#and that’s just like.. very surface level I suppose of what it was like at my previous job

[saphiccarma]

Could do a agathaRio Vidal x goddess!reader *angst and death of a character*

R is basically the goddess of creation *her powers are like a counterpart for Rio meaning whenever she collects the souls of people that die, r creates new life and both usually never interfere with each other Job unlesss it absolutely necessary and is dating both. Rio and her are very close to each other because of their powers working together as one so it’s not surprising that Agatha falls for both and working together to create life using magic*

She may not have known about Agatha having a son, she can feel her anguish and pain and hates when both fight and Agatha being angry at both of them

During Rio and Agatha fighting each other, r makes the biggest sacrifice by trading her life to bring back Nicholas *she love them both and would anything to make them happy even giving up her powers for them but there a big penalty of using magic like this and falling in love while making sure she does her job with no distraction. she watches over them in spirit even sending a sign letting them know she ok but also tells Agatha that Billy needs her guidence*

Both Rio and Agatha feeling regret and guilt because of this and makes sure Nicholas never forget r and her heroic deed *r acts like a third mother to nicky*

- And if she grabs for your hand, and drags you along

Relationships: Agatha Harkeness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: Even in Death, you found a way to watch over your family.

Warnings: Character death. Nothing else (lemme know if I missed anything)

A/N: Took me a hot minute, but this was really fun to write. Sorry if it strayed a bit from the original request, but I hope it's still satisfying!

Death and Life were often seen as counterparts, and on a surface level, they were. Death was associated with destruction and decay. Life was often thought of as creation and blossoming flowers. You and Rio were supposed to be exact opposites.

For the most part, you were. Rio was sarcastically playful and sharp, and you were blunt yet soft.

You created life. Whenever Rio stole, you gave. Whenever you breathed life into a new soul, Rio sucked someone clean of their life. It was a delicate balance that had to be maintained  

In the thousands of years (honestly you had lost track) that the two of you had worked together to create balance, you had grown close. A relationship had developed. One that was strictly meant to be had outside of your job. It was not meant to interfere with your duties.

But that promise that deal, became increasingly hard when a certain someone came along. Agatha Harkness.

A witch killer, a woman with chaos magic. At first you were cautious about interacting with her, instead choosing to hang back as Rio teased and flirted with your permission of course. It was amusing to watch Rio fumble slightly at Agatha's snappy remarks. Typically, she was the one on top in your relationship. Most metaphorically and literally. Then as time passed, you found out why Rio had fallen for Agatha.

She was just a young witch trying to survive in a world that was not meant for witches. Most witches would curl their lips at her, she was a coven less witch after all, but all you saw was the best parts about her. Her humor that never failed to make you laugh, the softness of her lips, her hands that trailed down your body gently - savoring every bit of it. What was meant to be something that never developed turned into something more.

Two divine beings, goddesses, had fallen in love with a mere witch. It was straight out of a fairy tale.

And when you mixed Death and Life with a mortal vessel, well, you got something interesting. You were given a child fated to die. At first, you hardly noticed the life brewing in Agatha's stomach. It was masked by a cloud of death. It was a child that was never meant to live.

But as her stomach grew in size and she became even harsher than usual, you realized something was up. Rio had known all along. She could feel the trail of death that followed Agatha around like a lost puppy, hovering over her stomach and waiting for the right moment. You tried not to let it hurt that neither of them told you.

You didn't find out until the child was born.

Sitting in the forest, playing with flowers, you gasped as you felt an anomaly enter the world. A creature that was born of Life and Death. Something that made your powers go wild and spring you into action. You teleported instantly, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Agatha was leaning up against a tree, her breath heavy and blood slowly dripping from between her legs, and her eyes were trained in front of her. Death stood there, dressed in an elegant green dress, and her lips pursed, and brows furrowed. She was apologetic.

You tilted your gaze towards the witch, eyes narrowing in on her. She was giving birth. She was with child.

"You are with child?" Your words were said slowly, offended that you were not told.

Eyes snapping towards you, Agatha exhaled sharply, tears pooling in her eyes, "Clearly," her tone was clipped and tight with pain, "Please, my love, let him live." It was a plea for life, begging Life herself to let Death's child live.

Your fingers twitched as you glanced at Rio, and with one look you knew that you could not save this child. Agatha must have noticed because she let out a near animalistic sound.

"If you do this, I will hate you both forever," she snarled, yet her eyes betrayed her harsh tone. They were filled with tears and desperation. She was pleading for her son to live. Your heart broke at her fragility, and you wanted nothing more than to give her what she wanted.

Rio sighed, "I cannot my love. She is unable to do it." She gestured towards you.

Pressing further into the tree, Agatha shook her head, "I won't let you."

Slowly, Rio tried to take a step forward, but a weak purple glow flickered in Agatha's hands. Your breathing quickened. Rio stopped when she noticed the magic, unwilling to hurt her girlfriend, but she had a job to do.

The gears turned in your head. Rio was only required to collect a soul. An eye for an eye. It didn't matter what soul really, as long as she met her quota for the day then her job would be fulfilled. And before you could stop yourself, you blurted,

"Take me," Both women snapped their heads towards you, "My life should be enough. He can live forever. Take me instead."

You could see Rio considering it, her mind mulling over the possibilities. You knew it was possible; it had to be. Agatha let out a cry of pain. You rushed towards her, steadying her before lowering her to the ground.

She gripped your arm tightly, "I don't- You can't-"

Emotions were at war inside her. On one hand, she didn't want to lose you, she couldn't. But on the other, Agatha wanted this child so much. She wanted to be better than her mother, she wanted to cherish him or her and love and care for her baby forever.

Wrapping your arms around her, savoring in her warmth, you placed a kiss on her forehead. Her fingernails were digging into your skin, hard enough to draw blood, but you hardly cared. Instead, you held her as she bit down on her own teeth.

Rio said nothing, her hands clenched at her sides as she watched the two of you. In that moment, she knew that there was nothing she could do that would stop you. It was better this way anyways. Being a goddess had its perks, so she suspected that you would still be able to visit in ghost form. (And if you weren't then she would take Agatha and the child to visit you.)

Agatha cried out as she pushed the child, clutching onto you tightly, a lifeline as pain flared through her. You held her tightly, willing to be her support and offered Rio a soft smile. Death had never hated her job more. You could feel the life leave the boy the minute he left his mother body, but at the same time, Rio took your soul. You didn't have to die for it to happen, but you felt yourself leaving.

"Can I see him?" You asked faintly, giving Rio a pleading glance. This situation was hitting her the hardest out of all of you, at least emotionally. She didn't want to take your soul. Even though she would still be able to see you, Rio didn't want to cause any more pain to Agatha.

She nodded, barely perceptible, and you offered her a dazzling smile. Your arm was burning Agatha's tight grip, but you hardly cared, instead tears welled in your eyes when Agatha released you and cradled a little boy. He was bloody and crying loudly, but he was perfect. Giving Agatha one last squeeze, you placed a kiss on top of her head, before bending down to press another to the boy's head.

"Goodbye my loves."

Agatha looked like she was going to cry, but instead she just clenched her jaw and held her child tightly. You stood and approached Rio. Death had her eyes shut, lips pursed tightly, and you cupped her face.

"It's alright," you whispered, her eyes fluttered open when you caressed her cheekbones, "I want this."

Rio swallowed thickly, but took a hold of your wrists, and then you were gone.

^_____________^

Nicholas was turning five today. Your ghostly form drifted towards the house, a soft smile on your face. You may be slightly transparent and could float and drift through things, but you could become physical enough to enter the mortal plane and interact with things. Slowly, you opened the door as quietly as possible and slipped inside. You could feel Rio already inside.

Apparently, you weren’t quiet enough, because footsteps came barreling towards you. A tiny body crashed into yours. Your form flickered slightly, not that Nicky noticed, but you crouched down, wrapping your arms around him.

"Mom!" he cried, burying his face into your shoulder. You laughed softly and placed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Hello, my little love," you cooed, "I brought you something." Nicky pulled away, bouncing on his toes excitedly. Even in death, your powers still worked. With a wiggle of your fingers, a plant appeared, potted already. It was a Venus fly trap, several plant mouths dangling open. "A Venus fly trap," you whispered.

Nicky blinked wide eyes, a smile curling at his lips. He looked so much like Rio. Delicately, as if afraid he would break it, Nicky told ahold of the plant. You laughed as he bolted off, shouting for his mama and mami.

"Bring it down," Agatha chastised gently. Despite her tone there was a soft glimmer of amusement in her eyes, and she placed a hand on Nicky's shoulder. He held the plant up to her face and Agatha pulled back slightly. "Very interesting."

Rio stood behind her, a small smile curling at her lips as she met your eyes, "Of course, you have to outdo me every time."

You raised a brow.

"Mami forgot," he said bluntly, yet you didn't believe that for one second. Rio would never forget. She shrugged cryptically and hid a large smile into Agatha's neck.

Turns out, you found out several hours later that Rio got Nicky a goat. Suffice to say, Agatha was not happy, but Nicholas certainly was - based on his excited screams and overjoyed clapping.

^_______________^

Squirming relentlessly, Nicky screamed as Rio dangled him over the water by his ankles. It was a lake day with the four of you. Agatha and you lounged on the shore, with you curling into her side, and Agatha rolling her eyes at Rio's antics. Your form had been flickering in and out of the mortal plane that day, but you still chose to hang out regardless. Being the girlfriend of death may have allowed you to break some rules, but that didn't mean the laws of nature had to like it. You weren't supposed to be here.

"Should I drop him?" Rio hollered. She stood over a small cliff, just about a yard above the water.

Nicky shook his head, "No!"

She ignored him. You laughed softly, sitting up slightly from your spot next to Agatha. The woman pouted when you extracted yourself from her grip, but sat up with you, her arm wrapping around your shoulders.

"I don't know," You gave a hum of consideration, "He didn't give me a hug when I showed up."

With Nicholas getting older, him now being eleven years, he began acting moodier. Like he didn't care. You knew that he still did, but it still hurt a little. Nicky stared at you, betrayed at your words, and let out a scream as Rio dropped him. Blowing you a kiss, Rio jumped in after him.

You giggled and pressed a kiss onto Agatha's cheek. The two of them emerged seconds later, Nicky propped up on Rio's shoulders and her arms digging into his sides as she tickled her. He was screaming, squirming in her grip, and trying to fight Rio off.

"Mom!" He called for help, "Mama!"

Agatha rolled her eyes, but reluctantly stood, offering you a hand. You took it with a soft smile and waded into the water. Rio and your son were back under, presumably wrestling, and you could see ripples on the surface.

You shrieked as something touched your ankle, sending Agatha a withering glare when she smothered a cackle. Then, you were being yanked under the water, fully submerged. Arms were wrapped around you, and you were grateful you didn't need to breath to survive, because water would have flooded your lungs.

Seconds later, you were dragged up, Agatha's arms hoisting you up. She was cackling relentlessly and her head was thrown back. You gave her a side eye, shoving at her harshly, and she fell into the water.

"Hey!" She spluttered as she emerged, her hair clinging to her face. As she began to come over to you, ready to take revenge, she disappeared beneath the water. You burst out laughing.

Something tickled your ankle again, and you floated above the water, a triumphant smirk on your face. Nicky popped above the water, a pout on his face.

"Not fair!"

While he was busy whining at you, Agatha and Rio had emerged in the distance, their lips connecting the moment they noticed Nicky was distracted. You scoffed, pouting a little, but kept Nicky's attention.

"Fairly fair," you smirked down at him and kicked your foot, water splashing in his face.

He spluttered, wiping his hair out of his eyes, and glaring at you. With one sudden movement, you were yanked back under. Nicky had his arms wrapped around your ankles, before moving up to your waist, and you wrapped your arms around him return. Kicking both of you to the surface, you showered his face in kisses, ignoring his protests.

This was your baby boy, and you would do anything to keep him safe.

^_____________^

Despite being hundreds of years old, Nicholas still acted like a moody teenager. You floated beside him, your form only visible to him and Agatha. A boy stood in front of Agatha, going on a fake tirad about how much he read about her. You rolled your eyes. Leaning down so that you were right next to Nicky's ear and he flinched.

"He's fake," you whispered, tilting your head as you studied him. He walked around with an air of death, much similar to Nicky and Rio, although not as strong. His death was covered up by a sigil and some other powerful magic. "And supposed to be dead."

While you didn't appreciated people being fake to your wife, you still felt a pull towards him. He was special, you knew that much, but there was something else. You couldn't quite place your finger on it. During her many years of being alive, Agatha did many cons, mostly to grow her own power, but you think Westview was one of the unnecessary ones. And as you stared at the kid longer, you realized who he was.

Billy Maximoff. He had a familiar air around him. Yet he was supposed to be dead.

Oh Rio would be so pissed.

You hovered over to Agatha and sat on the arm of her chair. She gave you a side-eye and you could tell she was pissed. After Wanda, you may or may not have let her stay under the spell, but it’s not like you could do much to help her anyways. You didn't have a physical form.

"You need to help him."

Agatha rolled her eyes, not that Billy noticed, but she cut him off.

"I'll help you."

Nicholas raised both of his brows, casting you a confused look, and you shrugged with a small smirk.

Oh Rio was going to be so mad at you.

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

This is a very sleep deprived thought—and I don't actually believe it, per se—but.

I've seen a lot of people who are deeply unsatisfied with the retcon of it being Agatha that bound Jen's magic. Mainly, because it felt like shoe-honing. Especially since Agatha made such a point about going out of her way to not kill Jen despite hating her, because she respected her work too much.

I think many interested discussions can be had about this. I've talked about this before—the fact that Jen's character felt sort of neglected in the finale, and the fact a lot of people struggled to connect with her prior to rewatches. (I myself didn't have this problem, but still, my criticisms are still of the same nature-)

So anyway, Agatha probably chose to bind Jen to keep her out of the way, not realising the weight of that, the intersectionality—perhaps not caring about the suggesting very much at all. Because, you're a midwife, Jen. You can still do good. You will do good, just out of my way. And I truly do believe this is how it went.

But what if Agatha hadn't been the one to bind her? What if, in a brief moment of clarity, Agatha locked in to get everyone out? Her movements are always supposed to be calculated, so is carelessness really in her repertoire?

Maybe, just maybe, she heard Jen say that, “I'll be damned if I let one of you two idiots die,” and that triggered her. Maybe because of pride—god knows she was overwhelmed before the final trial and all her walls had come right back up. But the same didn't apply to Jennifer. She had actually changed. Jen had actually re-discovered her worth. She'd remembered who she was, power or not. She was someone Agatha respected in spite of the resentment. Someome who heals, nurtures, helps, does good. Not the vain, surface-level, self-serving fraud—who had previously been on a dark path too similar to Agatha's own, so close to complete cynicism. Lilia had saved Jen from that path and oushed her to be the path ahead. The Obstacles? Agatha.

And Agatha won't accept Jen's help—not after what happened to Alice, which to Agatha's & Billy's eyes alike stands as evidence of the fact she is a monster. She won't even accept to acknowledge her own character development, as a mere episode ago she jumped in front of a sword to save Lilia. She won't, above all, acknowledge that Jen has grown to care about her. Instead, she will do everything tomake that kdea crumble. She will destroy it.

All she needs to do is shape the narrative Billy truly thinks is true, and so it can become the truth. Billy, who created the condition in which it was possible for Alice to break her generational curse. Who found the spirits of Evanora and Nicky alike. All the trials were his limited understanding of the coven & of witch folk. (Jen's was right out of her vision board, she looked like one of her clients—nothing like the rootworker midwife we know she used to be. Alice's is in the seventies, which mathematically makes no sense with her age as she would have been born in the eighties to be the age she is on 2025—but Billy based everything about her trial on Lorna, because that's what he was familiar with. Agatha's mind he couldn't read—all he knew about her was that something happened to her son. So he puts a grown woman in children's clothing, to force therapy on her—and she regresses into the hurt little girl she was at the stake. Lilia, whose mind is the loudest & most easily accessible to Billy, had the most personalised trial, but even then, it latches onto the witch stereotypes that she so desperately hates. All of those do help the girls—minus Agatha—but still don't fully represent them. As for the green witch trial, well, it took him a while to cook it up, because he just found out Rio is death. Anyway, I digress—) My point being, if you can shape Billy's understanding of a situation, you can have some power over what happens. (One trial for each witch, the public transport system, etc.)

Would it be such an impossible stretch to say Agatha painted herself as the villain once more, embracing the part presented to her, the oart most familiar, the oart she knows best to simultaneously reject Jen's offered sisterhood/peace/altruism AND make sure the road gave Jen her powers back? She gets Jen out of the way—go do good again, just out of my way—because she's hellbent on the narrative that Agatha Harkness can't be anything but a covenless witch.

And what's the next thing she does, after assuring Billy that the road took Jen to safety after giving her what she wants?

She tries to get what she wants, because she knows Billy is in no real danger in his own road. Give me a little power-boost, dungeon master, get me out of here, come on. But he doesn't trust her. And if he doesn't trust her—she can't possibly convince him to willingly hand himself over to Rio.

So she gives him what he needs, what he wants from the road. She guides him—cradles his head and helps him fight the guilt, she helps him save Tommy. The second abomination that Lady Death was trying to prevent has already been re-born, but Rio's too busy playing mother-knows-best in suburbia on Agatha's rooftop.

So Agatha gets Billy out, accepts that, “sometimes boys die,” that death herself can't be blamed for Nicky—she forgives Rio—and starts to mourn herself. She's gotten Jen & Billy out. She can stay here and die the villain. But the road presents her with the opportunity to live—from death, life—(she also realises right then that Nicky was also Rio's, btw)—and she makes her dramatic exit. The rest is... A different post.

[abigail]

it’s only been a week but i think i actually love my new job so much .. i am not very good at it but that’s okay, it’s a new job and it’s been one week … but yeah everyone is just really lovely and (it feels like) there’s no major pressure on me to be a certain way or whatever and my manager is wonderful it’s like.. the opposite of my previous job. i actually feel good about going in and i feel like i can actually talk to the people there without being judged or whatever and that i can just actually be myself .. idk !! and i know i still have a lot to learn but the job itself is just .. so nice.. like the customers are really nice too and it’s fun going through the donations (trying v hard not to buy everything that belonged to someone’s grandma lol) but yeah. it’s just.. nice.. i think having spent the last two years feeling.. the way i did (about my job at least), it’s just.. nice. it’s nice to feel like they care, it’s nice to know despite being a bit of a weird and awkward person sometimes they don’t care about that and they still like me regardless.. at least i hope so lol it feels like they do and some have told me they do which is cute lol but yeah. added bonus it’s like a 15 minute walk from where I live (I’m going to be saving at least £80 a month by walking to work rather than getting the bus into the city yippie) AND ! the route to/from the shop goes past one of the local churches and they have a huge bread box outside and crates of fruit all totally free for passer-by’s to take as they wish so yay I get to go past it nearly every day and can get free bread and fruits and veggies :-) today I got a free loaf of bread, two cinnamon buns, and a small bunch of bananas :-) yippie !!!!!

[seventh-district]

not even gonna tag this properly bc i don't wanna get Involved but i do have some Thoughts i need to get out into the void so here we go

(aaa quick edit: CW for mention/discussion of Boothill leaks)

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads // twitter thread

The Sun and The Void

Venezuelan inspired high fantasy

follows a young outcast swordswoman taken in by her grandmother, the dark sorceress for a noble family, who relies on the magic to keep her alive after being attacked by monstrous creatures

and a young noblewoman who’s the shame of her family because of her mixed heritage and desire to use magic

both are manipulated by those with more power than them into a plot to free an ancient evil god

mineral based magic, politics, nonhuman MCs

[nomaishuttle]

okay saur when i get home im gonna try and fill out the insurance form since well im stuck here. once thats through and ive got insurance set up im gonna try and do a proper psych eval bc i reakized ive bever actually had one. and i think itd be very very useful

[dan-crimes]

I don't personally enjoy death in my stories for one because I have no experience with it personally and for two because you can't torture a character anymore once they've died 😇

[singwhenyoucantspeak]

okay but in an academic setting this is still probably considered self plagiarism and is still against academic integrity policies. of course if you posted the art to your website AFTER submitting it for class that would be fine, but pulling something you previously wrote/created to submit for an assigment instead of doing the assignment fresh for that specific class is actually still considered plagiarism. Obviously it is a clearer issue if you have already submitted it to a different class and are re-using it. but if it is previously published somewhere, like your website, you are going to get into trouble. For the same reason, dont submit a blog post you wrote that kind of works for a class essay prompt. any plagiarism software will find the blog post and flag that and it will still be considered plagiarism. If you really want to engage with something you already made, the most you can do is cite yourself, but in terms of academic integrity policies you are supposed to be creating something completely new for all assignments.

[kavehater]

I was looking at a slideshow and it just hit me that nobody ever said to me that they don’t actually want me to kms and that it genuinely felt that they meant it except one person very recently

[mbat]

i know this statement is dumb to people who understand money stuff but honestly i dont understand economic inflation like its fake numbers why are they going up. like why do things that stay the exact same go up in price. dumb as fuck

[prickly-paprikash]

Pushing aside the fact that I am, quite possibly, a Kendrick fan—disregarding my biases, I think Drake needs to stop. Push Ups was a good diss. Surface level, vapid, but it possessed that mean, petty spirit that carries a diss track all the way. Even bringing up accusations that are, realistically speaking, unlikely still works because a diss is supposed to show just how much you hate a person and how cleverly you can bring it.

Taylor Made was weird. I get that it was a strategy. Drop the main diss first and then drop this one to really prod at Kendrick. Using Pac and Snoop AI voices sucks though. Distilling Kendrick as Taylor's underling also doesn't work because Kendrick only collaborated with her once (twice when they remade Bad Blood) and that's it. Meanwhile Drake is out here always looking for new, up and coming artists to pounce on their trends or cling to established artists. Then it got taken down, because of course it would have been. You used 2Pac's voice. Did you really think his estate, his family, wouldn't do anything?

So he bought Pac's ring and used his voice without permission. More and more we see just how much of a vulture Drake is.

And then Euphoria drops.

Your first diss was met with solid reactions. Your second got taken down. Kendrick drops on a random hot Tuesday, and in a matter of hours surpasses your numbers that took weeks to accumulate. Kendrick did that. Euphoria was also harsh, clever, and sounded so good that people kept replaying it over and over again. Once more, Kendrick schools you.

A few insiders then say that Drake will drop that night. Right after. But he then allegedly gets cold feet. A few hours later from when Drake was supposedly ready to drop but backs out, Kendrick drops 6:16 in LA.

In your previous disses, you begged Kendrick to drop something with quintuple entendres. Euphoria did that. But he took it a step further by naming his second diss 6:16 in LA.

June 16: Father's day. Referencing the fact that Drake has been proven to be a deadbeat father.

June 16, 1971: Tupac's Birthday. Kendrick idolizes him. Drake steals from him.

June 16, 2019: First episode of Euphoria drops. A show Drake is listed as a producer on. A show about underage girls entering a life of sex, substance abuse, and more. Things that Drake has been accused of repeatedly in the past.

June 16, 2011: in June 2, 2011, Kendrick posted on his twitter that there will be a concert at Toronto on 6/16. Allegedly this is where Drake and Kendrick first met.

6:16 AM: The time of release for this track.

6:16: Multiple possible Bible verses, given Kendrick's Christian background.

Other claims felt like reaches though, so I'll stick to that.

The final two lines of 6:16 also reference the Michael Jackson, R. Kelly, and their song "You Are Not Alone". Drake, who has always claimed he is Michael Jackson or at the very least his equal/successor, is now tied to him in a way he does not want. Because we know all of the dirt that came out after MJ's death. We all know what R. Kelly was sent to prison for. And we all know what Drake has been accused of multiple times.

Kendrick also alludes to the fact that you have a leak in your circle, Drake.

So Drake drops Family Matters. A scathing 7 minute song that makes fun of the GKMC van. Saying that Kendrick's daughter isn't his. Saying that his wife cheats on him with security. Saying that he beats his wife.

Now, these are enormous accusations levied. But Kendrick has responded before, years ago, that the DV accusations were false. He has also always been open about his faults. Adultery. Sex addiction. Insecurity. God complex. Kendrick, for better or worse, has always laid out nearly every aspect of his younger life on his songs. This also helped by the fact that in both Euphoria and 6:16, Kendrick says that Drake has spent millions on finding dirt on him but came up with nothing. Again, these accusations can still be proven true and if so, Kendrick needs to be held accountable for them.

But if not? Then Drake just adds another to the pile of "He's a liar and a master manipulator."

Drake also posts a Parody on his Insta that gains little to no attention because 30 minutes after dropping Family Matters and supposedly going on his victory lap, Kendrick drops meet the grahams.

Another thing. 6:16's cover was a glove. That meant nothing to us, the audience. meet the grahams makes it make sense by zooming out of the glove and showing off a shirt and drugs that Drake supposedly uses. Drake has not had any receipts with his accusations against Kendrick. Kendrick puts Drake's supposed prescription, his full name, on a bottle of Ozempic. Kendrick, for now, seems to make good on his threat. OvO, Drake's company, is full of leaks. And they're leaking it straight to Kendrick Lamar.

Nearly 24 hours later, Kendrick drops Not Like Us.

Euphoria was a general character dissection and assassination of Drake: Insecure about his identity as a biracial man. Culture Vulture. Blaccent user. Code switcher. Fake abs. Womanizer. Misogynist. Using black features just to feel black enough. A deadbeat dad that knows nothing of raising a child. And even revokes Drake's ability to use the N-Word (I have no stake in that I am Asian so I will keep my brown mouth shut for that).

6:16 in LA was an ominous threat that slowly reveals that Kendrick has insider information on Drake. That he is ready to leak so much more should Drake continue.

meet the grahams is a brutal open letter to Drake, his parents, and even to Adonis, Drake's son. Saying that Kendrick could be a better mentor to Adonis. Saying that Drake abandoned you and that's not your fault. Don't be like your father—whatever anyone says, for better or worse, you are a black man and don't code switch just to make yourself feel better. He says that Drake failed his mother for what he did to women. Saying that Drake's father is the cause of his gambling issues. Drake is a body shamer. Leaving the mother of his children to rot. And of course, the reveal that Drake has a secret daughter, the same way Pusha T revealed Drake has a son. Adonis.

And of course, now. Not Like Us. Where Kendrick goes all in on one topic that he has alluded to in every diss track before. Drake is a groomer. A pedophile.

I am sick. I should not be tuning into this beef. But my fever can go ahead and end me, I need to know how this ends.

[mxdotpng]

i want to think abt my twinswap more but every time i try to the only mental image i get before laughing is asch chewing at the manor's walls with guy pulling at his coat & luke and sync telling each other to throw themselves out a window while van pulls them along on a leash. like disbehaving children.

[prael]

Integrity

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

Happy Hanni Day!

Masterlist word count: 6,048 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It's a really long way to travel, and doubly so when you get fuck all from it. It's not like you were after anything ground-breaking—it's just a fashion show, after all.

It's about as close as you get to 'phoning it in' as a journalist. A few copy-and-paste interviews to accompany some snapshots of the season's latest designs. A couple hundred words, cut and run. Who wore what dress and who wore it the tightest. You could probably type most of it out on the plane without ever leaving your seat, and the public will still eat it up.

Somewhere over Austria, you mulled over that very fact.

Four days later, somewhere over Hungary, you're scrambling to do exactly that.

The whole thing is going fine. Fine, right up until it isn't. Maybe it's the sound of your fingers on the keys or the pocket of air that rocked the plane in that familiar gut-wrenching way, but her eyes are opening slowly. She's mouthing something, her fingers reaching around behind her, under the thin layer of blankets she is enveloped in.

"Are we there yet?" she murmurs, fishing her phone out of her blanket, sleepiness and all.

"Not even close," you say as flatly as you can, returning to a few words you'd been rolling over in your head for the better part of thirty minutes.

"What are you writing about?" She asks from down on her fully reclined seat that's moonlighting as a bed.

"You," you say with a small laugh, not looking away from your laptop.

"What about me?" Hanni's phone lights up, cutting through the darkness and finally making her face visible. The cabin is in full black-out since it's the middle of the night, and the dividers in first-class keep the two of you isolated.

"Your clothes, mostly. Generic fashion show stuff. Doesn't really matter. I put the names Gucci and Hanni Pham in an article and it sells itself. Instant clicks. S'like... two baits for one fish."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Probably is," you reply, knowing full well that there's little to be proud of in here. It's all surface level after all, since adding the things you know now might raise a few eyebrows. All the investigative journalism you've done over the past few days isn't exactly something you can write about. Though you can't deny it, an article about the beauty mark right below her waistline would probably send the masses into a frenzy.

You can hear her tapping on her screen a few more times, and with the silence in the first-class cabin at night, you find yourself focusing on those sounds more than your writing. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Sigh. Tap. Tap.

"What is it?"

"Can't sleep," comes her whispered reply as she pushes herself up with that strange grunt you often hear her make, propping her pillow against the bulkhead and stretching out.

"Drugs not working?"

She shakes her head. "Not doing much."

"If my typing is too loud I can stop—"

"No, you focus. I'll find something to keep myself distracted." She locks her phone again and disappears into the darkness again, her soft breathing almost inaudible. Minutes go by. You manage a full two paragraphs before hearing her moving in the darkness again.

"Hanni?"

"Shh."

The slow shifting goes on for another few seconds, and in the darkness, you can make out the movement of her blanket as she slides off the chair down to your feet. What hits you next is her fingers reaching into your waistband.

"Hann—"

"Quiet," she whispers back. You quickly pick up the laptop from resting on your lap before her attempts to undress you can send it crashing to the floor. You're quick to place it on her seat and close its cover, out of her reach just in time before she slides your pants down.

She doesn't say anything, just lets you lay there in silence as her fingers guide you into her mouth. It is almost unnerving how used to it you have become in such a short time—how easy it has become for you, a supposed professional, to mix business and pleasure to this degree.

Hanni goes on unperturbed, wetting you between plump lips that trail up and down your length.

There is nothing you can do at this point but give in and just throw your head back. You grow harder under her touch and her tongue and judging by the way she grows more aggressive with her movements, Hanni is starting to enjoy herself as well. You can't quite make out her face, but you already know the look she's wearing. Can practically see it in your mind's eye; the look of wide-eyed desire as she takes you further in, lips rounding out over teeth as she welcomes every inch you give her until her cheeks cave in from sucking.

It's fucking burned into your brain. You've seen it so much, among so many other filthy expressions, you aren't sure if you could ever forget it.

Your hand reaches down blindly in the darkness until it finds the back of her head. The mere fact that the both of you are sitting on this plane hundreds of miles above the ground is instantly forgotten, fading out from consciousness and sense as she holds on, massaging your balls with one hand.

You let yourself lay there like this, fingers tangled in her hair, cock buried in her mouth. The thought of pulling her up and reciprocating is never far from your mind, but her grip on your hips is certain. This is all her right now. She's in charge.

She does not lack the pace to prove it.

Her head bobs up and down in the dark, tongue guiding you further in with every motion, lips slipping further down along your shaft, saliva pooling at your base. Her humming is growing—you can't hear it, but you can feel it. It resonates all the way through you, down the aching hardness she keeps stroking with her tongue, and even further to fuel that tension building in your lower stomach.

"Holy fuck," you curse under your breath, voice catching in your throat, lost in the motion of the plane's droning vibrations and her eager motions.

She pops you from her mouth, stroking your cock with a twist of a wrist and something she is doing with her tongue at the tip. As your eyes begin to adjust, you can see that spit has mixed with precum, dribbling down and over the back of her knuckles. It's lewd and over the top and everything that Hanni Pham, an innocent idol, pretends not to be.

"What? You want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," you whisper back, heart pumping in your ears. The feeling of her strokes, suddenly more controlled and tense without the benefit of her mouth is as jarring as it is fleeting.

"Didn't think so." With that, she brings her head back down to take you in her mouth again, hot breaths hitting the spit-slick surface of your dick. It's dirty and clumsy, messy and wet, and each time she swallows you, your entire body shudders with pleasure, coiling every muscle and feeling it climb upward until your stomach goes tight and you find yourself pushing her down, further, faster, until she is sucking what little air she has.

You are wound tight. Agonising, torturous tension pulling ever outward from your centre with each motion she makes. Every twitch of her tongue—fuck, does she work her tongue—spurs some sort of response down to the very tips of your toes.

It's a complete relapse. Back to four days ago, in the back of the car, with nothing but a divider between you and the driver. Cumming inside Hanni's pretty mouth and feeling her swallow every bit, then going on like nothing happened.

-

There's usually not a lot of enthusiasm for an interview. You have spent the whole morning being shrugged off by star after star after star. To them, they're there to look pretty. To show face and represent their brands. Answers are pre-written garbage to be regurgitated over and over like everyone is sharing the same stupid fucking tongue.

Then there's little miss backless-top. Denim jeans and a shirt with frills that barely keeps her modesty. Big, brown eyes and a smile that fills her whole face. Add her vibrance and energy and she really gets your journalistic gears turning. There's something fresh about her. How when you approach her, she engages you in a conversation like you're an actual person and not just some cardboard cut-out of a journalist.

Hanni Pham knows her shit. It's part of the training. She handles media with all the grace of someone born to do it and the energy of someone who loves it. So not only does she give you answers there and then, but when you make the request to sit down with her later and get all you need to do a whole feature on her, she's quickly turning to the powers that be to make it happen.

She should have been a ten-minute addendum. An hourglass figure strutting and posing and laughing her pretty little ass off for cameras for the adoring public. Instead, Hanni fucking Pham, you've got her. For hours.

So you sit down in a quiet little room you managed to reserve with the company card, and she's right across from you, with two glasses of water and a notepad on a table in an otherwise empty room.

"Is this going to be recorded?" She asks first, though looks sceptical and unprepared.

"Normally, yes. But I would prefer us to be a little more comfortable. I'm going to take notes, that's all."

"I like that." She claps, like there's an imaginary audience watching, even if you're the only one there. "So, what are we covering?"

"Everything. To start," you shift a little closer to the table. "Think of this being more about you rather than what you're wearing."

She gives you a little bit of a quizzical look.

"I know. Fashion show. Just, work with me here. The Gucci brand gets the clicks, I want to introduce those clickers to the girl wearing the clothes."

Hanni nods, her eyes light up a little and you can't help but notice how she is really fucking adorable. Up close, she's even prettier. It throws you off for a second as you bring up the notepad. The blank pages stare up at you—mock you. Where do you even begin?

"We met briefly earlier, and you're standing alongside stars from many industries and the lead designer at Gucci."

"Yes," she smiles politely. "That was exciting. Kind of surreal, really."

"So what does it take to be who you are? A girl of Vietnamese blood, born in Melbourne, working in South Korea and travelling to Europe for fashion shows?"

"Uhm, like, honestly?" She shifts in her seat. "Really a lot of hard work. Endless and stressful and never-ending hard work. You know? From singing and dancing, to the language lessons and the dieting and working out. It needs hard work and, well, a lot of luck too."

"You make your own luck." You nod, before jotting down into your notepad.

She tilts her head in response. "I suppose so. That's very quotable if you want. I made my own luck by working hard."

"And yet you're still young, what, turning twenty?"

"Just." Hanni nods.

"Barely twenty and making waves. Do you still feel like you have so much more to give?"

"Oh fuck yeah," she quickly confirms. "Wait, don't write that down."

"Oh... fuck... yeah." You sound out the words as you pretend to write them in the notepad.

"Hey!" Hanni laughs, and it's beautiful. It fills the room and just makes her glow with warmth. "Cut me some slack."

"Alright. Alright. So is this what you envisioned? Being twenty and being here?"

"You mean in this room with you?"

You laugh too. The jokes come so naturally to her.

"I'm happy where I am, it really was always my dream."

"To be in this room with me?"

"Fuck you," she laughs. "But, in a way, yes. I wouldn't be here if I didn't achieve my dream, would I?"

"That's very true. Then what is next for you?"

"There's no end goal." Hanni tilts her head. You follow her hand as it passes through her hair. She's studying you just like you are studying her. "I don't think I'll ever sit back and say 'that's enough.' That's not who I am."

"Ambitious. The question now is what are you chasing?"

"Is that you asking or the article?"

"Both," you say with a wry smile.

"For the article: I want to tour the world, keep improving and working hard. Release more music."

You scribble down a few notes and then click the top of the pen. "And off the record?"

"To spend a little more time focusing on myself. Time is fleeting. I should try and enjoy it while it lasts."

"You're young, pretty and successful. You have plenty of opportunity to do just that."

"Is that flirting?" she jokes, cocking her brow with a seductive smile.

"I'm just stating facts. I'm married to the truth." You gesture to your notepad. "So let's get back on the record, shall we?"

-

One delayed layover later and you're back in the air, and after your brief break to let Hanni drain you into her throat, you managed to get back to finishing up the article, so for the final stretch, the two of you are lying together in one of the first-class beds, and the conversation kept going.

"How are you single?" she's asking, while you're spooning her.

"Mostly because of my job. Definitely the baggage and constant travelling. Takes a special woman to not hate this."

"Sounds like idol life. I know so many idols who try to date but you just never have the time to see each other. We tour constantly and are always on the road. A long day of practising and comeback planning and comeback filming and comeback rehearsing, and more hours of sleep and eating to prep for the next comeback, you're always too exhausted."

"Such a shame." You lower the blanket that's covering her bare chest. Her breasts fill your palm as you caress them, gently. "A pretty thing like you deserves so much better than empty hotel rooms."

"Flirt," she playfully chastises, pressing her ass to your crotch before sliding forward to give you some friction, grinning at you over her shoulder. "These past few days, all the sex, I'd be lying if I said I couldn't get used to this."

It's a sentiment so heavily shared, that even now you're thinking about how easy it would be to pin her onto her back and mount her. It isn't easy to shake the thought when her body is practically inviting you inside her.

You're asking instead, still exploring her naked form, "How do you overcome the needs?"

"Other ways..." Hanni replies through closed eyes, her cheeks blushing. "Toys. Helps and hurts. They're no real substitute."

You run your hand over her toned stomach, heading between her thighs and gently prying them open. And there she is. Right fucking there, wet and waiting for you. Your finger glides over her lips and runs the full length of her, and she strains to contain a gentle moan. The problem is, Hanni is really fucking loud, and the walls of this pod are paper thin.

"I want you again," she whispers, and it's a real fucking dilemma.

She guides your cock through the folds of her pussy and leans back her head as she takes it. Fuck, it feels so good being back inside her. Wet and tight and made to grip. A small whimper escapes her when you are in deep, which she tries to swallow.

"You gotta be quiet," you tell her, while all but refusing to move inside her.

"I can be quiet," she grinds against you, but you're not convinced, and with a firm grasp of her jaw, you pull her closer.

"Can you?" you speak under her ear. "Can the oh-so-talented Hanni Pham control herself?"

She lets out another trembling little sound of pleasure while pushing herself onto your shaft. "I think so. All I know is you need to—yeah, right there. Yes." She closes her eyes and tries to stifle that deep groan of enjoyment.

You hush her before it gets too loud with a hand over her mouth. Tentatively, you begin moving, an aching slow journey backward and forward. As tight as her cunt is around your dick, the movement becomes easy. Dragging more pleasure from both of you and as she rolls her hips again, grinding against the motion, the whimpering returns.

"Hanni," you scold gently, pushing further into her with each stroke. "Shhh."

She mouths an 'I can't' into your hand which elicits a laugh from you and turns a smirk into a smile. You're rutting against her ass, savouring the feeling of your hips hitting her soft flesh. Ample curves along with a narrow waist begging you to embrace her. A pretty little thing taking all your cock and urging you on. It's hard not to go harder. "Need you."

"Careful what you wish for," you whisper as she tries to lean back her head in bliss.

Her tongue brushes your knuckles, and the soft sweep feels like a warm, wet invitation to probe further. A few seconds of uncertainty follows, and then her mouth closes around the tips of your fingers and starts to suck. Sharing the same excitement that has gotten the better of you the past few days of endless debauchery.

You sink your fingers deeper. She sucks harder, her moans stifled behind her pursed lips. Anywhere but here and you would throw her face down on the mattress, fuck her into a state of bliss. Make her beg for you and claw the bedsheets. Such an innocent girl, a girl who should have stayed wrapped in silk and lace, but who demands you take her, just a moment longer, just a bit rougher, and how can you refuse a beauty like that?

Just as Hanni settles and relaxes, her body is dragged into tense peaks of delight. Tiny gasps leak from around your fingers as you thrust deeper. She chokes as she orgasms, digging her nails into the arm that is holding her close, her face going bright pink. Sweat on her temples, on her chest. An earthly aroma of wet skin and hot breaths. She swears and curses the pleasure as you pump your orgasm between her thighs.

You fill her. For a while, you are one, grinding together in mutual fulfilment, breathing heavily and lost in your actions. The mess you're making runs from her sweet cunt, down her thigh, onto the bed.

The rush leaves the both of you exhausted. Hanni does nothing to resist you pulling out and emptying the last few drops over her ass. It is all over as quick as it began. It comes with a strange realisation of how natural it all feels to cum inside Hanni Pham.

-

It's not often that someone you interview not only takes your card, but doesn't immediately throw it away, and actually uses the number on there. You're in the back of a cab when it rings. Today's show has just about finished and while you didn't quite manage to snag another interview like the one you did with Hanni, it has been a good day.

"Did you get enough to write about?" is the first question she asks when you answer.

"I got a few bits here and there. Some surface-level stuff from others, but you gave me the marquee piece. I'll fluff up what I have with the spec sheets released and I'm sure it'll be a nice little exclusive."

"That makes me sound important," she giggles.

"You're a fucking celebrity, of course you are important."

"No need to swear."

"Apologies." There's a momentary pause. You let it linger on the call and soon enough, Hanni's laugh fills the silence.

"I'm kidding. Keep up that energy,"

"So, why are you calling? Usually, when I get a call it's to recant some statement or explain a misquote. Did I make a mess of something?"

"Well, not yet. But I have some ideas."

"Ideas?" You repeat, brows raising.

"Where are you now?" she asks, and for a moment you wonder if you shouldn't be answering.

"Taxi. Headed back to the place I'm staying."

"Where are you staying?" It's a strange question for her to ask, you think. Or maybe, it's not strange at all, but timing and circumstance have you considering the way it sounds.

"A hotel."

"Look to your right," she says, making a confusing request, but you look. Of course, you do. Outside the window, in the next lane over, stuck in the very same traffic as you are, is a familiar face. She gives you the widest grin, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Are you following me?" you joke.

"Do you want me to?" There's something playful in her voice, an attempt at seduction that's not exactly subtle.

"Hanni, what are—"

"Just answer the question," she interrupts.

And that's it. There's no reason to evade the truth. Lying to yourself gets no one anywhere. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Good," she murmurs, "you know, I'm still wearing the same outfit as I was at the event. These jeans are getting really uncomfortable." She pulls the phone away from her ear for a second and you hear her call out, "Driver? See that taxi on our left? Follow it, please. And can I get some privacy back here?"

There are some distant sounds from the other side of the phone. An affirmation of orders. Then her voice is right back with you.

"As I was saying, these jeans are really uncomfortable."

"Fashion can hurt," you say flatly.

"You're supposed to tell me to take them off or something. You're not very good at this are you?"

"I didn't realise 'this' is what we were doing." You've developed a stupid fucking smile, even if it's going unseen.

"Hmm, it can be." There is a moment of quiet as if she's thinking. "Hold on a second," Hanni says. There are some vague sounds you can't make out before she comes back to the phone. "Got bored of waiting. Now, keep talking will you? I like the sound of your voice."

"Hanni, what—"

"Just keep talking. Tell me what you think of me." She can't see it, but the look of confusion must be shining bright on your face. At a loss, and under duress, you speak your mind.

"Well, you seem nice." It's a weak first effort. "Very funny, a little confident. You must know you're pretty. Young, but driven." The words you mumble are stilted, but telling the truth.

"Really. You think I'm pretty?"

"Yeah."

"Not sexy?"

"Hanni, you're fucking sexy."

"Thanks," her laugh is like bells, ringing through the car. "That's better. What did you think of my outfit?"

"Daring. Not often do I see an idol go completely backless. Risky."

"Sometimes a risk is worth taking."

"Seems so."

"Tell me more. Tell me what was the part you liked the most?" Her voice drops from that relaxed confidence to a pitch that has your head buzzing with possibility.

"Nice waist. Really looked good with the way those jeans hugged your hips."

There's a long, heavy breath from the other end of the line. Something rustling and then a deep gasp from Hanni.

"What's happening?"

"Nothing. Keep talking. Describe me to me." Her voice is fraught with need, a small tremble in each word.

"Okay." That was permission, or demand, whichever is. You swallow before continuing. "Backless was a good choice. Your bare skin looks great. I'm sure those pictures are going viral already. Betting they are all over the web, all over people's phones."

"Are we close to your hotel?" Hanni strains out the question as if it were hard to say, every syllable wrought in pain.

"Close."

"Good, are you excited?"

"To?"

"See more of my bare skin."

Fuck. The image floods your mind like a dam breaking. Suddenly, she's right there, unclothed and naked and spread open. Suddenly, she's right there, moaning in pleasure, your cock lodged deep inside her.

"Yes," you groan into the phone. It's a painful admission. "Really, Hanni. Really fucking excited."

"So tell me, what are you excited to see?"

"Your ass. Love the way you wore the jeans just a little too tight. Really framed it."

She whispers, "That's all? Anything else, anything special you wanted to see?"

"Your breasts. Like what the top does. Would like to pull it down and play with those breasts." This whole thing is obscene. You're shamelessly spilling your desire to a girl you just met and she's loving every second of it.

Another soft gasp is heard on the call. It's more than that, it's her panting, short snatches of breath as her little gasps become regular, heated and urgent. "And then what?"

"That's a surprise. We're here." The cab pulls up and her car pulls in behind you.

"Room number?"

"Oh-one-two-two," you say, handing over cash to pay the driver and stepping out. "See you there."

-

It's deep into the night now, and her back is pressed against the wall as you're kissing down her neck. For a young woman who looks ever so innocent, you're quickly learning the taste of her body could have the alcohol industry aflame. She's intoxicating and you're addicted. Lips sucking, teeth pressing lightly against tender flesh.

She told you to not wear a condom, not this time. She described your first load as a waste, a sinful injustice after all the things she had done to wring it from you. So now you're back inside her, thinking only of how you're going to decorate her this time, about the moment you can't hold back any longer and cum, uninhibited, spewing mess over her delicate, flawless little body.

So you're just fucking nailing Hanni against the wall, her leg pulled up and knee hooking around your elbow. Holding her there, pounding her cunt the best you possibly can. Her hands scratch deep lines into your back, and her fingernails leave dull aches along your spine. There's something primal in the way she's urging you to fuck her harder, stronger, faster. She wants all of you, just like you want all of her.

You lift her other leg and hold her there, folded against the drywall. The steady pounding begins to churn her insides, to break her fragile body to the rhythm. She's mewling a mixture of sounds in your ear. Begging. Incoherent sounds of need. Then you feel her cunt clenching and tightening, a sudden strength to the grip she has on your shaft.

Hanni screams your name, howling it at the ceiling and the walls while you drive her ever deeper through an orgasm that's torn apart her expression. Utter beauty, sheer excellence. Her quivering pleasure comes with warmth between the two of you. She cums so hard that she goes limp in your arms. Your legs really begin to strain as you pump her full of cock, and her lips find yours again.

Your kisses are savage, the gnashing of teeth and the crush of lips. She's asking for more. Demanding more.

So you throw her to the bed, turning her over and she instinctively drags herself to her knees. Her palms run to the edge of the bed, clawing the blankets as you climb behind her.

"Do you like my ass?" She breathes. Your grip finds the firm flesh with purpose.

"Love your ass," you mutter, taking a hold and angling her towards you.

"Then fuck me." Hanni arches deep, pushing her soft ass in the air and pressing her tits against the mattress. She backs right up to you, begging to be fucked, once more.

The penetration is perfect. Balls deep inside this horny little girl, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using it as leverage. It's hard, it's fast, it's a brutal rut. A sweaty, wet fuck driven by nothing but raw need. She's too wet, too accommodating, clapping herself against your pelvis, meeting your every thrust.

It's not the time to think. Simply let instinct take over. Leaning into it and fucking her.

More words spill from her mouth. More dirty, lewd praises that have your balls aching. It won't be long now. Every muscle, straining with effort, pulls taut. It's such a fucking trip. This once innocent-looking person sucking the life right from the core of your being, bending over for you to force a hand along her spine and bend her further.

"Cum on me," she whimpers again and again. Over and over. She's pleading with you. "Please, cum on me. On my back. Cover me."

There's no further thought, no plan, no point of focus. Everything narrows down to the slick friction around your shaft, and your stomach starting to become strained from the endless effort. To how her ass shakes as your fuck yourself to the edge and how she cranes her neck to watch you.

At the very last moment, you draw out of her and jerk yourself, quick and urgent motions of your wrist. Hanni's knees give way and she lies flat, looking back and watching you as you start to cover her.

The first spurts land high, just beneath her hair. They collect and pool before forming and dripping forward along her shoulder blades. The next spreads across her shoulders. A thin coating that has you shiver as it lands. It goes on and on until you're slathering her in thick lines and ropes.

Something about the sight is so fitting, so delectable, as she lays there and writhes with need, adoring the feeling of being bathed in your lust.

Her expression is an aphrodisiac as she cries out in ecstasy. Her tongue runs across her lips, and then she lets out a soft lass before crashing her face into the soft bedsheets with a moan. Your fist is still pumping rope after rope of cum across her until every muscle feels drained, and you manage to collapse beside her on the bed. You trace a finger across her smooth, plump ass as you catch your breath.

"This is the life," Hanni gasps. "If I could just have endless sex, the world would be a far happier place."

-

You could have been forgiven for thinking it would be a one-off. Just one night of wild sex together before going your separate ways and never speaking again. A nice memory of a beautiful girl to always sit fondly at the back of your mind.

But the very next night, you're in her hotel bathroom. Sharing a bath together, her back pressed flush to your front. You can't fucking resist running a hand between her thighs, working gently over her cunt to hear the wonderful noises she makes.

"Please," she whispers over and over, grinding against your touch.

Ordinarily, you might tease her, and have her beg a little more, but there's nothing more enthralling than the sounds and sights of Hanni's face when she cums. So instead, you're knuckle deep with two fingers and curling them into her cunt, hitting that magic spot just a little more, faster and faster.

On the brink of her second orgasm in ten minutes, Hanni draws a noisy, shuddering breath, the exhalation quickly becoming a sharp, high-pitched wail that fills the bathroom, her eyes glaze as she climaxes. "Fuck. I—that's—more." Her head falls backwards and rests on your shoulder, "yeah, more."

Hanni's petite frame writhes in orgasm. Back arched, panting breaths quickly turning to gasps for air. Eyes flutter and roll backwards before shutting entirely. Every muscle in her tight cunt grips your fingers as waves of pleasure pour from deep inside. She grinds on you, riding the sensation of your touch through the spasms until they finally slow.

"You're so fucking cute when you cum," you kiss her cheek.

It's the compliment that has her rising from the water, she stands in front of you, her wet ass and thighs dripping as she turns toward you. "Me? Cute?" She smirks, lowering herself onto your thighs, resting your cock against her pussy. "Am I really?"

"Cutest fucking thing."

She guides your cock to her wet pussy, sinking down and slowly filling herself, the both of you making a whimper at the sensation. She's in no rush, though. She prefers slow, she favours long, lingering motions where you're all the way inside her and stay there for just a few moments before climbing once more.

Her rhythm has you melting back against the bath. Long, even strokes have her ass lifting and sinking, and she rolls her hips so elegantly that it's natural to reach for her waist and run your hands along her curves.

"I hope you don't think I'm easy," Hanni whispers, her fingers grabbing the hair on the back of your head, locking her hot body against yours, keeping you close, wrapping around you. "But I'm twenty and sex-deprived, so deal with it."

"You're allowed to enjoy sex. Nothing wrong with that," you answer through closed eyes, focusing only on the heat, the skin, the feeling of your cock rubbing through her.

With a mischievous chuckle, she rests her weight on you. Chest to chest, nose against nose.

"Careful," she whispers, her voice fluttering in between soft sighs of excitement. "I could get used to having a man around. Someone willing to get me off, over and over again. You might be stuck with me. Wouldn't that be scandalous? A reporter who's secretly fucking a star like me?"

That alluring, seductive voice makes your body tense. Her kiss threatens to undo you right then and there. She's riding you harder now, bouncing her ass in your lap. Driving the pleasure, the friction, harder and deeper.

"I have a confession to make," you speak with heavy breaths, trying to restrain yourself. "I think I could get used to this. Every day. If I could."

"It's a deal then. How about we celebrate by letting you blow a load inside me? Would you like that?" She nibbles at your earlobe, giggling as she sucks it between her lips. "How good would it feel to feel your hot, thick cum slide all the way up inside me?"

"So fucking good."

"And maybe tomorrow I'll keep you inside me and let you fill me all over again, and maybe I'll do the same the day after." There's a devilish smile across her face as she continues, "I'll ride you again and again and again..."

She keeps repeating it, the word stamped into your head over and over and each time she says it, she drives her hips down into you. Hard. The water ripples. Her ass slaps the tops of your thighs. It's a relentless rhythm, an insistent grind, a desperate desire for more.

"You're filthy," you tell her as you take a firm grip on her ass, her flesh filling your grasp and the muscles rippling through her skin as she moves.

"Maybe. Maybe I am, and maybe you like it." She laughs. A sound as sweet as honey.

"You know I do."

"Then show me how much. Fill me. Let it go."

That's all you need, just her words and the way she fucks you. She's the one doing all the work, and it's all the reason you need to relax and let the bliss consume you.

Hanni is kissing you when it hits. She swallows your groans of release, sucking them into her lungs. Her hands press down into your shoulders, nails sinking deep into your skin.

She doesn't stop moving, not once. Keeps grinding. She maintains the pace until you can't take any more. Until there's nothing left. Only then does she ease her motion, settling onto your lap, keeping you deep in her.

"That was amazing," she sighs.

"Fucking was."

[ivysangel]

surprise post bc my blogs fixed woo hoo!! i initially sent this as an ask to @hanasnx as my contribution to his baby daddy!jason au, but i also wanted to share it here for u guys as a little treat :p

Baby Daddy!Jason, who you co-parent with, in a very civilized way. No joke, the picture of camaraderie between exes. He takes your daughter on the days he's supposed to (which isn't that often, given his occupation) and brings her back on time, always with a little gift for you as well. Flowers, chocolates, a little knick-knack reminiscent of when you were together. It's not because he's in love with you or anything; it's just the principle of the matter. "Happy wife, happy life," not that you were married or even dating, but he figures the mother of his child should get love sometimes.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who, the next time he sees you, it's to drop off something your daughter forgot with him, and as he's handing you the bag, he casually asks why you haven't been asking him to take her more often. You had been for a while when you were going on dates weekly, but for some reason, the relationships never went anywhere, so you just gave up. "Oh, you know, it just wasn't working out." you say off-handedly, "Kept getting ghosted." you sound only marginally disappointed, moreso annoyed. "What a shame, they're really missing out," he says, getting real close to you and taking up your entire field of vision.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's got your entire calendar memorized and knows that his daughter's not home tonight and that you've got no plans other than watching movies in solitude. He knows you're too stubborn to call him over for company even though you've been giving him fuck me eyes in passing for the past few months, so he figures he just has to take matters into his own hands and corner you until you give in like he knows you want to.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who fucks you on damn near every surface in the house, telling you he's just christening the place like he would've already done if you lived together. Whispers apologies in your ears about scaring off all of your dates while he's splitting you open, bullying his cock into you while your eyes roll to the back of your head because you haven't been fucked this good in years, not since the last time you'd been with him. You're face is deep in some pillows when you realize the memories you had of his dick pale in comparison to the real thing, and you aren't sure you could go back to using your imagination to get off after tonight.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who keeps you up all night until your pussy's red and puffy from how many times it'd come in contact with his hips while he was fucking you. Fat tip kissing your cervix until you were clawing at his biceps, begging him to give you some reprieve, tears in your eyes while you babbled incoherently, too lost in the feeling of him to make any sense. He admits in the midst of sex that he tried to get over you; he really did, but he just couldn't; he just couldn't picture you with another man in any capacity. The thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, loving you, made his stomach turn, filling him with rage and an overwhelming need to claim you as his.

Baby Daddy!Jason, who's a level-headed, non-fragile ego'd man until it comes to his family, which, contrary to what some would say, did not only consist of his daughter but you too, and any guy who tried to get with you was a threat. he didn't know the intentions of other men, but he knew his own, which was to keep his little family happy as long as he was alive. If that meant putting a gun to the head of anyone who made a move on you and consoling you by stretching you out the way he knew you liked until you just said "fuck it" and let him put another baby in you, then so be it.

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy! So I'm obsessed with your writing! Your EMT series might be my favourite thing I've ever read.

I was wondering if I could request an EMT Marauders x reader story where she gets really sick but thinks it's nothing and downplays it to them, only for it to end up being Pneumonia or something. And maybe they feel guilty for not realising it sooner?

I know you've probably already written something similar to this so no worries if you don't feel like writing it but I'd love to see your take it if you decide. Hurt/comfort is my favourite trope in the world. I just can't get enough of it!

I hope you're doing well!

Thanks gorgeous, hope you're doing well too <3

cw: pneumonia

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You make sure there’s plenty of honey in your tea when the boys get home. 

“Hi,” you greet them, pleased when your voice comes out semi-normal. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sirius flops onto the sofa, nearly on top of your curled-up legs. “How was your day?” 

You try to keep your answer brief, your cough plied into submission with honey and warm tea but not for long. “Good. Got some things done.” 

You don’t mention that after every one of those things you’d had to have a thirty-minute lie down, or that many of them involved disinfecting surfaces you’d accidentally coughed near. 

“Being sick isn’t an opportunity to get things done.” Remus sinks into his chair, leveling you with a reprimanding look. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

You shrug. “The only reason I haven’t been at work is because—” A couple of coughs fight their way out of you. James’ expression pinches as he sits on the arm of Remus’ chair, but thankfully the fit passes quickly. You take another sip of your tea. “Because I don’t want to pass it to anyone. I think I have to go back tomorrow, though.” 

Sirius makes a soft tsking sound. The boys are all still in uniform, his tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves as he traces looping circles on the side of your knee. “But you’re not better yet.” 

“Yeah, but I’m running out of sick days.” 

James frowns. “How long has it been?” 

You bring your tea to your lips, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ve been out for a week.” 

“But you were sick for a while before that,” he says. “What is that, ten days? Eleven?”

You shrug. 

Sirius is looking up at you with a puckered brow. “Do you feel like you’re getting better?” 

“I think so,” you say optimistically. It’s quickly undermined, however, when you’re caught up in another coughing fit. You have to set your tea down to keep from spilling it, holding a tissue over your mouth. 

James’ eyes widen, and Sirius sits up to rub your back. 

“That doesn’t sound very good,” James says. 

“No,” Sirius agrees. He reaches to feel your face, but you brush him away. 

“Don’t-—ack—don’t get too close. I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I’m not gonna get sick, you baby.” He pushes past your hands. “Let me do my job.” 

“You just got off work.” 

“Yeah, well,” his voice softens, taking on a sympathetic hum as he lays his palm flat to your hairline, “maybe I maybe I was talking about my boyfriend job.” A pause. “I think your fever’s gotten worse, my love.” 

You whine. “Really?” 

“‘Fraid so. Have you noticed your symptoms getting worse at all?”

“I don’t” —you cough and reach for your tea again— “think so.” 

“Dove,” Remus says warningly. 

“It’s hard to tell,” you admit. “It’s moved around.” 

“Like where, honey?” James asks. 

“Like, in my…” You feel your throat contract, another fit brewing. You touch a hand to your sternum to avoid speaking. 

“In your chest?” Remus infers. 

You nod. 

He hums and moves to sit on the coffee table, his knees touching yours. You try to warn him away, but Remus shushes you gently. “Let me look at you.” 

He brings one hand to your face, feeling the way Sirius had, and touches the other to the pulse point on your neck. His touch is gentle and cool against your warm skin. You don’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but you find yourself fighting the urge to fall asleep in the basin of his palm when it slips down to hold your cheek. 

“You don’t need to talk,” says James, “but just nod yes or no, okay? Have you noticed yourself feeling more tired lately?” 

You nod tentatively. 

“Yeah? Less appetite?” 

You frown. “I don’t think—” You’re cut off by your own hacking. 

“One week off work, and she completely forgets how to follow instructions,” Sirius teases, rubbing your leg. 

“Terrible patient,” James agrees. 

“Alright,” Remus says once your fit ebbs. “I don’t have a stethoscope, but can you turn sideways for me?” 

You do, confused. Remus puts his ear to your back. You must make an odd face, because Sirius grins at you, reaching over to pinch your chin affectionately. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

You try, but it doesn’t get far. Your lungs expand maybe halfway before you’re coughing again, horrible, wracking coughs punctuated by stabbing pains in your chest. Remus sits up after a few moments, rubbing your back. 

“Sorry,” you manage. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius pulls you into him, cradling your head to his chest. “That sounded like it hurt, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Remus answers for you, brows bent with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. At least now we can get you some medicine, though.” 

You cough weakly. “You can?” 

“Sounds like pneumonia?” James asks Remus. Your boyfriend nods. 

Sirius coos, petting your head. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking it was just a cold.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I was, too.” 

“Feels like we ought to have known the difference, though,” James admits. When Sirius gets up, he’s quick to take his spot, tucking you underneath an arm. 

“Where are you going?” you ask Sirius. 

He’s putting his shoes back on. “To get someone to write you a prescription. The sooner we get you on antibiotics, the better. It’ll give you something to show your boss, too.” 

“I don’t need to come with you?” you ask hopefully. 

He winks, grabbing his keys. “Perks of knowing people at the hospital.” 

“Perks of flirting with the doctors, he means,” Remus mutters after he’s gone. 

“Hey,” James laughs, giving his boyfriend’s knee a playful squeeze, “it works out for us, doesn’t it?” 

“Sometimes,” Remus allows. He fixes his gaze on you. “Anything we can do to help you feel better, sweetheart? Do you want to try a hot bath? Steam would be good for you.” 

You look down into your now cool mug. “Could I have some more tea?” 

He takes it from you with a kiss to your head. “What a silly question.”

[xenodile]

"Shuro loves Falin for the same reasons he hates Laios" Completely and utterly wrong, could not be further off base.

I get the impression a lot of people watching Dungeon Meshi as it airs, or are a bit removed from its original manga run, have forgotten that Laios and Falin being monster freaks wasn't actually apparent until the events of the story. The only person that knew Falin loved monsters as much as Laios was Marcille because they were best friends at school.

Once Laios and Falin were in an adventuring party together, they both had public facing personas because they had both learned through their separate upbringings that being super interested in monsters and dungeons wasn't normal. Laios is the blunt but well meaning, outspoken and opinionated guy we all know, but Falin was way more withdrawn and soft-spoken, non-confrontational, easy to get along with. Everyone that interacted with Falin would say she's a sweet, gentle girl that everyone likes. Because she was, frankly, kind of a doormat.

The whole thing with Toshiro's infatuation with Falin is he doesn't actually know her. She is outwardly very polite and reserved, and that appeals to Toshiro because it meshes with his cultural sensibilities and how he was taught people are supposed to behave. Then he sees her marveling at a caterpillar in a private moment and decides on the spot that she's the ideal woman and proposes without actually talking to or getting to know her.

And his lack of understanding of Falin as a person is brought to the forefront in every action he takes after she gets eaten. He leaves the party and makes no attempt to contact the two people that Falin loves the most. Whether it's a matter of him just not knowing how much Falin cares about her brother and Marcille, or actively avoiding Laios to rescue Falin himself, he's demonstrating that he doesn't actually know what's important to her or understand how she feels.

Then when he meets Laios's party on the lower floors and they go over what happened, it's made even more blatant that Toshiro's affection is shallow and half-baked. He came into the dungeon a week too late and neglected his health the whole way down, so he was in no state to actually try and save Falin when he got there. When Laios talks about eating monsters, something Falin was thrilled about, Toshiro is disgusted. He threatens to kill Laios and turn Marcille in, which would never fly with Falin. His anger at the use of black magic is entirely based in his selfish idea of Falin being tainted and blaming Laios and Marcille for "ruining" his attempt to rescue her, as Kabru points out that Toshiro would have done the exact same thing in their shoes and that he's being a hypocrite. To say nothing of how he'd rather kill Falin after she's been transformed and "put her to rest" rather than put any effort into saving her, because that would require further involvement from Laios and Marcille and methods that Toshiro doesn't approve of.

And there's the fight he has with Laios, and Toshiro's subsequent confession that he had hoped to just take Falin home with him. He at no point gives consideration to what Falin feels or what she might want, only what he has decided about her based on the most surface level observation. Just like how his problem with Laios arises from his refusal to just talk to him about his boundaries, he has no actual connection with the woman he claims to love because he just wouldn't actually talk to her.

Like it's not a coincidence that every time his attraction to Falin is brought up, another character goes "yeah he's being weird about it".