cunt squelched loudly with every thrust of suguru’s fingers, your walls tightening around them. “f-fuck, please, sugu,” you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. “i know, i know, princess. need ol’ suguru to take care of you,” he cooed, practically making out with your clit.

the grip on his hair tightened, your rhythm starting to grow sloppy as you felt that familiar pressure building up in your lower tummy. “make me cum, make me cum,” you whined out, rocking your hips desperately against his eager tongue.

“use me princess. just here f’you to use,” you could barely register suguru’s words, each expert curl of his fingers as he hit your g-spot coaxing you closer and closer. suguru’s hands gripped your thighs, rocking you at the same rhythm when he felt your hips start to stutter.

“coming, coming, don’t stop,” you babbled the same thing over and over like a mantra, the pressure building like an orchestra’s crescendo. your walls squeezed his fingers tightly before your cunt gushed against his mouth, leaving suguru with a cocky grin on his face when he finished.

“so good for me, taste’s soo sweet,” you looked over to see suguru speaking to your cunt, running his tongue against your folds and entrance to savor the tangy taste of your release. he wiped away his chin and mouth, looking nothing short of completely satisfied with himself.

and then you got up from your spot, leaving a frazzled geto behind stumbling over his words. trying to figure out what he could’ve done wrong.

but before he had the chance to ask, you turned around and placed your pussy down on his lips yet again. without the need of him asking you to do so this time around. “what was that for?” suguru asked, letting out a moan as he sucked on one of your folds. like he’d been deprived more than just a couple seconds.

“you’ll see.”

your back arched as you leaned forward, wrapping your hand around suguru’s cock through his pants. just barely, barely rubbing the tip of your thumb against his clothed tip. “don’t t-tease me like that,” he pulled his mouth of your clit, if only to make that plea.

“come on, tell me what you want and i might give it to you,” you turned your head to look at him, a cocky smile on your face this time.

it was suguru’s turn to let out a huff, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit when he pulled away. “please princess, i want your mouth on my cock,” he gritted out, looking over at you.

you tapped a finger against your chin, letting out a small hum, seemingly thinking it over. you began tracing a vein on the side of his shaft with your thumb, your touch featherlight even while it twitched underneath your finger. “i don’t know, that doesn’t sound all that convincing to me.”

your tongue swiped across the tip in kitten licks, one of your hands wrapping around his shaft. you could practically feel suguru fighting to thrust up in your mouth.

“please, give me more. need more,” suguru whined, bucking his hips up to meet your hand. tentatively, so you wouldn’t pull away.

“see, it’s not that hard to beg,” you mused, hollowing your cheeks out to take more of his cock. your spit dribbled down onto his shaft when you bobbed your head, slowly pushing your head down.

“just like that, princess. fuck, fuck,” suguru moaned pathetically against your cunt. your own moans vibrated against his shaft, his fingers moving in a scissoring motion. stretching you out to his liking.

“fuck, fuck, just like that. take it all in,” suguru babbled as you hollowed your cheeks, filling your mouth with his cock. tears prickled in your eyes as you took his cock in fully, the tip of his cock hitting your uvula. you pulled away, a strangled breath leaving your lips.

kiss after kiss was left marked as you moved your way down his shaft, moving your way down to his heavy balls. you took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive sac before starting to suck. slurp. drip.

at this rate, you couldn’t even begin to distinguish which sounds came from your pussy or his cock.

your wrist flicked as you moved your hand up his shaft, squeezing around him. “shit, shit, so good. just like that, pretty,” suguru whined, bucking his hips against your grip. releasing his sac with a pop, you left a final kiss.

“yeah? just like that?” you teased, lazily dragging your finger across his sensitive balls.

“mhm, please. keep going, feels so good,” suguru’s pride had gone out the window the moment your tongue had been on him—turning into a moaning mess at just the littlest bit of contact.

your tongue swirled against the underside of his cock, tracing against the thick veins as you moved back up to the tip. taking him once again in your mouth, blowing bubbles with your spit when you drooled against the thick shaft.

suguru took your ass in his hands, as much as he could fit anyways, molding the flesh like putty before he spoke, “p-please. can’t last much longer, lemme cum inside you. need to cum inside you.” the man would practically feel his balls getting heavier, needing to unload.

strings of saliva connected your lips to the tip of his cock when you pulled away, drool practically covering your chin.

suguru let out a breathless laugh as he slumped down onto the mattress, looking over at you. “think i’m gonna miss that pretty mouth of yours the most,” he uttered, wiping off the sweat beading his forehead with the back of his hand.

“just my mouth?” you shifted to lay down next to him, tracing one of your manicured fingers across his arm.

“i mean, your mouth’s pretty great like i said. but no. everything about you, princess. your abysmal taste in tv, your freaky ass taste in books,” to which you left out a quiet laugh, swatting him away.

suguru hovered on top of you, lightly pressing a small kiss onto your forehead. kissing everywhere that he could, from the tip of your nose to the sides of your neck. “how sweet you smell, how good you taste. there’s not an inch of you that i’m not obsessed with.”

suguru took his hand within his own, examining the tacky piece of jewelry that adorned your ring finger. slender fingers slid the rock off, haphazardly throwing it against the wall where it landed with a loud THUMP.

“try to keep it down. the walls are th—”

“your highness, is everything okay? i heard a noise coming from your room?” one of the maids called out, concern laced in her tone. the door handle jiggled, instantly making you stand up from your spot. you cracked the door open just enough to peer your head outside, “i’m fine, thank you. just dropped something.”

“are you sure? i can come in and check, it’s really no problem,” she moved her head, trying to peek into the room.

“no! i mean—no, i’m okay. i promise. thank you, though,” you assured her, crossing your finger behind your back. hoping you didn’t sound nearly as nervous as you did to your own ears.

and before you had the chance to close the door, you heard her utter, “tell that boy to keep it down, princess. with all due respect i could hear you two from the other side of the hall.”

suddenly bringing up a raise to the queen tomorrow morning didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

you walked back over to the bed, spotting suguru covering his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes crinkling at the edges as he tried to keep himself from laughing too loudly. you smacked his shoulder, barely containing your own laughter, “i told you to keep it down.”

suguru slid over on top of you, resuming as if the knock on the door hadn’t occurred. “kinda hard to keep it down when it’s you,” he whispered, capturing your lips in between his own. this was more desperate—a clash of tongues moving in synchrony.

he pulled away, gripping your chin between his pointer finger and thumb and tilting your head up so you’d have no choice but to look him in the eye.

“tell me you love me, princess. tell me, please,” every single layer had been stripped away, leaving a man that was simply just desperate to hear those words. leaving behind just a lovestruck idiot.

“and even if i did tell you, it wouldn’t make a difference. i’m still getting married tomorrow,” you told him, trying to avoid looking at him. the words would’ve slipped out as soon as you saw the pained look on his face.

"you could've still said it, princess,” suguru let go of your chin, letting out a quiet sigh before leaning in. pressing his lips against the side of your neck, gently kissing his way down to your tits where he started to leave the occasional hickey. “but i’ll wait for you to say it. i know that you do.”

“you’ll be waiting for a while then. considering, that’s if i even say it back.”

“you’re someone worth waiting for. someone worth sneaking around for even if means i only get to call myself yours in the secrecy of your room,” suguru dragged his cock along your folds, rubbing his tip against your clit, “so i’ll wait even if it doesn’t come.”

though, he was going to make sure that at least you came again tonight.

suguru’s thrusts were slow and deep, stretching your walls to mold around the shape of his cock. like he wanted to savor these last few moments. his hand reached up, interlacing your fingers with his own. “i. love. you,” he punctuated each word with a harsh thrust, even when his actions were anything but. he brought your hand up to his mouth and pressed a chaste kiss against the back of your hand.

“f-faster, please, sugu,” you pleaded, rocking your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“yeah, yeah, anythin’ you want, princess.”

suguru’s hips rutted against your own, propping your legs on his shoulders to slide in deeper than he was. “ah, ah, fuck!” you clasped your hand over your mouth, digging your nails into his palm. a sting that suguru welcomed all the same.

suguru dragged one of his fingers across your abdomen, nudging the spot where the tip of his cock bulged with every thrust. “s-so deep, takin’ it so well,” he let out a groan, your cunt practically squeezing the cum out of his cock. the smell of saliva, sweat, and sex permeated through the air; accompanied by the sound of your skin slapping against his own.

his hand moved down from your abdomen to your clit, rubbing circles around the throbbing nub. “again, make me cum again, sugu,” your whines sounded like pure music to his ears. “i got you, princess. just take what’s yours,” suguru let out a strangled moan of his own, moving his hips to hit a bigger angle.

this orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, washing over you with no sense of warning. “ah fuck, gonna cum!” your cunt squelched as his hips pushed into you, like his very at- home waterpark. your slick completely covered his shaft, each thrust sloppy and wet.

“come for me, suguru, want your cum in me,” and as soon as he felt you squeeze around his cock, he knew that it was game over.

“inside, baby? you want it inside?” suguru let out a whine, prolonging his own orgasm. counting down sheep if he had to. it wasn’t a question, he was practically begging.

“yes, yes, fuck yes! please,” you nodded your head fervently, your legs moving down to his waist. trapping him in the same way your cunt was doing, making it impossible for him to pull out even if he wanted to.

“i love you. love you, love this pussy, love everything,” suguru turned into a babbling mess, his hips stuttering and his pace turning sloppy. as sloppy as your cunt was when he came, your walls painted white. his cum pooled inside your cunt, drip after drip marking your inner thighs.

suguru pulled out carefully, using one of the hand towels you had stored away in your bedside table to wipe himself off. dropping down to his knees in front of your legs, he started sucking on your entrance. licking away his own cum without the slightest bit of shame.

burying his face nose deep into your cunt, slurping away the creamy essence. he looked up at you with a stupid smile on his face, dragging his tongue up to your clit before finally pulling away.

“fucking slut,” you let out a breathless laugh, feeling the soft towel wiping away the cum that dripped down your thighs.

“thought you knew i was a slut for you by now.”

he had made it a habit over the months to stay for a bit after the two of you were done—just to make sure you were okay, to bask in your presence for a little bit longer. he grabbed the water bottle from your bedside table, popping the cap off before handing it over to you.

“thanks,” you uttered, bringing the water bottle up to your lips and taking a sip. you offered it to him once you were done, letting a calm silence flow through the room. you haphazardly tossed the blanket up to cover up the two of you, snuggling closer to him in the middle of the expansive bed.

one of the few times that it felt like wasn’t too big for you.

suguru wrapped an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him. even if it was the last time he’d have you in this proximity. “what if we run away?” as far fetched as the idea was, it almost sounded like a distant fairytale. too good to be true.

most fairytales scattered in libraries throughout the nation were written about luxe kingdoms basked in gold and riches. of a prince coming from a distant far away land in some attempt to enchant the princess. and yet yours included running away where you’d be unrecognizable. where the title of princess wouldn’t mean anything.

enchanted by the village man that’d been content with sneaking in through your window at the wee hours of the night; content with being yours if only for a couple hours. content with loving you even if you refused to share the sentiment.

“and then the two of us would be outlaws,” the words tasted like bile in your throat—denying him, denying yourself of what you wanted. what you ached for.

“but you’d be happy,” suguru pointed out, his fingers tracing against your hip bone. “i’m sure you’d be happy with me.”

but that wasn’t enough to leave the throne behind.

“yeah. i’m sure i would be,” you found yourself agreeing to the idea, mumbling as you tried to fight off sleep for a couple minutes longer. try to get as much time as you could with him. after all, the whole thing was nothing more than bedroom talk. nothing more than a fleeting dream.

“i object.”

well, maybe not an all too fleeting thought.

and if guillotines were still around, you were sure that the queen would've sent out an immediate execution order the very same instant.

"i thought i told you to resolve your issues before we stepped foot at the altar," your soon-to-be husband muttered through a grin, hoping to keep appearances with the paparazzi surrounding the space. though, you could see the subtle tells beginning to peek through the façade—the way that his smile wavered for a millisecond and the way that his eye twitched.

"and i did. i don't know what he's doing here," your own response came out through clenched teeth, forcing a smile onto your own lips. looking over at suguru as he walked up to the altar, wearing the nicest suit you’ve seen on him.

and then he dropped down to a knee, something your betrothed hadn't even bothered to do. he looked up at you with that same desperation you saw last night, "please," his voice cracked, a small break in his composure, "come on, princess. i don't have much but i'm stupid enough to do this because i lo—"

"ENOUGH!" the queen's voice rang out, the chapel immediately blanketed in silence, "what is the meaning of this?"

"nothing, your highness. isn't that right, sweetheart?" your fiancé spoke up, daring you to try to defy. the room started to swirl—your heartbeat sounding in your ears. attention had never been a issue before, but feeling everyone's eyes on you, awaiting for what you would do, had you nearly breaking out into a cold sweat.

your hands clenched around the white fabric of your wedding dress, the rock on your finger almost weighing you down. you kept yourself still—even if every single fiber in your being was telling you to run. to leave the estate with nothing more than the clothes you had on and the stupid hope that maybe, maybe things would work out.

“don’t do it,” you heard suguru’s whispered plea, too quiet for any of the wedding guests to hear, “you know i don’t have much but i’ll take care of you. i promise.”

and that was almost enough to break your resolve. key word: almost.

"nothing at all," you affirmed, facing away from suguru before speaking out the dreaded words, "i do."

and suguru would've really preferred the guillotine a thousand times over by now. would've preferred it instead of listening to the sheer resignation in your voice, the way that you simply admitted defeat.

“if that’s all, i now pronounce you husband and wife. you may now kiss the bride,” the words sounded like static while suguru kneeled on the floor, baring his heart out for seemingly no reason.

he didn't protest when the royal guards walked over, pulling him away from the altar. tossing him against the pavement with no warning. suguru stood up, dusting off his tux before making his way down the empty streets with his head hung low.

coming to the realization that he needed to get out of town, now.

the room erupted into a cacophony of loud cheers and applause, a sound that scraped your eardrums by the second. and as you turned to look at your husband for the sealing kiss, the disappointed looks that both satoru and suguru had given you were burning in the forefront of your mind.

the same looks that mirrored your own disappointment.

[emsdevs]

Luke Hughes requests reader is doing the TikTok trend where she ask Luke and Jack questions about her to see who knows her better but pretends that Jack get all the answers right and Luke gets them wrong and his reaction Jack also knows what the reader is up to please

Know Me Better

a/n: i had way way wayyy too much fun with this one! nonnie you're a genius!! sorry for the wait but i hope it was worth it!! fair warning this is mostly dialogue!

masterlist | NHL Masterlists | Luke Hughes Masterlist

It took you days to talk both boys into doing a TikTok with you. Jack was completely against it until you told him you planned to prank Luke, and then he was game. Luke was much easier to convince after you had Jack’s help.

About a week ago, you were doing your nightly TikTok scroll when you came across a video of a girl pranking her boyfriend. She had gotten him and his best friend to answer questions she was asking about herself. However, she was pretending that whatever the best friend said was right and her boyfriend was wrong. The best friend was obviously in on it, and it took the boyfriend way too long to catch on. As soon as the video ended, you knew you needed to try the video with Luke and Jack. 

Now, the two brothers sat at their kitchen table, you standing behind them with your list of questions at the ready. You prop your phone up and press record. 

“Okay, guys, so I have this list of questions about myself, and I’m gonna make my boyfriend and his brother,” you point at Luke and Jack respectively, “and by the end, we’ll see who knows me better. You guys ready?”

“So ready, babe.”

“Yeah, let’s go.” “Okay! First question is easy. What is my favorite color?”

“Oh! Easy it’s purple!” Luke is the first to answer.

“No bro it’s green,” Jack says smoothly.

“Jack got it right! Good job!”

“Babe, no. Your favorite color is purple. It’s always been purple,” Luke is confused, his brows furrowed.

“No, hun, I changed it a few weeks ago remember? We talked about it with Jack.”

“Whatever,” he gives up, not wanting to argue while doing something you were so excited for.

“Okay, next question! What is my favorite flower?” “Oh! Marigolds!” Jack jumps in first this time.

“Um, no. It’s lilies.”

“Actually, Lukey, Jack is right! How did you even know that?” “Heard you guys talking about it last week,” Jack shrugs, knowing that’s not what he heard you say your favorite flower was.

“You mean when I got her lilies, and she was so happy because lilies are her favorites? So she told me that lilies were her favorites ten times?” Luke was beginning to get frustrated, narrowing his eyes at his brother. He knows for a fact that lilies are your favorite flowers, so he doesn’t know where Jack is pulling his information from or why you’re agreeing with everything Jack says. Then again, what if Jack is right? Is Luke a bad boyfriend?

“Anyway! Next! What color were my nails two weeks ago?”

“Light blue!” Jack speaks up again. He had no idea what color your nails were. He was guessing random stuff at this point.

“They were dark red, kinda a maroon color, and your ring fingers had a tiny white heart on them,” Luke knows there’s no way he was getting this one wrong. He had gone to your nail appointment with you, content to sit and mess around on his phone while you got your nails done. 

“Wow, Luke, that’s impressive detail, but Jack was right.”

“What?” he was borderline shouting, not really angry, just offended. He knew he was right, but what if he wasn’t? Either way, how was Jack getting every question right? “Babe, I know for a fact that’s what you got. I bought them. At the salon. I was there. I paid. Right in front of you.”

“No, baby, that was the set before the blue ones,” you force yourself to ignore the pout that now sits on your boyfriend’s face, “Okay, next up! What’s my go-to karaoke song?”

“Oh! It’s ‘Black’ by Dierks Bentley!”

“No, dude. It’s ‘Dancing Queen’ from that one Meryl Streep movie,” Jack had seen you sing that song once at karaoke, and it was after you sang “Black.”

“Oh, my god! Jack got it right, again!”

“No, babe. We sing ‘Black’ together,” Luke was giving you puppy dog eyes now, and you’re not sure how long you can keep this up.

Jack steps in to save you from answering again, “Yeah, bro, but she said her go-to karaoke song. That one is for both of you.”

“Whatever. How many more questions are there?” His pout is intensifying, and you can tell if you keep this up much longer, he’ll walk out. You decide to make the next question a little more obvious, something only Luke would know.

“Okay, Lukey, you should get this one. What did I eat on our first date?”

“Chicken alfredo,” Luke answers without even having to think about it. He remembers every detail of that night. 

“Nah, she had a plate of shrimp.” You don’t eat shrimp. Jack knows this. Luke knows this. That’s when it all sets in for Luke.

“Are you two kidding me?” he shrieks standing up, giggles coming out of his open mouth. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“Yes, Lukey,” you’re cracking up. You can’t help it, “You got every question right.”

“I knew it! You two had me freaking out thinking I was a bad boyfriend or something!”

“Sorry, man. She put me up to it,” Jack could barely talk through his laughter, but he still managed to throw you under the bus.

“Jerk!” Jack continued laughing as he walked away. You stopped the video, laughter still taking over you and Luke, “I’m sorry. I saw a video like that and thought it would be funny,” you smile at your boyfriend sheepishly.

“Yeah, real funny,” he rolls his eyes before grabbing your waist and throwing you over his shoulder.

You’re overcome with giggles yet again, “Where are you taking me?”

“To bed! We’re watching Secretariat, so you can make this up to me! And your hand better be in my hair the whole time!”

taglist: @heartsforjh @alex-wotton @devilinpradaheels @juxmi @macklin-celebrini-71 @puckmedude @alexxavicry @dancerbailey3 @madebyhappymeals @beenucks @

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[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter IV

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 7.914 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

I was feeling angsty when I wrote this y'all, so please forgive me for what you’re about to read. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

You stumble, back hitting the door with a thud. You can’t move. You can’t breathe. You can’t look away. The door handle digs into your hip as JJ cages you in. – What’s your problem, JJ?! Let go of me already!

His grip tightens, pulling you even closer, and you can hear the venom in his voice when he spits out his reply. – No! I’m not! I’m not gonna let go of you! You know why?!

– I’m on the edge of my seat, here!

He scoffs at your mocking, that bitter laugh falling from his lips like poison, his nails digging into your flesh. – I’ve been sitting here all night waiting for you to get back. I tried to be patient with you. I tried to give you space, but you don’t respond to me being nice, do you?! You don’t even acknowledge me! I bet you’re getting a real kick out of this, aren’t you?!

– Oh, yeah. Loving it. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my night. Getting shoved against a door while you channel your anger.

– DON’T— He stops himself short, watching his tone. – Don’t fucking play around with me right now, okay?! Don’t do this.

– What, then?! What the fuck do you want me to do?! You don’t want me walking away, you don’t want me talking, what do you want from me?!

– I want you to listen!

– To what?! To your little lecture on why I should’ve been nicer to my brother after the way he treated me?! After he called me pathetic?! After he took my own phone from my hand?!

– He was trying to protect you!

– Protect me?! From going out?! From having fun with my best friend?! I’ve known Barry since I was a kid! I can handle him.

JJ shoots backwards, dragging his hands through his hair as if he was going insane. – HE’S TRYING TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU!

– Advantage of what, JJ?! My overwhelming wealth?! My deep connections in high society?! I don’t even buy his drugs—unlike you!

– Don’t! – He raises his finger, stepping forward again. It’s like having a whirlwind moving through your room, he can’t just leave things how they are.

– Don’t what? Don’t point out the truth? You and John B can buy drugs, get arrested, blow all your money on some half-baked Pogue adventure, but I can’t even hang out with the guy that’s been my best friend since I was twelve?!

– No! No, you can’t, not when Rafe Cameron is involved!

– Oh, so Rafe is the problem, huh? If Barry had showed up here alone, you and John would’ve just given me a cheerful send-off? Maybe packed me a lunch for the road?

– Don’t do this right now.

– OH MY GOD, JJ! What can I fucking do?! I can’t do anything! Am I supposed to sit here in silence like some nun while you accuse me of every stupid shit that goes through your mind?! Listening to you lie your fucking face off?! And I can’t even defend myself?! What’s your fucking problem?!

– You are my problem! You are! – It’s infuriating, having to whisper to one another when you’re so angry, because JJ couldn’t wait thirty minutes for the nerves to die down. But he makes it up to you by grabbing at you, the tips of his fingers pressed so tight against your skin that you can feel the bruises forming. – I’ve thought about you all day! You’re gonna listen to me now!

You stare at him, heart hammering, pulse like static in your ears. It’s not the words that get you—it’s the way he says them, voice fraying at the edges like he’s barely holding himself together. Like he’s already lost, and he knows it.

You wrench against his hold, nails biting into his forearms, but it only makes him squeeze tighter. His eyes are burning—wild, desperate.

– You’re gonna listen to me now, – He repeats, voice low but shaking with barely contained rage. – I don’t give a shit what you think you can handle. I don’t care if Barry was your best fucking friend since birth—he’s bad news. And you know it.

– Right. Because you’re such a great judge of character!

JJ scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. Like you’re the one being unreasonable. – At least I know better than to run off with people who are just looking to use me.

You let out a groan.

This is exhausting, draining. Your head pounds and your chest feels heavy. You don’t even know where this conversation is going. – News flash, JJ, I’m not a fucking asset! There’s NOTHING to use me for!

His jaw clenches, and his hands are trembling now, even as he holds you in place. – You don’t get it, do you?! – His voice is quieter this time, rougher. – It’s not about what you have! It’s about what he can take. About what he can do to you!

Something in his face stops you—just for a second.

It’s not just anger. It’s something else. Something raw, something afraid.

You swallow hard, pushing past the sting in your throat. – And what, you think you get to decide that for me? You think you can just hold me here and—what? Teach me a lesson? Are you gonna bend me over your knee or some shit?!

JJ exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face before gripping your jaw, tilting your chin up just enough to force your eyes on his. – I don’t want to teach you shit, I just want you to stop acting like this is a fucking game!

– I’m not—

– You are! – He growls. – You’re acting like this is just some little rebellion. Like it’s just about proving a point to your brother. And I get it, okay?! I do! I don’t like the way John B treats you either, but this vendetta, this shit you’re trying to do, isn’t okay! It’s not, alright? It’s not. You don’t know how Rafe is! You don’t see the way Barry looks at you!

His words sink into you like a stone.

– And how does he look at me, JJ? Huh?! The way you look at me, or the way you look at Kie?!

His breath catches, just for a second, but it’s enough. Enough to make something in your chest twist painfully. Because you already know the answer.

You want to hit yourself.

You want to dig your nails into your palms until you bleed.

His grip falters. His fingers twitch against your skin. And for a moment—just a moment—you think he’s going to let go. Maybe it isn’t so bad after all.

You think maybe he’ll understand.

But then he exhales, and his hand tightens again, his forehead nearly brushing yours as he leans in, voice hoarse.

And he laughs.

He laughs in your face like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. – So this is what this is about.

– What?! – The question comes out before you can stop it. You want to sew your mouth shut. You want to tear your skin off your flesh. you should have learned by now that speaking your mind never gets you anywhere. Especially when you speak about your feelings. – What, JJ?! What is this about?!

– You’re jealous. You’re jealous of me and Kie, that’s why you went with them. Are you kidding me?! – Your skin crawls at the sound of his laughter. But disgusting as it is, you’re not angry at him. You’re angry at yourself for having said it. – You’re pathetic. – The word cuts into you. But it isn’t sharp. The opposite, actually. It feels like he’s stabbing at you with something blunt. Bruising your skin and breaking your bones before he can sink into your flesh. – This isn’t about your brother. This is about me! This is about you being completely fucking twisted!

You hate yourself more than anything as tears start brimming your eyes. – Don’t talk to me like this. – You try to move, try to turn your face away, but JJ just grips you harder.

– Like what?! You don’t want me to say the truth? You want me to lie? I can do that, babe. But you’re not gonna like it.

– Get off of me.

– I don’t think I will. – His laughter is manic, loud. At first you hated that he cared so much about John not hearing anything that he didn’t speak his mind, but now you just want him to stop it. – I’m not gonna get off of you. Because I clearly can’t fucking trust you not to do anything stupid when I’m not there to wrangle you in.

– Stop it, JJ. Just get off!

You’re crying now, and you hate it.

You hate crying.

And you hate yourself.

– I can’t fucking believe you! I can’t fucking believe you were so jealous that you had to jump on Rafe fucking Cameron to make you feel better about yourself! Because that’s what you did, wasn’t it?! You slept with him!

The sudden vitriol in his laughter sends you into a spiral. – What are you even talking about?

– Don’t! Don’t fucking lie to me. – He grabs you by the jaw again. – Tell me the fucking truth, just say it! YOU SLEPT WITH RAFE!

– I did not! I didn’t sleep with Rafe, I just met him!

– I CAN SMELL HIM ON YOU! – You can barely breathe within his grip in a second, and he jerks backward in the next, as if the words had knocked the wind out of him. He stands there for a minute, back turned to you, hands pressing against his head, and you don’t know what to do. You just stand there, against the door. – I know you did! I KNOW! I know it! You slept with him, you— You didn’t even see him grab anything, but whatever it was that he took went flying and it shattered against the wall into a million pieces.

The noise was deafening.

You didn’t even realize you had covered your ears until you heard the stark silence jar you in the aftermath.

Your gaze remained on the floor for a second, trying to grasp at what just happened, when a sudden sound startles you out of shock: John’s door was the loudest in the house. No matter what you did, how you oiled it, whether you fixed the hinges or not, the sound still tore through the house like a scream.

You could hear him, his steps, running.

Your hands flew to the deadbolt just in time to see the handle turn.

The door remained in place as he struggled, then called for you, banging against the door in a panic. – What happened?! What was that?! Are you okay?!

You were leaning on the door now. Your strength gone, the fight in you having vanished. – Get out, John. – The voice felt foreign. Cold. Dead. As if it’d come from an outer ego.

You could hear your brother’s stutter. His hands still moving against the handle. Then something else, a twinge of something painful in his voice, something just as foreign. Guilt.

He calls out your name, almost begging. – Open the door, please. Please. Just let me see you.

You can’t think straight.

– I’m fine. Get out.

Your head is spinning.

– Please. Just— Just talk to me. Lets–

– GET OFF JOHN! JUST FUCK OFF! Go back to your room and leave me alone!

You don’t know where the rage came from, how it’d surged on you so fast, how it disappeared just as suddenly. But the scream lingered in between you like a live wire. The door seems to stretch, pushing him away, away from you, farther than you can hear.

John whispers your name one more time, almost thoughtlessly. Like he’s calling for someone he knows is gone.

Silence.

He stands there, wordless, for a minute. Shifting back and forth before your door.

All you hear is his breath before he mumbled: – I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? – You barely recognize his voice. It’s like you're hearing him underwater. – You should go to sleep. – He whispers.

You don’t answer.

But you lean your head against the door, breathing deeper, and tears roll down your chin.

You don't know how long you stood there.

But you heard the hesitation in his steps as he walked away. You heard the floorboards creaking. You heard his door squeaking loudly, slowly, until it finally snapped shut.

And you remained there, absorbed in the silence, for a long while before you turned around again:

JJ is sitting on your bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking softly. You don’t know when he started crying. You’re not very sure why he is.

But you trudge forward, almost in a trance.

It takes two steps for you to be right in front of him, the ends of his blonde hair brushing against you. Whispering against the fabric of your skirt.

You've been here before.

In this weird deja-vu.

The way he reaches for you, it's almost like slow motion.

His eyes are steel blue, like the edge of a knife. His lips are red, swollen. There are tear streaks running down his face when he looks up at you. Under the dim light, he almost seems like an angel. His knuckles are pale, but you see the rapid pulse beneath the skin of his wrists as his hands reach forward, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in.

You once heard moths weren't smart enough to struggle against flytraps if they closed in on them fast enough.

JJ's arms lock around you before you can react. He holds you like his life depends on it. Tears soaking through your top as he buries his face in your stomach, hiding from something unidentified. Himself, maybe. Perhaps guilt.

Though nothing about the way he acts seems guilty.

Your arms were at your sides before. You don’t know when they came to rest around his shoulders. You don’t know why your hands are tangled in his hair. But you feel his teary lips flutter against your skin as you stroke through the soft strands within your fingers.

He isn’t shaking anymore, but he shudders.

He's still crying, but when he lifts his face to look at you, he almost seems at peace. – You drive me crazy. – He whimpers, bare knuckles cracking against your hips as he squeezes you closer, like he’s feeding off of your warmth. – I feel like I’m going insane… I don't know how you do this to me.

You don't know what to say.

Even if you did, your mouth wouldn't open.

You've never felt this numb.

His breathing steadies against you. Slow and deep, like a wave pulling back into the ocean. The warmth of his breath seeps through your clothes, the heat of his skin pressed against your stomach, the damp trail his tears left behind cooling under the soft stroke of your fingers through his hair. He exhales sharply when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, the sound somewhere between relief and something else, something deeper.

His arms are still locked around your waist. The grip loosens, just enough for his hands to move, sliding slowly over the curve of your thighs, fingertips dragging across the fabric. Not a caress. Something closer to an anchor, as if grounding himself in the presence of you, in your softness, in the fact that you’re still here, still touching him, still letting him take and take and take. His hands flex, curling into the back of your legs before going still again. You don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it.

You feel the shift before you see it—the slow tilt of his head, the subtle shudder in his ribs as he exhales against you, his lips parting just enough for his breath to warm your skin. He’s watching you now. His lashes are wet, his eyes still rimmed red, but the way he looks at you is something close to reverence. The way your fingers move through his hair, the way your thumb ghosts along the damp trails on his cheekbone—he drinks in every motion, every second, as if memorizing it. As if memorizing you.

– I don’t like fighting with you. – It’s a whisper, barely there, but the words settle between you, heavy and delicate all at once.

You don’t answer.

You just keep running your fingers through his hair, and his eyes flutter shut, his body softening against yours like an animal melting into its keeper’s touch. His forehead presses into your stomach again, his arms slipping around the backs of your legs, pulling you closer. The tension in his muscles fades as he exhales another slow, steady breath. He’s calm now.

The fragments of whatever he threw at your wall litter your bedroom floor, making a glittering constellation out of the floorboards. But he’s calm now.

– John B’s right, – He murmurs after a long moment, voice muffled against you. – It’s been a long day. – You feel his lips shift into the barest hint of a smile, like a child reassured after a nightmare. – We should go to sleep.

You don’t react when his hands shift again, when he tugs lightly at your shirt, when he tilts his head just enough for his lips to brush over the fabric. You don’t react when his grip on you tightens, when he starts to rise to his feet, hands still firm at your waist, guiding you toward the bed.

But when he tries to pull you down with him, you stop him.

His brows furrow, the haze in his expression flickering into something uncertain. He waits for you to move first, to change your mind, to follow the unspoken rhythm between you. But you don’t. You just stand there, looking at him, the weight of exhaustion pressing into your skin.

– You should go home, JJ.

JJ blinks. Confusion first. Then something else. Something vulnerable. His hands flex at your waist like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shake your head, and his grip tightens.

– We shouldn’t go to sleep mad, – he says, voice smaller now, unsteady in a way that makes something deep in your stomach twist. – We can fix this.

– I’m not mad at you. – His lips part, like he wants to believe you. Like he needs to. But something in your voice, in your face, keeps him from speaking. – But I don’t want to be with you, right now.

The words land between you like a stone.

His breathing stutters. His fingers twitch at your waist, hesitating, before slipping away.

You don’t look away.

– Baby…

– I don’t want to sleep next to you. – Silence. – I really don’t want to see you right now, JJ.

For the first time since he pulled you into him, JJ doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for you. He just stares. – I know you’re mad, but—

– I’m not mad. – Truthfully, you weren’t sure. But when it came to feelings, exhaustion always outranked them all. – I’m not. But I want you to leave, JJ. I can’t do this right now.

His face shifts as his arms fall back to his sides.

Contempt.

Maybe ridicule.

You don’t know. You can’t bring himself to care.

But he scoffs before he steps away, shoulder bumping yours, almost by accident.

Almost.

And the door knocks closed at last, the sound absorbing every last bit of tension from the room like a sponge.

The sun streams through your lace curtains as soon as it comes up, 6:30 on the dot on a sunday, but you can't toss around and fall back asleep.

You barely slept.

Whenever, by some miracle, your conscience drifted away from you, it always came back, headlights burning your eyes open to hit you like a truck.

You feel disgusting.

The sweltering heat pushes down against you like a layer of wet concrete: heavy, overwhelming and inescapable.

You’re still wearing the same clothes.

The lower half your body hangs off the mattress, and having kicked off your shoes just before collapsing into the bed, your naked feet brush against the shards JJ's outburst left behind, stinging.

All you can glimpse of the cuts as you move your head to look down are the crimson streaks of blood now running dry.

You struggle to sit up, your head sways when you finally do so. The pounding in your skull is unbearable. You squeeze your eyes shut, but it doesn’t help. The world still spins when you pry them open again.

Glass glints like jagged stars across the floor, scattered in violent constellations.

You stare at the mess, at the thin, half-dried ribbons of red trailing through it, and realize there’s no way out of this without making things worse.

You’ll have to put your shoes on. Walk through it. Grind the shards deeper into the floorboards, deeper into your own skin.

Just the thought makes you shiver.

You reach for the beat-up sneakers, thrown half-hazardly amongst the chaos, and look at them for a moment. Your eyes drift from the shoes to your feet, the pulsing sting of each cut almost begging you not to do it.

You don’t have a choice.

The second the fabric scrapes against the cuts, you hiss through your teeth. Your fingers instinctively curl into a fist. You bite the inside of your cheek and try again, slower this time, forcing yourself through the sting. The laces come undone too easily, sticky with blood. You’ll have to wash them later.

The thought makes your stomach turn.

Once you manage to step out of the room, the pain accompanying you every step of the way, you wonder why you decided to do so in the first place.

Everything is too much.

The pain, the heat, the regret.

No one likes being talked down to, but you’ve always been the sort to dig your heels in when you feel challenged. The way your brother spoke to you before —Before you jumped into Rafe’s car, effectively sealing your fate— was not the sort of thing any sane person could take with a smile.

But it’s tricky, the way it trickles down.

You knew going with Barry was a bad choice, and you followed through for the sake of defiance.

You knew you shouldn’t have fed onto the fire when John first raised his voice, and you did so because you refused to let him walk all over you.

But was it worth it?

You sweep the floor over with a broom, the glass quickly mounting against the wall. Your feet are bleeding, your head is pounding from how much you cried, your back is sore from dragging Rafe everywhere, and you can feel the new bruises both John and JJ left you with already pulsing.

You lean your head against the broomstick, and close your eyes for a moment.

And then—Rafe.

The thought creeps in uninvited, sudden and suffocating. If you feel this bad, if your head is splitting open and your body is aching, how is he feeling? He wasn’t just drunk. He wasn’t just reckless. He was a breath away from dying.

You clutch the broom tighter, fingers aching with the pressure, but the grip on your chest doesn’t ease.

Is he even awake yet?

Is he okay?

You swallow hard, but the lump in your throat doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe you should check.

But how would you check on him? You don't have his number. The person closest to him you can ask is Sarah, who you doubt Rafe would like to be aware of his drug mishap. And Barry, who does know, probably won’t be responding to anything from you for the next week or so.

You sit back down to take off your shoes and wonder.

It gnaws at you, the not knowing. You don’t care—at least, you tell yourself you don’t—but the weight of it settles in your chest anyway, coiling tighter the longer you sit still.

You should get up. Move. Do something other than dwell on the wreckage, both in your room and in your head.

So you try to force yourself into motion.

Your body protests as you pull yourself up, legs stiff, joints aching. You peel off last night’s clothes, wincing as the fabric sticks to your skin, a mix of dried sweat, salt, and blood. The shower is lukewarm at best, John still hasn’t fixed the heater like he promised, but it rinses the worst of it away. You brace your hands against the tile, letting the water drum over the back of your neck, waiting for it to wash the rest of this feeling down the drain.

But it doesn’t.

By the time you're dressed, tugging your damp hair into something passable, the weight in your chest hasn't budged.

You pull open your dresser and grab your uniform, the cheap fabric wrinkled from being shoved into a drawer.

You should be thinking about work—about the bus you have to get in 5 minutes, about the lunch rush, about the heat in the kitchen, about whether Kiara will be on shift today and if she’ll look at you like she doesn’t remember the talk you had three days ago.

But instead, you think about Rafe.

About how easily he could have died.

About how no one else knows.

About how, if he had, you would’ve been the last person to see him alive.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching for a cigarette, a distraction, anything to pull your mind somewhere else.

You’ve given in to the nicotine cravings as you run about the empty living room, looking for your keys. You have your father to thank for your smoking habit, he smoked maniacally ever since you could remember, but the reason poverty hasn’t forced you to go cold turkey a long time ago is JJ. —Your house might be empty of food, and maybe you’re behind on the light bill and the city shuts down your power again, but if there are two things JJ and John keep in stock around the place, those things are cheap beer and marlboro lights.— You fish a cigarette from a half-smoked package on the counter, struggling with the lighter for a while before you finally give up and use the stove.

You think you’d be a little more relieved when the chemicals finally start sinking in, but your eyes catch the door just as you inhale. JJ’s shoes are still sitting beside it.

He hasn’t left.

You look around for a moment, mind slowly drifting back to the blonde. But you don’t let yourself linger there. Instead, you grab your keys and slip out the door before you can bump into him.

Public transport in the Outer Banks is less than stellar. Everyday you commute with at least 70 other people, just as broke and anxious as you are, in that crammed bus: the single line that goes from anywhere near your house to about a 20 minute walk away from The Wreck.

It’s a miracle anyone ever found a place to sit, and of course, no divine intervention permitted that miracle ever happen to you. So you spend the half an hour ride standing on your cut up feet, to prepare yourself for the next eight hours of running around in that stuffy kitchen, listening to Anthony, the head Chef, and his inexorable screaming, and Mr. Carrera’s endless scolding of the kitchen’s staff’s time.

The air inside The Wreck’s kitchen is thick with the scent of seared meat and butter, the hum of the ventilation system barely cutting through the clatter of knives against cutting boards and the sharp hiss of oil meeting raw protein. The moment you step through the swinging doors, the heat slams into you, clinging to your skin like a second layer.

Willis is already at his station, sleeves rolled up, hands working quickly over a slab of beef. He doesn’t look up as he calls out. – Took your sweet time getting here, didn’t you Routledge?

You sling your bag into your locker, ignoring the jab. – Morning to you too, hon.

He snorts, finally glancing up. – Barely. – There’s a glint in his eyes, you’ve seen it a thousand times before. The look he gets when he wants to gossip.

– Go ahead, Will. Spill it.

It’s early enough that the kitchen is still in its controlled chaos phase —everyone moving, prepping, getting ready for the inevitable hellstorm of the lunch rush. You grab your apron, tying it tight around your waist, and wash your hands before heading to your station. The prep list is long, but that’s nothing new.

– There’s nothing to spill. – He hums. – Unless you know something. – Willis mutters as you start working, his knife gliding through a rib rack with practiced efficiency, you raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for the bomb to drop. – Boss is in a mood. Apparently his daughter didn’t come home last night.

– Kie? – He hums in agreement. You wonder why.

– I heard the two of them arguing in the back this morning. He was talking about a boy driving her here. It’s not your brother, is it? Aren’t they friends?

– John has a girlfriend.

Willis laughs knowingly. – That never stopped anyone. – You force yourself to smile back at him, though it's the last thing you want to do. – Anyway. Don’t get in his way today. You know he’s already iffy on you.

– Well, there go my plans for the morning! – You mutter, and he chuckles, passing his cut over to you. The conversation’s over. But his words still echo in your mind.

You're thankful for the work, for once. The familiar motions take over—seasoning, basting, trimming fat, getting everything ready to be fired later. The methodical nature of it helps, the repetition keeping your mind from wandering where it shouldn’t.

The doors swing open, and Kiara walks in with an empty tray balanced on her hip.

The noise of the kitchen swallows whatever she says to another server, but you feel her gaze before you see it. When you glance up, your eyes meet for just a second—hers unreadable, yours careful— before you turn back to your work. There’s nothing to say, nothing worth dredging up in the middle of prep.

Hours slip by in a steady churn of orders, the quiet build of the morning shifting into the controlled chaos of the rush. By noon, the kitchen is swamped, the air thick with steam and stress. Anthony's voice cuts through the din, barking orders as plates fly from station to station. Your hands move on autopilot, flipping steaks, checking temperatures, slicing roasts. Willis works beside you, muttering curses under his breath every time an order gets sent back for modifications.

Then, the ticket comes in.

You don’t read it at first, just reach for the next cut of meat, eyes scanning the details like second nature. Roast dish, standard sides. Peanut-glazed roast chicken.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, the words sticking out. It’s been a while since you saw that dish being ordered, you were almost sure they took it out of the menu. The request is simple enough, nothing unusual. But something about it needles at the back of your mind.

You push the thought aside, refocusing. Just another plate in the middle of the rush. Another ticket among dozens.

Nothing to worry about.

You get to work on the glaze. The sauce pan is already waiting on the stove, a thin layer of oil shimmering in the heat. You move fast, scooping a generous spoonful of peanut butter into the pan, letting it loosen and melt as you stir.

A splash of soy sauce, a drizzle of honey. The scent blooms instantly—sweet, nutty, rich. You reach for the rice vinegar next, just a touch to cut through the heaviness. Then, garlic, grated fine, barely a whisper of sharpness underneath the smooth layers of flavor. The heat coaxes everything together, the sauce thickening, darkening, turning glossy as you work.

A final stir, a taste.

It’s perfect.

The timer dings. You pull the chicken from the oven, the skin crisped and golden, the juices pooling at the edges of the pan. With a practiced hand, you brush the glaze over the surface, the deep amber sheen soaking into the heat, clinging to the curves of the roast. Another minute under the broiler—just long enough for the sugars to caramelize, for the edges to darken into something tempting.

The moment it’s done, you move fast. A quick slice, checking for doneness. Then plating: the chicken settled onto a warmed plate, nestled against a bed of seasoned rice. A handful of crushed peanuts sprinkled over top, a sprig of fresh cilantro for contrast. Every detail placed with intention.

One last look.

Then the plate is up, Kie already reaching for it, her eyes drifting through you one last time. You watch over your shoulder as she carries it out, disappearing beyond the swinging doors.

It’s out of your hands now. But the feeling lingers. That quiet, nagging thought.

Something about this order doesn’t sit right.

You throw yourself into the rhythm of the kitchen, trying to drown out that nagging feeling with movement. There’s too much to do, too much heat, too much noise—no room for doubt. The oil hisses as you slide a seared steak onto a plate, the scent of garlic and thyme curling up with the steam. You reach for a handful of fries, tossing them onto the side, then move on, wiping down the station before plating the next order.

Your hands are steady, but your mind isn’t.

It’s stupid. It’s just a dish. But something about it lingers, sticks to you like the grease on your skin.

– Hey, – Willis speaks up from beside you, not looking up from the salmon he’s searing. – You got that worried look on your face again, what's going on?

You scoff, grabbing a garnish. – What, my thinking face? I know it's hard to believe, what with me being so pretty and all, but sometimes I do actually think.

He finally glances up, raising a brow. – Spill.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you reach for another plate. – I’m fine. Just wondering if we’ll make it through lunch rush without Anthony popping a vein.

Willis snorts. – Fat chance.

You flash him a smirk, hoping it looks convincing. It doesn’t matter, because before he can push any further the kitchen doors burst open.

The air shifts.

A new kind of heat floods the room—thick, charged, the kind that makes people tense without thinking.

Mr. Carrera stands in the doorway, eyes scanning the kitchen like a predator. – Who made the peanut-glazed chicken?

The words slice through the chaos like a knife through flesh.

You freeze for half a second—just half. But Willis notices. His gaze flicks to you, sharp, before you even turn to face Mr. Carrera.

Your throat is suddenly dry. – I did.

Mr. Carrera moves. Storms down the kitchen like a bull with a target, weaving through stations without breaking stride. The space around you tightens, the air sucked out of the room.

Willis takes a step back. He’s not going to get in the way of this.

No one is.

And then—he’s there.

Standing in front of you, looming.

And you know, whatever this is, whatever you missed, it’s bad. – You could’ve killed someone, Routledge. You know that?!

Your mind rushes.

You think of every step and every second you spent on that dish. Every spoonful of each spice, every condiment, every sauce. There was nothing out of the ordinary.

If anything, you paid more attention to it than to any of the other dishes you were making. – I don't understand, sir.

The kitchen remains a vortex, the noise of plates, the roar of fire, the shouts from the servers, they still echo again and again through the thick walls of the room, but none of the cooks make a sound.

They don't scream.

They don't curse.

They don’t ask.

They're all quiet, eyes drifting between you and their work.

– The customer you made that for. He has a nut allergy. You could’ve killed him, Routledge! Do you have any idea how long I spent trying to convince him not to sue?!

You freeze.

For a moment, you want to laugh. You feel it coming up your throat, inching into your face in the way your cheek twitches. But you bite your tongue the last second.

– Did he eat it?

– We ought to be glad he didn't! Do you have any idea what could have happened if he had a reaction here?! How much money we would’ve lost?!

– He asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, sir. There was nothing else in the ticket. Just that. – Kie is standing by the door, looking over at the two of you. A couple servers look at her weird as they push through her. You can't read her face. —Concern, doubt, curiosity— Whatever emotion dances in her face remains shrouded in her attempt to keep it blank. – Kie was the one who rang it in. Right, Kie? The ticket said peanut-glazed roast chicken.

She doesn't even make a move to speak.

But her father is already shouting at you again: – You want to tell me that a man who is allergic to nuts would've asked for a peanut-glazed dish?!

You don't want to insult him.

You can't afford to lose this job.

But this conversation is getting more idiotic by the second. – It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, sir.

You’re not lying.

Your breaks are populated by the endless recollection of people who knowingly or not ask for dishes they're allergic to, then come back to make a scandal.

All the other restaurants you’ve worked at were the same.

But Mr. Carrera looks at you as if you had just spat on him. – What did you just say to me?!

– It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Anthony comes in, pushing his sleeves further up his forearms like he does whenever he wants to seem tough. – What’s happening?

You open your mouth, but the owner cuts in before you can utter a word. – Your cook just made a peanut dish for someone who is deathly allergic!

–You did what?! – It's a scolding, but he shouts it at you like a bark. You try not to shrink into yourself. – What the fuck is your problem, Routledge?!

– The customer asked for a peanut-glazed roast chicken, Chef! I just did what was written on the ticket!

You don't like the way your voice rises. The way it trembles slightly. But you can't help it. You feel your pulse starting to roar in your ears, the adrenaline that was already there making you shake.

– The customer did?! The customer that's allergic to fucking peanuts?!

Anthony's favorite past-time is wishing people choke to death on whatever they're allergic to. He says it at least once every shift. Yet he’s acting like it’s the most absurd thing he ever heard. Treating you like an idiot.

– You know better than anyone it’s not the first time this happened, Chef. – You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. You don’t know why they're going so hard on you. – Joey, – You’re calling for the pastry chef before you can help yourself. – Joey! Didn’t you just have to re-do the caramelized pineapple tarte because the customer was allergic to pineapple?

The freckled boy looks up from a dessert plating, and nods, but before his mouth opens, Mr. Carrera interrupts you again: – Don’t try to shift the blame here Routledge!

– I'm not shifting any blame! This isn’t anyone's fault! The ticket said Peanut-glazed roast chicken, so I got on my station and made a Peanut-glazed roast chicken! I can’t read the customer's mind!

– Don't start getting smart with me now, girl! You got the dish wrong and you don't want to admit it!

– I did what was on the ticket! That’s all I did!

You turn around, already looking over the tickets on the dashboard, but as soon as the paper is in your hand, someone yanks you back. – Don't turn your back on me!

– Look, Look here— This is the ticket!

– Don't talk back at me!

– I'm not! I'm just trying to show you—

– Take off that apron! – Your face falls. You look back at Anthony, his eyes widening for a split second under his thick black brows, but he remains there, naked arms crossed over his Chef's whites, not moving a muscle. – Take that apron off right now, Routledge!

– Mr. Carrera—You're stuttering. Head spinning. You don’t know where to look. – Please—

– Take it off!

– I need this job, sir, please. Please. I'm sorry—

– Take it the fuck off before I have security drag you out of here, Routledge! Take it off!

Willis places his hand on your shoulder, pulling you back softly. You're shaking. His eyes shift as he looks at you as well, and only then you realize you were crying. How long has it been? Months, Maybe a year since you cried. And now you've done it three times within the span of 12 hours. – With all due respect, sir—

– I don’t need your due respect, Redfield. Get back to your work!

– Mr. Carrera… – He tries again.

– GET BACK TO WORK!

Willis retreats as soon as he's come forward.

– Please, please. I can’t lose this job. – You look at Anthony, then back at Mr. Carrera before the pity starts forming on the chef's face.

– Should've thought about that before you disrespected me!

– Michael, – Anthony's voice is level, the closest to pleading he'll ever come. Even he seems a little confused. – I can’t finish the day with a single Roast chef, half the orders go to them.

– Chef? This girl isn't a chef, Anthony! She's just a cook! A cook that clearly has no idea of what she's doing!

– Chef, please… – You're begging. You don't know what else to do.

– I won’t tell you another time, Routledge! Take that fucking apron off!

Anthony looks away from you as the screams echo around the kitchen. He shifts on his feet for a moment, almost as if he didn’t know where to go.

You reach for your back, undoing the double knotted bow you became so used to doing with shaky hands.

Mr. Carrera still looks at you expectantly after you lay the apron in his hands. – The uniform, Routledge.

You want to disappear. – I'm not wear—

– TAKE IT OFF!

You feel a dozen pairs of eyes on you.

The tears that fall from your eyes feel like acid as they run down your face, more and more constant as humiliation sears you from the inside out.

Your fingers reach for the black buttons of your chef's white. You had stolen a couple buttons from your dad's old suit to fix this uniform, when they tore at the beginning of this year, before he’d disappeared.

It's fitting that, even if spirit, he's here to watch you be scrutinised.

You can just hear him now:

“What’d you think would happen?”

The cheap fabric scrapes against the bruises on your arms. The fainter bruises around your neck, where JJ had grabbed you, in full display.

“You should've known better” He would say.

You can't say you're glad for the less revealing sports bra you're wearing. Because you feel as if you're standing, naked, in front of these men when you finally pull the coat off.

“Can't say I'm surprised”

– Get out of my kitchen, Routledge. – Kie's father's voice is a blade. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t want to see him look at you. – I better not see you when you come to get your things.

You barely muster the strength to whisper a “yes sir” before he pushes past his daughter, out into the salon again.

Anthony holds your coat. His pity burning holes into your skin. – Routledge—

You don't let him finish it.

You just raise your hand, holding down a sob, and say – I'm sorry, chef.

The door doesn't hit you on the way out, but it feels like the world has crumbled around you as you sit down on the concrete and sink your head in your hands.

You sink onto the curb, your knees knocking together as you fold in on yourself, arms wrapping tight around your middle like you can hold yourself together by force. But it’s useless. You feel hollowed out, like a pit has been scooped from your chest, leaving only raw, open air where something solid used to be.

The sounds of the restaurant leak out onto the street—laughter, clinking plates, the rhythm of a dinner rush you are no longer a part of. The life you've had for three years, ripped away like it had never belonged to you in the first place.

JJ's words are the ones that echo in your mind now: "They always win, don’t they? They always win and we're left to scrap by."

You stare down at your hands, your fingers stiff, still curled like you’re gripping something, though there’s nothing there. Nothing left. The buttons, stolen from your father’s suit, glint dully in your palm. You try to close your fist around them, but they press into your skin, sharp, biting. A cruel joke. Even the things you steal for yourself are taken back in the end.

The back of your throat burns, tight and aching. Your breath stutters, and for a second, you think you might stop crying—but you don’t. You can’t. Instead, the grief settles, thick and choking, pressing against your ribs, your skull, crushing you from the inside out.

You tilt your head back, staring up at the sky, searching for something—anything—to ground you, but the sky is smudged, blurred, swallowed by the glow of a city that’s barely there. There’s nothing up there. Just empty space stretching forever, indifferent to the small, insignificant thing you have become.

Have always been.

And then—your father’s voice again. Not real, but real enough.

“Is this what you thought would happen? Did you really think you could keep up?”

Your nails dig into your palms. You know you should move. Get up, go home, figure out what comes next. But you stay where you are, stuck in this moment, in this feeling. Stripped down, exposed, like a wound left open to the air.

A car rumbles past, the headlights flashing over you. And for one terrible, fleeting second, you think about standing up—stepping forward—just enough.

But then it's gone. The thought, the headlights, the car.

You exhale shakily. Pull your knees closer. And keep sitting there.

A sound cuts through the noise—sharp, distant. Your name.

You don’t move at first. The world around you is muffled, drowned beneath the weight pressing against your ears, the thick, suffocating quiet that only grief can bring. The restaurant’s noise hums at the edges of your senses, blurred and detached, as if you are hearing it from underwater.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has unraveled, slipped through your fingers like the buttons in your palm.

Your name again, firmer this time. A presence at the edge of your vision.

Slowly, you lift your head.

Rafe stands a few feet away, his Range Rover parked in the shadowed corner of the lot. The keys dangle from his hand, catching the light. He’s smiling—like he always does, like this is nothing, like you’re just two people crossing paths on an ordinary night.

But then he sees you.

Sees your face.

And his smile vanishes, something darker flashing through his face.

[the-uninformed-zennial]

Okay so I wanna talk about the ecosystem of a fandom space like Fable/Bound SMP and those that extend off of it.

(long post below)

So one of the things that kinda stands out to me is that many of the popular ships are just canon. Like… off the top of my head the only two popular ships that aren’t necessarily canon in Fable are Kaleidoscope (Midas x Malitae) and Prison Duo (Centross x Icarus). But even one of those has been hinted at being canon by Sherbert in a few streams so like???

Looking at this from the outside it’s almost worrying. But the thing is, I think it has to do with three different things that are all unique to the Fable/Mer/Bound (and adjacent) fandom(s) and might actually be the sign of a really warm and welcoming community (as the Fable & adjacent fandoms have always been imo).

Firstly, the medium. If these were not lore-heavy, highly improvisational, live-streamed stories the fandom wouldn’t be able to provide feedback and the creators wouldn’t be able to react to said feedback in time to adjust. Think about Hermitcraft, it’s highly improvisational, yes. But lore-wise it’s not super heavy and thus all ships kinda teeter on the edge of being canon or not canon. Likewise smth like Whitepine where it’s recorded beforehand (and I think scripted??) doesn’t give the creators the flexibility to adjust the content in the same way the fandom is moving as quickly as the fandom moves.

Secondly, the fact that the creators interact with the fandom. Hi, hello, I’m living proof of this cause if I hadn’t gotten picked up by Heyhay and Art I never would’ve gotten to become one of said content creators. But this goes far beyond that. This has to do with the fact that they listen and interact and bounce ideas off of their fan base. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it, the opinions and ideas you guys share out here do influence the story, even if it’s just confirmation that you guys are picking up what the creators are laying down. It still serves as a sounding board to see how well things are coming across, and speaking as a creator myself (albeit a newer one) I find it incredibly helpful.

Thirdly, the size. Obviously if this venn-diagram of fandoms was as large as say Hermitcraft or QSMP the content creators simply wouldn’t be able to keep up with the fandom and many ideas would get lost in the jumble. Even just with how large Fable got at it’s peak, there came a point where it was nearly impossible to keep up with the amount of fan art and theories that were being made. So I think this point kinda feeds back into the second, that having a smaller size helps the content creators keep up with the feedback they receive from their art and lead to the fandom having more influence on the story than anyone really realizes.

These three things work together to create a space where people get to feel heard and seen. One of the most enticing things about being a community member for me was having that ability to influence the story, to talk to the characters themselves, to poke them about things I wanted to know the answer to. And when they responded?? It was so cool! I remember I used to keep a tally of little things in the world that I had affected because of messages that had been sent during live chat. It wasn’t ever anything big, but sometimes it’s the little things that count. That’s why, as a creator now I try really hard to interact with community members. I know I’m obviously not one of the big creators in this space, but I still want to help you guys feel seen and heard, because that’s where so much of the magic of being a part of this fandom space comes from imo. And if I can help recreate what helped me fall in love with this fandom space even a little bit, I’ll do what I can.

Anyway, I’m just super grateful to this community and the fellow creators within it. I have been so lucky to be able to get to experience this fandom from both the community member and creator side and honestly it has just been one of the most overwhelmingly positive experiences of my life, from both sides of the spectrum. I know things like that are fickle. I know fandoms and people are always growing and changing and maybe that won’t always be the case. But I just wanted to say I really appreciate the community that has been built here and all the work that goes into keeping it a positive and safe space. So, thank you guys 💕

[the-cheezit-files]

here’s my advice, probably won’t work for everyone but I hope it’ll work for some people:

1. if you’re interested in going to a selective university, they make your application look good. some schools will take certain AP test scores as college credit, usually as general studies or core credits, though mine only counted as an elective. also if you take humanities APs (specifically history or English) and have decent teachers you can get pretty good at writing solid essays in a relatively short amount of time

2. exactly what @electronicmail said, high school is a tough time for a lot of people and that makes them act poorly towards others. also, there is a ton of pressure to fit in and sometimes people try to act a certain way to fit in. often this makes people mean

3. it absolutely does get better. teenage years are tough for many people, but a lot of people don’t like to talk about it while it’s happening. once you’re past the years where you’re constantly trying to figure yourself out and fit in, it becomes easier to be yourself. that’s not to say everyone knows who they are after their teens, because no one does - I just mean there’s a lot of pressure in high school to know who you are and what you want to do, and it’s ok and normal if you don’t know any of that stuff

4. it’s ok to not be on top of everything all of the time. not all assignments are going to be the greatest, and not all your days are going to be good. best thing to do is learn to be content with just doing what you can. (also asking teachers for extensions isn’t the end of the world either, if that helps you). this is something I really wish I had processed back in high school as an academic perfectionist, and i didn’t start really prioritizing myself over academics until senior year after dealing with burnout. if you feel yourself starting to get burned out, take a step back and look at what you think is causing it, and start making more time for yourself even if it means less time for homework - this is better than burning out

okay i'm the high school ask

what the fuck do aps do for you

why is everyone a dick

does it get better

how am i suppousesd to stsay on top of everything without getting burnt out and depressed

thank you Mr. Foxmail !! :)

i dont know i never took any. i think they apply as college credit or something nobody ever explained it. i was in a dual enrollment program with the community college

everyone is a teenager. teenagers are sad and angry for many reasons. sad and angry people are often dicks. and some people are just dicks generally. those people are not only in high school

yes. youre 14/15/16/17 but so is everybody else. make more friends

i was always a mostly B student. worked out. sometimes you just gotta do what the rubric says

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🚿┆revenge is sweet

jeong yunho x fem! reader

│synopsis: the one where you need to teach your boyfriend a lesson

│genre: smut

│trigger warnings: mature/sexual content, light dom(reader)/sub themes, mild sexual teasing/denial, handjob

│roulette prompt 27 + yunho + shower

You storm into your hotel room with a scream on your lips. "JEONG YUNHO!" Looking around, you find your boyfriend lounging on the bed, scrolling through his phone with a knowing smile. He doesn't even flinch at your outburst, which only fuels your anger.

"Oh, hi honey," he drawls, not bothering to look up. "Did you enjoy shopping?"

You hurl your purse onto the chair. "Did. I. Enjoy. Shopping?" you ask through gritted teeth, hands planted on your hips, fury radiating off you. "What the fuck is that reel you posted, hm?"

You'd been mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when you saw it - a casual thirst trap of him fresh out of the shower, water droplets still clinging to his bare chest, hair damp and tousled. The way he'd run his fingers through it, that knowing smirk on his face... He knew exactly what he was doing.

"You mean my GRWM reel?" he asks innocently, finally looking up at you. "I was just showing my morning routine."

"Morning routine my ass," you seethe. "You were practically naked!"

He sits up slowly, setting his phone aside. "What's wrong with that? My fans like seeing me take care of myself."

"Your fans?" You scoff, pacing the room. "You mean all those people thirsting over your little show?"

Yunho's eyes follow your movement, his smile growing wider with each step you take. "Ah... I see what this is about."

You glare at him. "What?"

He rises from the bed in one fluid motion, crossing the room to you. His fingers catch your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're jealous, aren't you?" His thumb grazes your lower lip as he murmurs in a low, challenging voice, "Then do something about it."

You surge forward, crushing your lips against his in a bruising kiss, determined to remind him exactly who he belongs to.

"You have no idea what you sign up for," you tease as you bite his lip. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging sharply.

He groans into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "Show me then," he challenges when you pull back to catch your breath, "Show me what I signed up for."

You shove him back towards the bed, watching as he falls onto the mattress. You climb on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head. "I'll make sure everyone knows who you really belong to," Yunho's breath hitches as your nails scrape down his neck. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before teasing everyone like that," you purr, enjoying how he squirms beneath you. You palm his clothed crotch, and his confident façade shatters. "You're mine," you growl, watching his eyes flutter shut as a moan escapes his lips. You start unzipping his pants, and his hips buck up desperately against you. "Should I post a video of you like this?" you murmur against his mouth as you wrap your fingers around his hardening length. "Let everyone see how easily you fall apart for me?" You wet your palm before teasing your thumb over his sensitive tip, then slowly glide your hand down his shaft.

"Fu-fuck," he moans against your lips. His hips stutter as you twist your hand back up, slowly increasing your pace. You press your lips to his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks - a reminder of who he belongs to.

"Who do you belong to?" you demand, but his only response is a desperate whimper as he arches into your touch.

"Baby, please," he whimpers as his muscles tense, his eyes rolling back. "Need to—mmph—feel you."

"Ah-ah," you tease, quickening your movement, "only good boys get to feel me." You whisper against his ear, "And you've been very, very naughty today." You softly squeeze around his base, and your hand stills its movement. Yunho lets out a desperate whine that makes you smirk.

"Who do you belong to?" you ask again, your voice commanding. When he still doesn't answer, you remove your hand completely, drawing another desperate sound from him.

"Y-you," he finally gasps out, his chest heaving. "I belong to you, only you, please—" he begs again, his voice cracking with desperation. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again, just please don't stop." His fingers dig into the sheets as he writhes beneath you. You smile mockingly as you run your thumb against his tip just before releasing his cock.

"See you later!" you chirp as you swing your leg off him, climbing off the bed.

"Wait, what?" Yunho props himself up on his elbows, looking at you with wide, desperate eyes. "Baby, please, you can't just—"

"Can't what?" you ask innocently, grabbing your purse from the chair. "I think I'll go grab some dinner. Maybe do some more shopping." You head towards the door, adding over your shoulder, "Maybe next time you'll think twice about posting thirst traps." The last thing you hear before closing the door is Yunho's frustrated groan, and you can't help but grin. Revenge is sweet.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[oh-no-its-bird]

Very rare nsfw Bird au !! Pls do not interact if ur a minor or I'll fucking kill myself, and then no one will get anymore Naruto content because I'll be dead

So, you know that one type of fic that's like "Tobirama sleeps Madara in an attempt to calm him the fuck down / give him something to focus on / tie him to the village so he will be less likely to leave or self destruct" ?

Ok so THAT. but now throw Hikaku in there to help. They are teaming up to try and tie Madara down before he doom spirals

Ok so. Hikaku and Tobirama talk about how they're worried about Madara's looming self implosion / mental state

Tobirama is like "don't worry, I'll take care of this."

And Hikaku is kinda press x to doubt but also kinda "alright, good luck"

Only for a couple days later Madara to seem to calm down / have become dramatically more smug and peaceful.

So, yk, Hikaku is like "woah, Senju-sama what did you do? Whatever it was, keep it up, this is wonderful I haven't seen him so level in months."

And Tobirama is like "Hmm. Yes. Letting him have his way with me certainly did seem to help calm him, didn't it?"

And Hikaku is like record scratch car crash noises "letting him WHAT."

So Tobirama explains that yeah, he let Madara fuck him. A lot. Also he would NOT shut up during it, which Tobirama also just kind of let happen which also seemed to help...? Double time therapy, I guess

And Hikaku is like. Head in his hands. If it works it works...? He guesses...? Oh my god he wish he didn't know this tho

BUT THEN.

Tobirama is gone for a week on a mission, and Madara is looking pretty bad. Like, sharp decline, he is in a bad way. And Hikaku, panicking, is like "oh fuck what would Tobirama do" and then ends up throwing himself at Madara out of desperation

It works !! Surprisingly well !! There were a couple hiccups at first maybe, but Madara and Tobirama were never exclusive or anything (and Madara might have partially agreed out of spite for Tobirama)

Madara calms down, Hikaku is left with his head spinning and very "fuckkkkk ok, too late to back out now. It worked, we are commiting"

Tobirama comes back and is pleased, less work for him. Good job Hikaku, he knew u were a real one

Now, this is purely tactical for Tobirama (at that point) it's a strategic fuck to calm Madara down, with a bonus of usually being good for him.

So he is pleasantly surprised Hikaku backed him up. He would have thought Hikaku might try and find someone else to throw at Madara, the fact he would sacrifice himself only further proves his loyalty to the village in his eyes

Hikaku one of the real ones fr, Tobirama's trust and respect in him is on the rise

Hikaku still has his head in his hands as he digests the fact this is his life now

Meanehile: In Madara's little world, rhe senju bastard AND his hot most loyal man in the world are throwing themselves at him. He is convinced he's winning.

And like, he is, to be fair. But only because of the mental illness

Madara is sitting around creating convoluted soap opera plot lines for the three of them in his head.

Like, he's imagining Hikaku and Tobirama office cat fighting over him, one of them getting jealous over the other, competing for his attention and affection. Two of Konoha's most powerful, well respected, high ranking shinobi... and they are fighting over Madara... he's so back..

Meanwhile Tobirama and Hikaku are telling eachother ab their recent Madara interactions and going "oh good, that should keep him calm for a few days" and nodding at eachother like "we are in this mess together, my brother in arms"

So, Madara ends up noticing the vibes in that corner and then he possibly ends up getting jealous of them spending too much time alone together (they are strategizing on what to do with/to him next) and gets even more pouty and mad even after they fuck, because "I bet this bitch was thinking about Tobirama/Hikaku the whole time >:(

(Meanwhile, Madara was the one thinking about the other the whole time. Mostly in the context of them joining them)

He finally snaps and rejects one of Tobirama's advances while saying something stupid shit like "why don't u just go sleep with HIKAKU, since I know thats where you REALLY wanna be. You think I haven't noticed you sneaking around with him, huh? Huh? Whore."

And Tobirama is like "are we seriously doing this now? Is this seriously what we are doing? Ok."

And Tobirama and Hikaku now have to strategize to come on to Madara TOGETHER or smthn, or at minimum put on some sort of production to feed into his sudden insecurities so they can guide him out of them

Madara meanwhile remains suspiciously fixated on the idea of them sleeping together (without him!!!! How dare they!!!!)

All of that is to say:

Tobirama and Hikaku end up sleeping together for Madara and having to put on a big show of it just to make Madara feel like he still has the power here.

Tobirama is largely indifferent to this turn of events, Hikaku remains "oh my god how is this my fucking life" but also "well. It's for the greater good, I guess. Not like it's a horrible fate for me."

So anyways: Hikaku and Tobirama alliance to try and calm Madara the fuck down via fucking and letting him fuck them. Pass it on.

[spread-the-influence]

This comics is propably my first encounter with horror comedy, and it's just so fascinating to me

Like i need to specifically remind myself, that there will be shifts in tone and that i gotta move with it to appreciate both parts

And now that i get it I really enjoy it and wanna look for similar media

So ye, thank you for introducing me this genre ^^

oohh boy ! i don't think this comic is a good introduction to the genre — mostly because the tonal whiplash is Way More Extreme here than , at least in the ones i've seen , other horror comedy media . this is my first time writing this and Horror in general , and i feel like that gets apparent with some scenes . but i'm glad that i introduced someone to a genre that i've grown fond of since i wrote this comic (:

i've seen more horror than specifically horror comedy ( feel free to ask me about them though ! ) , so i don't have much to recommend . but i still can think of some off the top of my head :

i'll recommend misery by stephen king , either adaptations work . i do not have a preference — i think either one is fun in their own way , but i'll go with the book version if you want just a bit more horror and gore . while it's not advertised as a horror comedy , it has a good amount of dark humor that made me chuckle , and i personally think those moments are underappreciated when it comes to discussions of this story .

i haven't watched idle hands by rodman flender in a while , but i do recall that movie both freaking me out and making me laugh as a kid . i might need to rewatch it to jog my memory but it's another thing to look into if you're curious about horror comedies that aren't as talked about compared to scream and the evil dead (:

right now i haven't finished watching swarm by donald glover , but it's a wonderful example of a horror comedy thus far ! has moments that made me feel unsettled and moments that made me laugh out loud . also i feel its plot of being about an obsessed stan of an artist murdering people could appeal to people that like this comic (: be warned that it has graphic sexual content though so i don't recommend this to minors .

also i'm sorry for bringing up awful hospital by bogleech but legitimately it has scrambled my brain chemistry when i first caught up to its latest update . more comedy than horror but it can get spine-chilling when it leans to the latter i love it dear god someone pull this webcomic out of my hands - another niche horror comedy web thing is anything produced by carter amelia davis (: underrated . please god i won't shut up about her

[linkcharacter]

i've dumped into a real problem for myself in fandoms, especially in mouthwashing fandom. almost every time i wanna look up some platonic interactions between to particular characters, there is no tag for that! and looking through general tag is just too hard. it's especially a problem now, when i am desperate in finding analysis of jimmy' and curly's friendship. man i wish every fandom had like platonic ship tags. feels like only invader zim has thought of that.

so i wanted to ask, do you perhaps have any tips on how to find some good platonic arts or text posts in tumblr? sorry for a long ask

Oh man it is a struggle, I get you... I understand your frustration...

I unfortunately do not. I do wish we had a friends tag though, but I get that it'd need a whole bunch of people to agree on one to use it, which can be hard... but not impossible

The only suggestion is to block the romantic ship tag altogether because they're usually always tagged (thank you jimcurlers for tagging them mwah) but also that's not a solution when you're desperately starved for absolutely any content with them.

[yoichiin]

isagi yoichi's fluff alphabet !! (from a to k)

as stated, it's a fluff alphabet for isagi!

no notable warnings. gn!reader. fluff. second person pov.

note : first post !! i kind of repeat myself im ngl but it's okay probably. also no j because i couldn't think of anything sillying

a is for activities (what does he do in his free time with you?) :

isagi is somewhat of a simpleton. his life is eat, sleep, soccer so the things he does with you reflect that. if you feel like switching it up, you’ll have to tell him directly.

when he does have free time with you, quiet cozy days in or spontaneous brunches on the weekends are his go-tos. they’re simple, yes, but with yoichi, less is always more. he isn’t the type of person to find value in super extravagant outings and in his mind, the memories that ring loudest are the mundane things that no one else seems to remember. so even though his heart aches when you don’t recall the late night conversations when he fell in love with you for the first time, isagi doesn’t mind. the warm winter naps and simple mornings over not-very-luxurious breakfasts may melt like snowflakes in your memory but as long as you’re content in that moment, it’s all he could ask for.

b is for beauty (what does he find most beautiful in a partner? what is his favorite part, inside and out?):

the simple answer that yoichi says is someone with a nice smile and laughs a lot. the real answer is a bit more complicated. 

as someone who has observed and analyzed his whole life, he’s noticed the kind of glow joy seems to have on people. from the small perk of the shoulders to laughing so hard you feel like throwing up—this phenomena sings to isagi. the existence of real, visible, audible emotion.

when he’s on the pitch with his teammates there’s a fire in every one of their eyes—all-consuming like the sun. it’s that light that pulled him into blue lock in the first place. the joy of victory, of evolution and change. seeing all of these emotions on someone’s face is yoichi’s favorite thing about human connection and he treasures it with his life. 

(and he likes thighs too, i guess.)

c is for comfort (how does he help his s/o when they’re sad or overwhelmed?):

it’s a nice surprise that isagi’s soccer awareness translates well into relationships. he can assess your state immediately and run to your side and comfort you with verbal affirmations. his words are so real and from the depths of his soul, it’d almost be an insult to call them sweet nothings. 

yoichi’s feelings come out as easy as gentle wind upon autumn leaves, even philosophical at times. if you weren’t overwhelmed by your own emotions, you’d be racking your brain a bit trying to figure out his. it gets theoretical to the point where it flies over your head but that’s how you know it’s genuine. no matter how he layers his words, his intentions remain clear. “it is a privilege learning to understand you.”

d is for dreams (how do they picture a future with their s/o?):

before isagi got with you, he had never imagined being in a relationship. not like he didn’t want one but it just slipped his mind. his first love is soccer, through and through. he thought he never needed anything else.

still, his vision has always been simple. win the world cup, become the greatest striker in the world, and now you’re there too. when you’re with such a simpleton, he’ll always have space for you in his future and now that he’s got you, you’re never leaving.

e is for equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or passive?):

as much as i want to be self-indulgent and say that isagi would be submissive, i think he leans towards being dominant in a relationship.

perhaps before blue lock, when he was unsure of his ideals, he’d follow his partner with no question. but that’s not the person he wants to be. now that blue lock has reassured the things he’s been thinking for years, he likes being in control, leading, and making decisions. he doesn’t disrespect you or dismiss you, of course, but yoichi feels most secure when he voices his opinions freely and decides things for himself. yoichi can lose sight of you at times because of this so your relationship might have to be negotiated to be more equal but in a way where he doesn’t have to compromise his values.

f is for fight (how does he argue? how do you work through your problems?):

while isagi is good at voicing his thoughts, he’s a little too good. his thoughtful words and passionate soccer theories can quickly turn into paralyzing venom when he’s angry and it comes out in hyper-specific insults that pierce some of your deepest insecurities. fights happen infrequently but when they’re bad, they’re bad. he’s not so stubborn that he’ll drag on a fight but he says things so out of turn, it leaves you needing space.

recovering after these arguments takes a lot of time and talking and trying your hardest to understand each other. it’s hard to make sense of everything isagi is thinking because he thinks so much, but know, after all is said and done, he wants you two to come out of these fights stronger.

gentle (how gentle is he, physically or emotionally?):

as good as he is with his words, isagi doesn’t really know much about physical affection. he’s gentle the way a child takes care of a pet or baby, cautious and a bit eager. you can feel his nerves travel up your spine as he hesitantly puts a hand on the small of your back to hold you. though awkward, it just makes it even more endearing.

h is for honesty (what’s something he keeps secret? any rules for honesty?):

isagi doesn’t have any specific rules when it comes to honesty. obviously, he wants you to trust him but if there’s something you want to keep to yourself, it’s fine with him and he’ll do the same. 

i is for inspiration (a trait about him that you might look up to):

how much he thinks. isagi’s mind is an endlessly growing puzzle—a garden of ideas and theories he’s been nurturing like he’s been at it for fifty years. you watch him in awe as he sits studying a match, eyes slightly squinted and nose all scrunched up. yoichi’s constantly redefining and reorganizing his thoughts and you can’t help but giggle when you say something random and he perks up with what you’re sure is a fresh idea. his drive is a beacon not just for his rivals but for you as well.

k is for kiss (what was the first kiss like?):

i imagine your first kiss is after a match. isagi has shot the winning goal and both of you are full of excitement and adrenaline you don’t realize what you’re doing. after swimming past all of his teammates surrounding him and seeing you in the front stands, he’s so overwhelmed he pulls you in for a kiss. it’s warm, exceedingly so, and a little awkward, noses softly bumping against each other. yoichi’s hair is somewhat stringy from his sweat while his face glistens under the stadium lights as you realize what has just happened.

truth be told, he’d been stressing himself out wanting to kiss you and he revealed he’d have rather done it in a smaller, more secluded place but his red cheeks while he bashfully explains himself is too cute that you go in for another peck between his brows.

fin.

[kawoala]

omggg for ur event, can i do a workplace romance w atsumu where ur a new hire that he lowkey has a crush on?? blended would be cool :3. thank you!! <33

RAN THROUGH; atsumu miya. burger—haikyuu. drink—workplace romance.

contents word count ; 746. blended; smau/traditional. reader + tsumu work at a restaurant. minor profanity. DON’T PAY ATTENTION TO THE TIMESTAMPS, THANK YOU! sad undertone? implied fatherless atsumu.

authors notes MAKATTACK!!!! i loved writing this lowkey………………..

the restaurant is empty. it’s 9 o’clock—about an hour past closing—but you’re still here, cleaning. you’re not sure how the customers are capable of dirtying something so fast, but the tables and floors are always filthy by the end of the night.

your movements as you wipe down the last table of the night are sluggish and lazy, your mind is miles away from anything vaguely related to the restaurant. your hand moves almost absentmindedly, wiping the same spot over and over again. you know you should move on, finish this up quickly, but your mind won’t let you move. you’re paralyzed by your thoughts.

class tomorrow. need to visit your mother. do laundry. assignment due tonight. answer email. car needs an oil change. apply for the part-time job at the convenience store on the corner? rent due soon. need groceries.

you go through the thoughts like they’re a checklist. they play in your head like a loop. class tomorrow. laundry. oil. class tomorrow. oil. rent due. class tomorrow. assignment tonight. oil. groceries. laundry. class tomorrow.

“you okay?”

you spin around quickly, grasping the rag to your chest. “atsumu!” you exclaim in a breathless whisper. you hit him with the rag lightly and shake your head. “you scared the shit out of me. i thought you went home already?”

he snickers, and shakes his head as well. “nah. i was going to, but then i remembered i’d rather bother you instead.”

“har har,” you drone sarcastically, giving him an unimpressed look. “seriously though, go home. i can close by myself. all that’s left is this table.” you pause, then narrow your eyes. “did you do the bar? you know the afternoon shift hates it when you don’t put the cups where they’re supposed to be.”

“yes, manager y/n,” he mocks, plopping down in the booth. he puts his arms across the back of it and lets his head fall back, eyes falling shut. “my feet hurt so bad, dude. i think i need to get some new shoes.”

you hum and sit down across from him. you put your elbow on the table, and your cheek in your hand, thoughts drifting back to all the things you need to do. you don’t notice your brows furrowing until atsumu reaches a hand forward and presses his thumb in between your brows.

“what are you thinking so hard about?” he asks, leaning forward, head tilted. the look in his eyes is so genuine, you have to look down at the table. “it’s, like, nine o’clock, dude. you should be thinking about your comfy bed.”

you don’t answer immediately, choosing to pick at a scratch on the varnished wood. “i have a lot to do tomorrow,” you mumble. your voice drops down to a whisper when you say, “too much.”

“like what?”

you look up and meet his eyes again, but not before catching a glimpse of that stupid smile that’s so atsumu you kind of want to punch him. “uh, just college stuff, mostly. i have to pay rent, get my oil changed—it’s gonna cost a lot of money.” you shake your head and laugh humorlessly. “sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about my money problems.”

“ah,” he hums softly, nodding. “i can, uh, change your oil for you if you want. for free. just so you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” he gives you a shrug.

“you know about cars?”

he shrugs again. “a little. my dad was a mechanic before mom had me and my brother, so he taught us how to do basic shit. change a tire, change oil, stuff like that.”

his eyes dart away from yours at the mention of his dad. you want to ask about it, but refrain. you know what it’s like to have family problems—how hard it is to talk about that stuff.

“that’s cool,” you say. “and, yeah, that’d be nice. thanks.”

suddenly, he clears his throat and shuffles his way out of the booth. “come on.” he vaguely nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. “we’re done, let’s get outta here.” you can practically see the hesitation on his as he asks, “you wanna come over? watch a movie, or something? i can make food, too. i’m freakishly good at cooking.”

you laugh at the way he emphasizes his sentence. you stand and wipe the nonexistent dust off your pants and nod once. “yeah, food sounds pretty good right about now.”