#and they immediately throw a fit. like every time

[fools-ramblings-and-whatnot]

Drabble: The Prefect's routine

I wonder if Yuu's friends ever realize how awful their circumstances is, how innately lonely and scary it is to be far away from home, with a slim chance of returning?

Yuu has put effort Ramshackle dorm to make it livable. They expended time, effort, and their meager allowance to make a home out of it. It distracts them from thinking too much of their home.

Yuu can still remember the coldness of the night they first arrive. The aching of their body as they battled ghosts and the taste of dust in their tongue when they woke up. The wind blew open the window shutters, the hinges of the doors were groaning. There was no peace or comfort except from the warmth of Grim's body.

They found no rest the following days as they had to deal with the first overblot.

Then they had to deal with renovations. They had to fix the broken faucets, replace the waterpipes and throw away rusted metal or rotten wood. They had to clean every corner that they could. The cobwebs on the walls, in the corners and under the tables. One time they fell to the basement due to a rotten floorboard.

In the weekdays they had to study those they were unfamiliar with, alchemy, magic,flying, and history. They felt like a kindergartener as they knew nothing . At night instead of immediately resting they had to do their homework, which they do not understand . Then it was back to trying to fix the faucet to get some water. If the boiler wasn't working, they had to boil hot water in a kettle to take a soothing bath.

Grim and the Ghosts atleast offered them companionship. They had no phone so they take any interaction they get.

The only clothing they ever had with them were the clothes behind their back, which they used as pajamas. Crowley gave them 3 sets of wrinkly old school uniforms,one for class, one for Pe and one for ceremonies, they were ill fitting but atleast they could change . Alas, they had to sew it up together as the seams fell apart after one washing. It still smelled like dust and old mold.

They had nothing else to wear during the weekends, so they settled in sewing up old curtains into shirts. Ace and Deuce were kind enough to donate to them a pair of shorts each, taking pity when they saw Yuu struggling to fix an ancient sewing machine so they could sew more clothing.

Yuu has gotten pretty good at mending old clothes and making new shirts. They even patched up the couch and the curtains.

Then there was the roof. Oh the damn roof keeps leaking and the damn window shutters keeps banging! It drove them insane that they went and tried to fix it themselves, reading up on an old book to learn how to fix it.

That was the first time they fell off the roof.

Luckily they landed on a particularly strong branch. Their stomach was bruised the whole month, which they hid from their friends.They were resilient and stuborn to a fault.

Then theres the laundry that needs to be done. They do it all one friday night, so that if it ever rains by Sunday they'd have fresh clothes to go. The harder part was washing the beddings and the couach, the curtains and the carpets.

The worst was when the electricity turned off or the light bulb bursts. The nights were very cold and they had to huddle closer to Grim while they wait for the next day.

And let's not forget the garden, the trees needd trimming. The fence needed repainting. The gate needed replacing. The lawn needed mowing.

It was like that, day by day. Study, clean up ramshackle, find another broken thing in the dorm, fix it, do homework, do Crowley's errands, hang out with their friends.

Repeat.Repeat. Repeat.

If there was a moment of peace and quite, it never lasted long.

It surprises the others when Yuu doesn't keep a grudge against those who overblotted. The guys who were the reason Yuu had more on their plate. The persons who were the reason Crowley made Yuu write an entire report on the happenings.Alas, they still did it with no complaints.

Yuu makes sure that they do not have the time to be idle. If they hands are, their mind shouldn't .

Never ever EVER be alone with their own thoughts.

They cannot allow themselves to wallow in self pity. They had a dorm to maintain, a cat to take care of, friends to entertain and school work to be done.

Their hands have never felt rougher.Their shoulder never felt so stiffer.

But that's just the way things go.

[liz-allyn]

bittersweet: sugar + vice vol. 2 (pt 2) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: "okay. about last night..." [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] continued immediately from part 1 "Love on the Brain").

words: 5.6 k

tags: fluff and angst, my favs. food. stupid wealthy person antics, jealousy, boundaries, some world-building, PG-13 references to spicy memories from Pt. 1.

Part 2 - Bittersweet

The doorbell chiming yanked Honey unceremoniously out of her morning grogginess as she exited the bathroom. The bell tolled through her throbbing headache, causing her to squeeze her still-gummy eyes tight. She could only think of one word.

Peter.

Honey felt slightly guilty for throwing him out of his house last night. Even if it was an extravagant house. Even if it was at the top of an unconscionably expensive, 5-star hotel, where he could easily afford another place to stay. 

Very slightly.

Even if she threw him out immediately after the most outstanding sex of her life.

Worrying her lip, she debated her next move. She let out a long sigh, tugging on the lapels of the spare bathrobe she'd found. She forced her legs to move, retracing the steps buried in the lust-filled haze of her memory. 

Impatient, the door chimed again.

Her gait was more of a ginger waddle, and every muscle beneath her neck felt like it was made of jelly. Her body beneath the waist hummed. She could describe it as falling between a tender tingle after a deep tissue massage and the aching burn she'd imagined would follow a CrossFit session at the top of Everest. 

Images from last night flooded Honey's brain. How Peter had pleasured and defiled her. He bent her body deliciously, fitting her to and around all of his aching needs while elevating her toward a new stratosphere of ecstasy. 

She stowed those thoughts away. There would be a time for them later. Probably later that night. Maybe even in a week, after her body finally recovered.

For her own dignity's sake, she would not let the morning after Peter Parker walked back into her life be that time. 

She stepped towards the entrance and saw the tattered remains of the clothes she wore last night scattered in the dining area. Shredded like a wild animal had gotten to them. 

She averted her eyes, grinding her teeth as the door chimed again.

"Alright!" she hissed. "Hold your horses––!"

She gripped the doorknob and swung open the door, clipping her tone immediately.

A wide grin beneath a thin mustache and furrowed, silver, bushy eyebrows greeted her.

"Good morning, madam," the older gentleman stated.

He wore a crisp, fitted white uniform and a pleasant smile. She blushed immediately, gathering her bathrobe tighter at her chest, and gawked at the seven uniformed hotel staff in the hallway. 

The man who greeted her had a warm, olive complexion with bronze freckles. Sunspots dotted his face, blended together the tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Pardon our intrusion."

Honey jumped out of the way without much time to react as the gentleman dutifully led the staff into the penthouse. Wide-eyed and tongue-twisted, she stared with wide eyes as the man motioned for his staff to follow. 

The scent of coffee filled the entryway as a young man rolled in a cart. It was stacked with an impressive display of cream, sweeteners, and tea bags circling two gooseneck, stainless-steel coffee pots. Her eyes followed the kid as he passed, her stomach growling at the familiar aroma of fresh Colombian coffee beans.

Honey opened her mouth to speak but hushed again as a middle-aged woman in a double-breasted white uniform pushed in another cart stacked with silver serving platters with cloche dome tops.

She could feel the steam wafting off the cart and had just enough time to move as she saw two more women, each with their own cart of linens and sizzling serveware, following behind. 

Honey's stomach growled while her gaze followed. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short again. Two more uniformed women walked in wearing matching steel-gray housekeeping dresses. The sleek dark fabric was contrasted with white cotton trim on the short sleeves and the high, Peter Pan collar of the dress.

They moved like a rising surf—fluid, swift, and unstoppable—as they crested and split in opposite directions. They were gone again in a flash. 

Honey barely had enough time to see them disappear before the heat of the subsequent presence was at her back. Her head snapped to the open doorway, and immediately, her face fell flat.

Peter.

His lithe form leaned against the doorframe, and she was sure he would've occupied the entire space had it not been an oversized 8-foot door.

Peter's presence came with a lightness Honey was unused to. Specifically, the light beige Ralph Lauren suit over a lilac button-up.

"Mornin,' sunshine," he drawled through a lopsided smirk. 

The sunshine seemed like it was radiating from him. Sun rays reflected off the linen of his suit. A quick coy smile revealed a flash of his white teeth. His eyes glowed warm amber hues, highlighting the roasted chestnut of his hair. Despite it being freshly cut and combed and his waves being tamed with hair product, a stubborn curl peeked over his forehead, like a flower leaning towards sunlight.

Like the flowers in his hand. He held a thick bouquet of mostly yellow daisies and ivory roses. In between the perfectly crafted arrangement, stalks of delicate, purple flowers protruded from the thicket. They brought out the lilac in his shirt.

She reexamined it again.

Not lilac. 

Lavender. 

"M'surprised you're up this early," Peter dreamily murmured, observing her with starry eyes.

Honey looked down at the flowers pressed against his chest, then back at the gold in his gaze. She observed the gentle curve of his smile.

Honey's face was the polar opposite, with icicles to prove it. "I'm surprised it wasn't the cops at the door." 

It was like popping a metaphorical bubble. Or one of his lungs.

Peter's eyebrows dipped as he pulled his lips into a frown. She turned her back to him smoothly, letting the door swayed open behind her. The door creak followed the sounds of her retreating steps.

Peter shot a quick glance toward the sky. He dragged in a breath and let his shoulders sag. Somewhere in his mind, the phrase 'Well, what did you expect?' echoed. He let the air out of his lungs, and turned on the unflinching charisma.

He followed her— because, of course, he did— meandering in with something of a swagger.

"Y'know, that's a good point," he said matter-of-factly, "now tha'cha mention it." He studied her from behind, watching her pad through his home, searching for the rest of her clothes. 

Peter continued, slyly. "I'm surprised they didn't show up last night. All that screamin' you did when you were ridin' me..."  He couldn't see the embarrassment on her face, but he noticed the way her back stiffened. "Surprised they didn't think a wild animal was on the loose," he added, lips curling with satisfaction.

"Congratulations!" she replied, her tone bright with feigned enthusiasm. "You went thirty whole seconds without bringing up your dick! What. An. Achievement." She pointed expectantly towards the dining area. "Are you hosting a party to celebrate your success?" 

She observed the kitchen staff curiously. They were in prime form, quickly and quietly retrieving plates, serve dishes, cutlery, and linens from the cart. They flowed through their movements, like synchronized swimming. Her gaze drifted towards the housekeepers spraying and wiping down the table surface with cleaner. 

Heat spread across her skin as she recalled how they had desecrated that spot just hours ago.

Blinking the memory away, she watched the servers step in place of the housekeeping staff. They tossed a linen tablecloth flat over the surface, setting the table for a fancy breakfast.

"Brunch for the Royal Family?" she commented.

Peter peeked over to see the flush on her cheeks, the way her skin heated up as she looked away from the dining table. Setting the bouquet down, he smirked. He knew exactly what was on her mind.

"A queen, actually," he shrugged, suppressing the faint curl of his lips. He wasn't here to gloat. "More of a date, really." He watched her next move intently.

"Well, that's my cue," Honey muttered. "I outta get going. Especially if you plan on eating anyone else out at the table." Her chin held high, she turned her back to him once again.

A strangely familiar sound— like a sharp, slick whipcrack— echoed from behind. She felt a tug on her midsection, then went flying backward. The force yanked Honey off her feet—just as it had the night before. She landed in Peter's arms with a shocked squeak.

"What the fuck?" she shrilled, grasping at the foreign substance on her back. It suddenly occurred to Peter that they hadn't discussed what Peter was using to reel her in, like many aspects of his complicated life.

He turned her towards him like manipulating a doll. Smugness and affection layered on his expression, like the cat that ate the canary.

"What is that?" Honey gawked. As she pulled her hand away, she inspected it closely this time. Shimmery, silver twine made from gossamer threads tangled around her fingers. "Jesus— is that... coming out of you?"

"No," Peter chuckled, amused by her horror.

She observed him, confused by his immunity to the web's stickiness as he casually tossed the string aside. While she was distracted, he gathered her close to his chest. At any other point, she would've fought him—because, of course she would. Her curiosity drove her attention.

Her eyes were on the black leather cuff around Peter's wrist. He'd worn it many times before. Honey just assumed it was an odd piece of jewelry. Maybe he didn't like the feeling of $30,000 designer watches on his skin. 

Now, the glint of a tiny metal device hidden beneath the leather caught her eye. Her eyes darted to his other wrist, spotting another device as his fingers enveloped her shoulders. 

She blinked curiously between the balled-up silk, to the leather cuffs, and to the hotel employees. They didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They were likely instructed not to see anything.

Eyes still wide, she blurted, "Seriously, what the fu—?"

A fierce kiss silenced her. Peter smashed his lips to hers, capitalizing on the slight part of her mouth, and slipped his tongue inside. If he could've inhaled her into his lungs, he would have. He noticed faint pressure from Honey's palms against his chest, stubbornly resisting, as usual. The tension drained slowly as she succumbed to his grip. 

Maybe she quit wanting to escape him. 

Maybe she realized he was inescapable.

Peter was the one who couldn't escape Honey. Nor did he want to.

Seconds turned hazy. Peter was dragged deeper into a maelstrom. The longer he tasted her tongue, the more his blood surged like the swell of the tempestuous ocean against a sea wall.

Lust filled his lungs and his brain with gale-force winds. 

Peter remembered last night, too. God, he was already half-hard just thinking about it.

Before he melted from the memory, he pried his lips away from hers. The act took all of his power-of-will. The most he could manage to sacrifice was a couple of inches of distance apart. Peter was already a mess, chest heaving. Honey looked just as wrecked—swaying unwittingly with shaky breaths.

Peter whispered to her, his voice dark, "You're outta your mind if you think I'm lettin'ya walk away." 

A pulse-pounding shudder racked through her body. Peter swore he could feel her pelvic muscles flutter in response. It triggered a sick feeling of validation of the sinful desire polluting his mind. For a moment, he felt free to wallow in its toxicity.

That voice always managed to subdue her. Peter locked this information away for later. 

He was also aware that he needed to touch her. He craned his neck a little further until his nose kissed hers. The action grounded them both. A flicker of levity broke through the lust, and his familiar smirk returned. "And you're batshit crazy if ya think I'm here for anyone else but you."

Honey gazed up at him owlishly, still locked in a haze. She only vaguely registered the breeze as the staff rushed past them. Her cloudy eyes found their way over to the dining table, now fit for a queen. Or a Good Housekeeping magazine cover. 

The door slam pulled her back to the present.

"I thought I made myself clear last night." Peter bit his lip as he said it, holding the sides of her face as he oozed with charm. His sultry eyes fawned over her. "M'not lettin' you go. Not again."

"Let me go, Peter." Honey's voice was firm with a stone expression.

Immediately, Peter's shoulders dropped a full inch, and his voice pitched into a whine. "Will'ya stop being so stubborn—?"

"Let me go, Peter."

"Fine. You're mad at me—Y'made'ya point. Now, can we just talk about this? Like adults? Just sit down—"

"Let. Me. Go. Peter."

Honey's voice seemed to echo as she said it, charged with an electrical current threatening to fry him alive. It was more than a sneer; it was an ominous rattle before a bite. 

Instantly, the teasing nature of their banter evaporated.

Peter blinked several times, like he'd been sucker punched. He was unsure of how to respond. A tick formed in his jaw as he observed her, watching intently, gears turning. Lips pursed together into a thin line.  

Seconds stretched out uncomfortably as she just stared back.

Honey's spine as she stood in front of him—stood up to him—was steel. The little line between her brows popped out like a switchblade, her eyes skewering him just as deeply.

If she was afraid of Peter's unreadable expression, she didn't show it.

Seconds ticked on in their stalemate, during which dozens of scenarios played out in Peter's mind. At least a dozen of those scenarios were inappropriate ways of... making her do it. 

Didn't matter what it was. 'It' could easily be anything Peter wanted. 

He had the power—not just metaphorically.

Peter had enough strength in the upper half of his pinky to simply bend her to his will.

Peter's throat felt so tight it began to ache. A dry swallow rippled through his neck. Then, he made his choice.

His hands opened, releasing her with a forlorn expression. The moment he did, Honey took a giant step back—a recoil. He could've sworn he heard a faint gasp fill the gap they formed, like she'd been holding her breath.

In terror, he realized with disappointment.

Honey curled her arms around herself. His eyes dropped to the floor. 

That look cut him deeper than any blade could. 

"Honey," he said softly, emotions lodged in his throat. Burning mist clouded his vision. He wasn't here to cry, either. But his heart felt heavy all the same. "I just wanna talk."

"I thought you wanted to have breakfast with me."

"I do—!"

"Then ask me!" she snapped, frustration heating up her words. "Ask me! Instead of dragging me around like you're some…some caveman!"

Peter glanced up. The way she spat out the last word gave him pause. 

He studied the pout on Honey's lips. The angry scrunch in her nose. Arms crossed, jaw firm. She glared up at his tall stature, looking courageous and formidable. At the same time, her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. She was desperate to be heard.

Honey had demolished every obstacle placed before her. Even if the obstacle was him, she made it look (and him feel) three inches tall.

The ferocity of her gaze could intimidate a tiger.

Simultaneously, the butterfly wings of her lashes could charm a viper. 

The bow of her lips could force a king to his knees.

How can she not know this? Peter mused with wonder. How on earth was she unaware of how much power she possessed?

Significantly more than he could ever have.

Honey could make Peter do anything.

"If I had five minutes left on this planet," he began, eyes brimmed with an ocean of unspoken words, "I would want them to be with you."

A pause filled the room, consuming all of its oxygen. Peter held his breath in anticipation.

A surge of terror tightened in his chest, but it was tangled with something deeper—an overwhelming sense of adoration. To the outside world, they were two halves of the same sunset, golden rays that kissed a dark, cold earth. 

Honey gazed at him intently. "I would like that," she said.

And he finally could breathe again.

"—But I can't."

Honey stated it matter-of-factly. As if she didn't just reverse the planet's rotation. Peter's gaze dropped to the floor as his heart shattered. He was close to falling apart entirely.

"I can't… I-I…" her words trickled out, trying to support her stance with a lack of conviction. Or direction. Or sense. "I have things to do." 

That sassy tone of hers was back. Peter lifted his eyes to hers, "Oh?"

She shrugged, "Important things."

"Oh," he nodded along, furrowed brows in a serious expression.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. She fidgeted with her fingers, threading them together, until finally, she grasped her arms into a comforting hug. "Like normal people."

The last part was meant to be a jab. "Normal?" Peter replied with decorum.

"Like… taxpayers."

"Hmm."

"—and moms…" she gulped dryly, "on TV." 

Peter nodded conspicuously as if he were fully supportive of her bullshit. His patronizing politeness only frustrated her further.

"Okay, like most people have things to do," she argued harshly, "like bills to pay, people to see—

"Bills."

"And chores! Tasks. Responsibilities."

Peter snorted with feigned enthusiasm, "Wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, I have a job to get to," she blurted, solidifying her position. "I need to go home and shower and empty my dishwasher, bring my clothes to the laundromat—"

"Uh-huh."

Frustration carved out her tone. "And you know what else? You don't get to hijack my whole day just because you found a couple of hours in your schedule, Peter!" 

He had nothing to say to that.

"And before you ask," Honey pointed a polished fingernail at him, "don't get hung up on last night! You're still in the dog house." She turned to leave but stopped to add, "Or… people house!" 

A moment passed, but she still wasn't done.

"If I had a dog, you would be it!" she growled. "Outside, in the winter, in a tiny wooden shack of shame!" 

Then…

"–Not that I would ever do that to a dog, but maybe a-a cold-blooded— if you were a turtle, or…wait, that doesn't work— A fish! You'd be on your ass! Or fin— is that Portuguese linguiça sausage?" 

Her demeanor had flipped like a switch, from cold to curious, as soon as the smell of food hit her. It was as if the entire conversation had never happened until that point.

Peter couldn't help but smile. "From that place you like," he confirmed, his tone enticing. 

She paused, silent.

Mused.

Deliberated.

"Alright. First—sausage," Honey blurted out, 

decision made. The irritation in her tone seemed directed at herself.

"Then," she warned, "you're in the turtle-fish house!"

She spun on her heel and sauntered towards the buffet as if she'd dropped a mic.

"Okay, so hit me," Peter said.

Honey glanced up at him. The look she gave suggested she was willing to do exactly that.

They sat at opposite ends, so far apart at the dining table that it was almost comical. Only a few minutes had passed since they agreed to sit and eat together. It might as well have been years. Every moment was packed with awkward silence.

Straight-faced, he lifted his arms, extending them in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it. I know you got questions. I got answers. Let's go."

"Oh?" she lifted her eyebrow as she pinned him with a mocking glare. 

"Yep," Peter shrugged, maybe a bit too aggressively. "Let's hear 'em. Fire away."

A tension-filled moment of silence settled between them. The whole time, Honey skewered him with her glare. Then—

"Where should I start?" she spat hotly like lava erupting from a volcano. "Should we start from the top? Gimme three hundred words on how you spent your summer vacation." Each word sizzled off her tongue. "Or should we rewind a bit and talk about the ropes of glue shooting out of your body?!" 

An amused laugh burst from his lips, his teeth flashing wolfishly. "I mean… yeah—" he smirked. "When ya put it like that, I'd be willin' t'give you a demonstration—"

"Grow up, Peter!" Honey snapped, her fork clattering on the china.

The accused straightened his shoulders and mouth into a line. 

Contempt filled her incredulous glare. "Y'know what? Let's talk," she sneered, her anger releasing. "Let's talk about you since you're the center of everyone's universe. You, right now. Peter Parker, the Boss." She was flippant, each word intended to pierce his prideful armor. 

"What's been goin'on in your world, huh?" she questioned, pleasant in her tone. "How's crime?" She said it like referring to a common relative.

Peter shot her a brief glare, only encouraging her patronizing. 

"Must be good," she remarked. "What's the mortgage on a ten-thousand-square-foot condo in Manhattan nowadays?"

"Wouldn't know," he shrugged, picking his fork back up to take another bite. He pondered quietly as he chewed. "I bought the whole building."

The crassness of his declaration gave her pause. Honey hated how cocky arrogance looked as good on him as one of his Ralph Lauren suits.

"You bought— a hotel?" she asked in confusion.

Peter's eyes slid over to hers, looking like the devil as he brought a coffee mug to his lips. His eyes were twin flames, burning into her like he was trying to ignite a fire in her belly. Sipping a hot beverage seemed like a lewd act. 

Depraved thoughts filled his skull as he laved his tongue across his scorched lips. He pulled the mug away, and his mouth glistened. He watched Honey's reaction expectantly. 

"Yup," was all he said.

She stared at him, face unreadable. Not the kind of way she stared at his hands or his mouth.

"I suppose…" she crooned in a silky voice that edged on seduction and trepidation. For a moment, Peter's belly flipped with the excitement of a fisherman sensing the first slight tug on a lure. "The fact that Wilson Fisk used to own it had nothing to do with that decision?"

A bucket of ice water had been dropped on him. Coldness stabbed his heart and splintered his bones. 

That name.

The name that paralyzed him. Made his hair stand up on end, even after all these years. She exposed a nerve with just a couple of words.

"Oh," she said knowingly, reading him like a book. "Are we still afraid to say his name?" 

Peter's own words echoed back at him.

"...We don't say his name..."

Peter traveled to the day he rescued Honey from Fisk's men. He remembered inexplicably snapping at her, his hackles raised at the thought of what Mayor Wilson Fisk could do—what he had already done—to Peter's family. What depraved violation he would have done to this unassuming, bright-eyed girl. 

Unassuming, only because she had no idea at that point that she was his. 

The memory blurred and morphed into a twisted reflection of the current moment. 

Innocent. But smart.

Trying to ignore the sudden pulse behind his eye socket, he lifted a shoulder and dropped it. Peter's practiced indifference returned to his face. He returned to his plate, calm and collected. "I'm layin' down plans—"

"With Carol?" Honey finished, eyes narrowed into slits.

Peter's eyes shot to hers, and he looked truly confused momentarily. His expression only seemed to anger her further.

"Is that who you're 'layin' down plans' with?" she asked lividly. There was no concealing it. Honey's eyes were sharp enough to cut his throat.

"What?" Peter blurted out. "Carol??"

God, he hoped he didn't look as stupid as he sounded.

"Yeah!" Honey hissed back, hopping to her feet. The chair creaked loudly across the marble floor as she shoved it away. “Carol. Fucking. Danvers.”  Honey spat each word out like they were sour. "I believe that's her full name, no?"

Peter's brow arched, bewildered. Confused.

"'America's Sweetheart'!" she added through gritted teeth, pushing her fists into the table. The plate clattered at the impact. "Captain America?" she said as if to aid his memory. "You know?"

He blinked. 

She bordered on shrill. "The one with America's Ass?"

Of course, she referred to the former Air Force pilot who became a TikTok sensation, a pop star, a fashion model, and a feminist icon. Everyone's favorite.

Typically, Honey wouldn't resort to bashing another woman, avoiding the "cycle of patriarchal misogyny which pits women against each other," to quote her sister. But deep within her fiery eyes, jealous voices conspired against her rationality.

Meanwhile, Peter's eyebrows squished together, as if he couldn't quite grasp what language they were speaking. "Wha-What're we talkin' abo—?"

Her glare was razor sharp. "What's Carol laying down, huh? What's she like?"

Peter stared back with eyes like saucers and an empty thought bubble next to his head. "She's… Fine?" 

It took less than one second for him to deeply regret his answer. 

"Oh, I'll bet she is!"

Something wild sparked in Honey's eyes like a crackling bonfire. She rounded the table marching towards him. "Y'think I'm stupid? I follow Deuxmoi, asshole!"

Peter let out a long groan, practically dragging his fingernails down his face. "Honey—"

"Don't 'Honey' me!" she sneered, adding a mocking dramatization of his voice. She threw her hands up in front of her face as if waving them at an invisible breaking news chyron. "'Carol Danvers spotted at 1Oak last night with alleged Syndicate crime boss Peter Parker... Is Captain America About to Break Bad?'"

Frustration filled his tone, "That's—! That was noth—"

"Oh, don't gaslight me, Peter!"

"I'm not!" 

"Don't gaslight me about gaslighting me!"

"That was all TMZ bullshit, and you know it!" Peter shot back, now on his feet as well. She pursed her lips together, shaking her head in disbelief. Peter took a steadying breath. "Yes," he admitted, more composed, "I met her at a club, yeah. Because that's where she wanted to meet! I had a business proposition–"

"Business?" she bitterly laughed, crossing her arms. "You two goin' in on a new restaurant? Hipster gastropub called Peter's Cockpit?"

"Jesus Christ, Honey, I didn't fuck her!" he exclaimed in a near whine, waving his arms like a windmill. "It was—" he fumbled over his tongue. "Nothing else happened! No one is in anyone's… cockpit…" 

He winced at his own words. Raw memories from last night flared up in his chest. "Where d'ya get off accusin' me, huh?" he interrupted, suddently. "What about you and Pedro, eh?"

Honey's eyes bulged out of her head in shock.

Peter was referring to, of course, the sexy, hazel-eyed waiter that flirted at the restaurant the night before. Clearly, Honey didn't see the correlation. 

"Pedro!?" she bellowed in disbelief.

"Pedro!" Both of their voices echoed off the stone of the lavish suite.

Honey groaned so loudly, it was a roar. "Pedro's gay, you dunce!" 

Peter's brows furrowed as he considered this. "Come again?" 

"I've known him since junior high! He helped Becca get her first job when she was 15. At that very restaurant!" 

Silence.

Peter blinked, a trench forming between his eyes. 

More silence.

"So. You're... not... ...into him?"

Honey scoffed at the question with a rueful chuckle. He sensed she would've laughed if she hadn't been so furious. "Seriously? I've seen rainbows that were straighter!"

He felt his skin fluster. The thumping percussion inside of his chest leveled out to a dull thud. His heart ached all the same.

Peter's eyes rested on her. She stayed rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a way that reminded him of a tree fighting to remain upright in the wind. A cherry blossom braving an early-spring cold snap.

Her eyes were cast to the side, and filtered sunlight gave her an ethereal glow. Anxiety reflected across the color of her irises.

"Did it hurt?" Honey asked, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head at her question, glancing briefly at the shimmer resting on her lower lashes. Her voice was meek but raw with unspoken emotion, like a wave of tears being held back. "Thinking I wanted him?" He recognized her attempts to look anywhere else but at him.

Peter's chocolate eyes softened. "Did you want it to?" he questioned gently. Not an ounce of judgment thrown her way. "Hurt me?"

His beautiful girl swallowed dryly, blinking the shimmer away. Her eyes wandered to the floor. "Maybe," she replied thoughtfully, discovering it herself. 

Peter hadn't expected her honesty but wasn't surprised. If anything, he found it disappointingly refreshing. 

He watched her fidget with her hands. "Regardless," she said, clearing her throat. "I guess now you know how it feels." 

Shame brimmed her gaze as it bounced off the walls and floor. Peter considered her expression, silently reading all the emotions she could not conceal.

"Carol isn't what you think she is," Peter said, matter-of-fact. His ferocity had calmed, and his arrogance had dissipated like a storm cloud. Tiredly, he ran his hand back through his hair. "Matt heard that she might be making the leap into politics. People are saying she could make a play for Congress. Maybe even the governorship." 

Honey stared at him in silence. Waiting.

"I was hopin' I could convince her to stick a little closer to home," Peter sighed with a half-shrug and a dim spark of hope in his smile. "Somewhere... maybe like City Hall."

Honey arched a brow, processing. "Mayor," she said, contemplative. "You want her to run against Fisk." 

He looked sheepish now, pocketing his hands. "Lotsa people think she could win."

Honey's eyelids narrowed. "Do you even vote?" 

"She'd have mine," Peter replied without hesitation, then his eyes snapped to hers. "And no," he added, muted but coy. "Before you say anything, that wasn't a euphemism. Or an objectification of any of her..." The words dwindled as he struggled to form the right word. "...Assets."

Peter cringed after saying it, and he could've sworn that her eye twitched.

"I wasn't lying, Honey," he added. His heart was in his throat. "Last night. When I said, 'There wasn't anyone else for me.' I meant it."

She was silent momentarily, but a million words bubbled up behind her glassy eyes. "There has to be something else for me," she whimpered, vocal cords tight. 

Her vulnerability was in plain sight. No further posturing. The heartbreak in her voice felt like a knife jammed between his ribs.

"I can't—I-I just can't..." Honey struggled, losing her composure. 

"I don't…" Peter muttered half-consciously. Terrified at the realization. "What-what are you saying, you-you don't wanna be with me?" 

The tears bubbled up again on her lower lash line. Her plea ground out miserably, voice breaking, "There has to be more to me, to my life, than just being… yours."

He blinked at her, confused.

"I can't belong to you, Peter," she replied. Tears glided down her cheeks, now flooded with raw emotion. "I can't belong to anyone else." 

His Honey shivered before him, choking back sobs. She barely looked strong enough to stand.

And that's when it hit him.

The sharp contrast between the woman who stared him down and the shivering girl before him became apparent. It was day and night, fire and fear.

Fear.

"Mari."

The word snapped her out of her downward spiral. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, Honey's gaze flicked up to his.

Peter gazed at her with a worried line between his brows. He focused on her eyes, made impossibly brighter from tears. The sight broke his heart.

Peter took a careful step forward, the way one would approach a wild horse. The slightest twig snap might send her running.

"I'm not trying to put you in a cage," he offered gently. Saying those words were painful, in a nauseating way. "Not again."

The gentle relief he spotted in Honey's gaze tore through his sternum. Peter couldn't decide whether he would rather bleed out or trap her away beneath his ribs.

Peter's hands itched, desperately wanting to close the gap between them, wipe away her tears with his thumbprints, and blanket her with his hold. Vigilantly, he kept his heels glued to the floor. He'd like to think he did so out of respect for her wishes and not with fear that she'd run away from him.

"I'm— I'm not," he babbled, dread filling him. Everything felt suddenly upside down. Reversed. He was a stranger again, with a frightened girl trembling in his bathtub. The thought terrified him. "If-if-if that's what you think—"

"I love you so much," Honey declared, clear as a bell. His heart was in his throat again. He swallowed it down, afraid he would empty his stomach in front of her. "I really do."

The opposite emotions tugging at his psyche felt like an ax swinging downwards, severing thick brush with a satisfying whistle. They culminated in a wet chopping sound—the split of his heart in two pieces.

"It's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." She dabbed at her chin with the back of her hand, taking a measured breath. "Sometimes I think that it's all I have left."

His heart sank. "But it can't be, though. " 

The knowingness of his voice pierced her further. "It can't," Honey replied gently. Sorrow weighed down the corners of her mouth, though he could tell she was still trying to smile. "I need to love myself." The last word had her lip wobbling.

Peter tightened his jaw, trying to channel the energy of his agony into something other than tears.

"For now," Honey added. The soft reassurance flickered like candlelight, providing the only warmth he could hold onto.

Peter locked his jaw and nodded slowly, understandingly. The more he thought about the equation, the more sense it made to him. 

It wasn't about him.

He declared, resolved. "You're the boss."

A/N: Go ahead. Let's hear it. If you loved this, reblog. If you thought it could be better, give it a like. If you hated it, do nothing. Thanks to my muses, now and forever. 🦌 Back to S&V Masterlist • Back to Main

Thank you for supporting fanfic authors by reblogging and keeping the community healthy. ♥️

[ducktracy]

are you anti "sour-puss" daffy? that characterization of him is the primary one in my head. like duck amuck is epitome of daffy in my mind.

CRACKS KNUCKLES SO LOUDLY THEY EXPLODE. i’m giving my “HEADS UP THIS WILL LIKELY BE EXHAUSTIVE” warning now because i love love love love love love love love any chance to talk and analyze and pontificate about the duck. TLDR: YES AND NO

SO. i don’t consider myself “anti sour-puss” so much as i would consider my stance “if Daffy has to be more egocentric and miserly than he usually is then i prefer a very specific set of circumstances for this to be the case”. i have warmed up to the Jones and Freleng duck of the ‘50s onward CONSIDERABLY in recent years—there was a point where i just refused to touch any Daffy short made after a certain point because i knew it would make me frustrated and sad and mad and that’s, respectfully, ridiculous!

it took me watching the Speedy and Daffy cartoons to realize that Daffy in THOSE shorts is what i thought Daffy was in the Jones and Freleng shorts. it dwindles a bit over time (compare how he behaves in The Hunting Trilogy to something like Ali-Baba Bunny, which is a short i still have yet to come around to for that reason—i don’t like the “MINE MINE MINE GO GO GO DOWN DOWN DOWN” duck very much and my issue was that i thought he behaved that way in every single cartoon after a certain point which is thankfully incorrect!), but there’s still some nuance. by the time we’re getting to shorts where Daffy is saying “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO STARVE ON MY PROPERTY” is when i fully throw in the towel lol

another thing that’s helped me warm up is the realization that Daffy’s personality change is not nearly as objective as it’s made out to be. he has always had an ego, he’s always been reckless, impulsive, and yes, this absolutely includes the ‘30s shorts! Chuck’s Duck is Chuck’s Duck from day one with the line “not bad for a guy that never took a lesson in his life!”.

Scalp Trouble has Daffy on an ego trip fancying himself as an army general (and there is a legitimate, honest to god small dick metaphor joke in that short because he has this huge giant sword sheath that is indiscreetly phallic in design, only to reveal a tiny little dagger), ordering people around and essentially LARPing in this role we immediately know is way too big for him. and when it comes time to battle, what does he do but spend the majority of his time cowering in a corner.

he’s always had these traits! maybe they’re a bit more primitive earlier on, some other traits are a greater priority. but Drip-Along Daffy is one of my favorite Chuck Jones shorts because it’s basically a sequel to The Great Piggy Bank Robbery. and you could argue the same with Duck Dodgers! all shorts have him fantasizing about a hero role that is clearly too big for him to fill, and he is absolutely getting the biggest kick out of assuming this role. Drip-Along is still early enough to also have this sort of innocence and unflappability (that may more accurately be described as delusion or ignorance): when Daffy gets no reception whatsoever in the bar, instead of screaming at everyone to look at him, he just marches to the next order of business and indulges in his next part of his fantasy. this NEVER would have happened had the short come out 5-10 years after when it did.

likewise, the Daffy of the ‘50s and ‘60s is still insane, it’s just a different manifestation of how that’s the case. earlier on, he’s a bit more visibly unhinged. his HOOHOOHOOing fits are a catharsis that you can just FEEL crawling up his throat and dying to get out, and in the really early shorts you can see this sort of half and half battle between cognizance and succumbing to insanity (The Daffy Doc and Porky’s Last Stand especially come to mind). it’s an insanity that relieves itself through sheer manic catharsis. as time goes on, he matures a bit, he knows how to keep better wraps on it; the manners in which he gratifies his impulses just shifts.

and also, Daffy can still very much be a sourpuss early on! Bob McKimson’s Daffy, whose interpretation is very integral in my sort of mental default of who Daffy is, can be very bitter and cynical in particular! or, again, early shorts like The Daffy Doc or Scalp Trouble where he’s more argumentative and his ego is clearly much more tender.

the seeds of what Daffy would become have all been planted, and so that’s allowed me to bristle a bit less and lower my haunches. and i am making more progress in coming around to the later shorts! i’ve been on a Chuck Jones kick recently and been watching lots of Chuck Jones Daffy shorts and enjoying them. i love Drip-Along, Duck Dodgers, Duck Amuck, Deduce You Say, Robin Hood Daffy—i’ve even come around to Rabbit Seasoning which is kind of NUTS to me because there was awhile where i was acting like Bugs and Daffy shorts killed my firstborn. “pronoun trouble” is an inside joke with my friend and dear lord i laugh every time at Daffy’s reactions to Elmer falling for Bugs’ drag act, and the ENDING!!!! omg. i love it. i’ve come around to Beanstalk Bunny as well! it’s a great short!! in getting to know the duck better and understanding how nuanced his development is, i’ve gone a bit softer which is good.

i was just chatting about this recently—i think most of the thorns in my side come from the Daffy and Bugs pair-ups. what i like best and get most out of each character, i get none of when they’re together. i’d rather see Bugs behaving and doing something else, and the same for Daffy. i’m not opposed to a sourpuss Daffy so much as i really don’t like seeing him suffer. i feel like the Bugs and Daffy shorts “punch down” a bit more on him, and i still haven’t found a way to really properly articulate this… i’ll just copy and paste what i was saying the other day here:

Daffy earlier on has all the traits above we talked about, but the difference is that he isn’t really shamed for them outright? of course we’re meant to laugh at his cowardice as he says “go… back… in again….” to the giant towering rat gangster he screamed at to confront him, we’re of course supposed to laugh at the asininity and selfishness of him dodging the draft and taking the Little Man From the Draft Board down with him by locking him in a safe and suffocating him. Daffy isn’t exactly meant to be a role model (but that still doesn’t stop me from finding his bombasm and exuberance and zest for life extremely empowering!), but there’s less narrative pushback against it. seeing Daffy be Daffy and have every action be interrupted by another character rolling their eyes going “oh brother” is where i have a problem, it just sucks the air out of the room for me. especially when Daffy is made to feel ashamed or beaten down for this as well. that’s why i enjoy shorts like Beanstalk Bunny or Drip-Along so much, ending with stuff like “it’s a living!” or being contented in his new position that is often very degrading and a direct consequence of his impulsiveness. a huge part of Daffy’s charm for me is his resilience (even if that equates to ignorance at times), if he wants something he will go to absolutely asinine lengths to get it! and i love that! his drive is so admirable! and i just feel like after awhile that resilience is lost. the issue isn’t that Daffy is a loser, as he’s lost quite a bit before that—moreso, he doesn’t have that good humor about being a loser anymore

I’M ALMOST DONE I PROMISE. but my tags in that video post, as i said in them, i watched The Million Hare the other day which is a short i very much dislike. and it’s not really out of anger or “UUUURGH NOT MY DAFFY”, but moreso it just makes me SO. DAMN. DEPRESSED.

this is the most soul sucking image i’ve ever seen. i get genuinely sad that the cartoons have devolved to starting with “characters watching TV because they’re too bored to do anything, and Bugs just joins him”. no part of this is the resilient, impulsive, manic, pleasure seeking duck that carried us through the past few decades. and this certainly doesn’t represent the wily, impish, inciting rabbit of the past few decades either! Bugs has a greater excuse since i know there’s the pattern of his domestication and Jones’ rule of Bugs minding his own business before being provoked, etc. but man. this image just represents all of my problems with the later shorts and dynamics. the characters are hollow and so are the stories and the directors are checked out or moving onto greater things, and i think all of that just coagulates and manifests in the characters.

I HAVE SO MUCH MORE I CAN SAY but i’m finally realizing i’ve gone on way way way too long and don’t even know if i answered the question all that well LOL. don’t even get me started on “modern”interpretations of Daffy… [starts ranting about how TLTS killed my family for the 80th time as i’m gently lured into the nursing home].

BUT! to answer your question! i’m not really opposed to a more cynical and conceited duck because those traits have always been there, just in varying degrees of intensity. my ideal duck is definitely one locked in the ‘40s—Frank Tashlin and Bob Clampett’s Daffy have always been my favorite, but i’ve sort of adopted a coagulation of Art Davis, Bob McKimson, Norm McCabe and Friz Freleng’s duck as my mental default. i am extremely protective and loving and fanatical of Daffy, i love him more than any cartoon character and i resonate with him more than any cartoon character! i bet he too would also spend an hour typing up a diatribe on his character evolution and how he’s been sorely misrepresented. maybe. Daffy is one of the most varied characters of all time, and it’s really hard to pin him down for this reason. i like a duck that best has a bit of a balance between his traits, and i get more chafed when he’s made more narrow and transparent and just “flanderized” (for lack of a better word) to one or two tropes that then speak louder than his character. i prefer shorts that are more sympathetic and celebratory of Daffy rather than admiring how funny he is as a loser. which, he is funny! but IUNNO. i like a more upbeat and resilient and charming duck, and he can be all of these things later on, but it unfortunately does get fleeting

[4arconinoma]

btw sorry i havent mentioned it yet because i havent been on too much lately but i hate the shitty wizard game too and dont touch me if you get it in any way thanks

[pompadorbz]

Sorry for being a hater but if I have to see one more character playlist that looks like this I'm gonna blow up the pie factory

[jikigo]

you ever just see a post and just

. 😭

.⬅️🫀⬅️

[s0dium]

I need you

Synopsis: Choso needs to fuck you despite the fact that you are Yuuji's babysitter.

Warnings: Desperate sex, rough sex

Visual link: xxxxx

Choso thinks you are an angel.

Honestly.

He marvels at how you always help his family out by babysitting his little brother Yuji, even if it's late at night. Your kindness shines through in every action, and he can't help but notice how your eyes glow like an angel's, your skin seems so soft, and your voice carries a soothing, gentle tone. It's not just what you do; it's the way you do it, with such grace and beauty, that makes him believe you truly are a blessing to his family.

So that is why he must do this.

His touches are relentless, drawing you into his room the moment Yuuji is asleep. You can barely even get a word in before his bigger hands are under your shirt, exploring the warmth of your skin, a desperate longing evident in each caress. You want to tell him to slow down, to truly connect beyond the frantic urgency. But your words dissolve into breathless whispers as you meet his dark tired eyes that are practically begging for you, begging to be with you, begging to feel you.

"I like kissing you." He murmurs against your lips. "I like you. I like you so much, you are so pretty. I like and love you."

You let yourself fall into his touch and Choso captures your mouth with his, a deep, enveloping kiss that makes you moan and whine for more. As he gently removes your tank top and shorts, leaving you in your bra and underwear and he devotes attention to every inch of your skin, delivering tender nips, soft sucks, and gentle bites.

"Perfect." He mumbles under his breath, burying his nose into the crook of your neck to pepper the delicate skin with soft kisses. "Fuck, you are so perfect, baby."

Your mind grows fuzzy at his words and you let out a sharp gasp when you feel him pull the hem of your underwear down your legs.

"Jump," he commands softly, his voice a low rumble that reverberates through you. Without hesitation, you leap up and in one fluid motion, he lifts you up. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, securing you against him as he presses you against the wall. Your fingers find their way into his black hair tied up in buns long, tugging gently at the strands, anchoring yourself to him as his kisses deepen. You don't even notice that he has lowered his pants until you feel the hard pressure against your tight hole, making you instinctively squirm away.

"Stay still f'me ok baby?" Choso groans, peppering kisses along your jaw while he aligns himself with you. Without warning, he thrusts into you, the sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocking the wind out of your lungs. It's as if every fiber of your being is tuned to this moment, each caress and sensation amplifying the pleasure that surges through you. You feel a soft shiver start at the base of your spine, traveling upward, making your skin tingle with exquisite delight. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Choso thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the grith of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, the euphoria of him fitting snuggly against walls with every thrust. The friction is incredible and it made pain quickly turn into pleasure. The tightness of your cunt has Choso gasping for breath, the grip on your hips almost bruising as he tries to keep himself from spilling inside of you right here and now.

"I can feel you baby, sh-shit, I can feel you doing it to me." Choso is not a whining man but here he is falling apart at the warmth of your cunt. God you were heaven, he thinks he would be eternally happy if he could just spend all his time inside of you, feeling you squeeze around him, smelling the intoxicating scent of your shampoo. He uses you like his personal cock sleeve, thrusting up into your warm cunt with such vigor that it shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity.

For a moment, he slows down, leaning down to the space between you and letting a glob of thick spit drop onto your clit. He moves side to side, opening up your folds and rubbing your clit. You cry from the pleasure and Choso's Adam apple bobs as he groans as well.

He's close, and he knows you are too.

He is glaring at you with hooded eyes, watching the expressions of pleasure you make intently. Choso is caught in some sort of trance, like even though he is fucking you, he is powerless to you.

Your mind begins to drift, losing itself in the intensity of the experience of Choso fucking you. Time seems to blur, and the world around you fades, leaving only the profound connection between you and the pleasure you're immersed in. Each moment stretches and deepens, and you're carried away by the ebb and flow of sensations. Your body responds instinctively, arching off the wall and lifting your hips to meet Choso's thrusts, seeking more, craving the next wave of ecstasy. The pleasure builds and builds, a crescendo that fills you to the brim. It's a symphony of sensation, a dance of pure, unadulterated joy that leaves you breathless and yearning.

And then, in a glorious, breathtaking instant, it peaks. The world seems to explode in a kaleidoscope of bliss, and you are utterly consumed by it. Your heart races, your breath catches, and for a moment, you are weightless, suspended in a universe of pure pleasure.

Luckily for you, Choso is right there with you. His mind dips into a ocean of pleasure and before he can put a stop to it, he is spilling load upon loads of himself in you.

Damn it, he should've done this sooner.

[storywestistrash]

girlhood is having a very normal reaction to a ship you dont like

[reddpenn]

Here is a potentially silly question: how do you feel about birthstones? Do you think they fit the months (by season or astrological sign)? Do you have other stones you'd rather see as birthstones?

Okay, so, birthstones make absolutely no sense.

I mean, look at this mess. We’re doing beryl and corundum twice! I get that they get Special Different Names for their Special Different Colors, but it's just lazy. And why are we giving some months cheap, common gemstones like garnet and amethyst while the poor June birthdays have to shell out tens of thousands of dollars for FREAKING ALEXANDRITE? That’s incredibly unfair! We should be picking birthstones that are all roughly the same price. And why do some months get multiple gemstones? I’ll tell you why: because nobody can agree on an official list and every attempt to standardize this thing has just added MORE birthstones to every month.

So obviously the answer is to standardize it again, by throwing out everything and starting over. Here are our goals:

Fair pricing. You should be paying roughly the same amount regardless of what month you were born in. We’re getting rid of those ridiculous outliers like diamond and alexandrite.

More customization potential! Nobody should be stuck with a stone they hate. We’re picking gemstones that come in multiple colors or varieties, so that everyone can choose a variant they like.

Wearability. Some birthstones are too fragile to be worn as jewelry. We need to replace them with stronger stuff.

No more duplicate gemstones. Every month gets a stone or family of stones with a unique chemical composition.

Now without further ado, I present to you:

The New And Improved List Of Birthstones With No Problems Or Flaws That Everyone Will Definitely Agree On And We Can Start Using Right Now Immediately

JANUARY: GARNET

I've got no problem with garnet. It's a fine, classic birthstone, so January can keep it. But I would like to see a little more garnet diversity. January birthdays shouldn’t be confined to just red. The garnet family of minerals contains a rainbow of different colors, like orange hessonite, green uvarovite, pink rhodolite, yellow grandite, and many more. They’re all garnet, so we should be wearing them all!

FEBRUARY: QUARTZ

The original birthstone of February was amethyst, which is… kinda boring. Super cheap and common and you only get one color? No, we can do better. February gets ALL the quartzes now. Keep wearing amethyst if you want, but also feel free to branch out into clear quartz, citrine, rose quartz, smoky quartz, rutilated quartz, tiger eye… actually, take all the agates too. If it’s quartz, it’s yours!

MARCH: SPODUMENE

March was originally aquamarine, but I’ll be giving all the beryls to May, so we need a different stone here. Let’s stick with that theme of pale pastels and go with spodumene. For an April birthday, bedeck yourself in green hiddenite, pink kunzite, or yellow triphane. Despite its subtle colors, your birthstone has some amazing fluorescence, with really cool pinks and oranges under a UV light.

APRIL: FELDSPAR

Diamond is too pricy for this list, so we’re replacing it with something less expensive and way more interesting. April will now be represented by the feldspar family. We’re talking labradorite, moonstone, amazonite, aventurine, and sunstone. While you don’t have much variety in color, your stones are full of shimmery schiller which glitters and shifts as it catches the light.

MAY: BERYL

May’s original birthstone was emerald, which is great and can stay, but we’re also adding its siblings! May is now represented by all beryls: Emerald, Aquamarine, Morganite, Bixbite, Heliodor, Goshenite, and whatever other varieties I’m forgetting to list. A bright and saturated rainbow of colors is represented here, so everyone born in May is sure to find something they like.

JUNE: ORGANIC GEMSTONES AND FOSSILS

It’s time to address the alexandrite in the room, and obviously we’re getting rid of alexandrite. A stone worth $15,000 to $70,000 a carat does not belong on the same list as friggin amethyst. Instead we’ll look at the other traditional June birthstone, pearl. The problem with pearl is that it’s a clear outlier in this list. An organic gemstone, by some definitions not even a mineral. Should we replace it? NO. We are OWNING it. All organic gemstones now belong to June. Pearl is joined here by jet, amber, coral, ivory, ammolite, petrified wood… in fact, June can have every fossil ever.

JULY: SPINEL

July was originally represented by ruby, which is a fine stone and won’t be kicked off the birthstone list - we’re just shuffling it down to September. Replacing ruby for July is spinel. (See, it’s funny because historically spinel has often been mistakenly identified as ruby! That's a little gemology humor for you.) Available in any hue you could possibly desire, spinel offers some nice color options to a month that previously only featured red. Of course if you want to keep wearing red, red spinel mimics ruby so well that you’ll barely notice the difference.

AUGUST: PERIDOT

Nope, we’re not changing this one. Peridot is the ideal gemstone and you ungrateful August whiners can die mad about it. HOW ABOUT YOU LEARN TO APPRECIATE PERFECTION

SEPTEMBER: CORUNDUM

Sapphire is a wonderful, classic stone and it deserves its spot on this list. But the corundum family has been separated for far too long, and we’re finally going to reunite them. Joining sapphire in September is its sister ruby. Between the pinks and reds of ruby and the many, many colors of sapphire, these two stones give September a nice variety of colors.

OCTOBER: TOURMALINE

Look, as gorgeous as opal is and as much as I love it, it is both way too pricy for our list and also TERRIBLE in jewelry. This stone is just too brittle to wear around from day to day and can be ruined just by getting it wet, which makes wearing your birthstone a huge hassle. We’ll kick opal out and hang on to October’s other traditional birthstone, tourmaline. Pink tourmaline may be classic, but this stone comes in plenty of other colors. Whether it’s brown dravite, watermelon elbaite, or the rare and beautiful blue indicolite, you can wear them all!

NOVEMBER: TOPAZ

November can keep topaz, but we’re not confining it to the color yellow. This stone comes in a huge variety of colors, and now they can ALL represent November. No further notes; it’s a nice, classic stone.

DECEMBER: ZIRCON

I dunno, I’ve had to come up with 12 of these, I’m burnt out. Sure, zircon, whatever.

“BUT WAIT,” you say. “Now instead of having a single color assigned to each month, almost every month is represented by almost every color, making it impossible to tell anyone’s birthstones apart and removing what made them special and recognizable as symbols!”

Well CLEARLY you didn’t read the title of this list.

[enby-cuntboy]

thinking about an escape room but the twist is that if you don't get out in time, you're used by the entire staff until they're satisfied.

you know what you're getting into, of course. you sign the forms saying that the facility can't be held liable for any damages that happen to you. afterwards, you're stripped down and restrained. cuffs around your wrists behind your back as you're bent over a table, chains holding your ankles together. a collar is attached to your neck, connected in two places. one, to hold you still on the table. and the other connected to the ceiling with a lot of slack. you seem to be in a dungeon, iron bars blocking the unlocked exit.

you're left alone and the timer is placed immediately in front of you, counting down, minute by minute. right where you can see it. the restraints are firm and secure, but they each have their give, their weaknesses. the chains on your feet can be undone by looping it around the corner of the table and pulling at it at just the right angle. then you have to move your cuffed wrists behind your back and under your legs so you can use them.

the part of the collar connecting you to the table is dealt with by simply unhooking it, meaning you're able to stand up and move around the room. there's a box with a pile of keys for you to sort through. one of them must open the cuffs. one of them must unlock the bars. you sort through them in a hurry, adrenaline making your cuffed hands shake as you try each and every one of them, adding them gradually to the discard pile. once your hands are free, you fiddle with your collar. it doesn't seem to have any give. but while doing this, you see that on the other side of the iron bars is a bolt cutter, exactly what you need.

you're invigorated, trying all the keys on the bars as the minutes count down. your time is scarce, it's moving far more quickly than you're able to take into account. until finally, the lock clicks. the metal gate swings open and you can see the bolt cutter on the floor right in front of you.

except when you walk forward, the collar around your neck tugs you back. the tool is just out of reach. you can't get enough slack to pick it up. you try desperately, every option you can think of, to stretch your body out and try and kick the bolt cutter closer to you, desperately now as you see you only have three minutes remaining, then two, then one and a half.

until you finally remember the chains on your feet. you hurry back to the table, reaching under it to grab the chains and looking at the time left on the timer. 50 seconds. you hurry back to the iron bars, throwing the chains, trying to lasso the bolt cutter to finally get it in your grasp. and with 20 seconds remaining, the tool hooks onto the end of the shackles on the chains, and you desperately try reeling it in. 15 seconds, and you're pulling it closer, so very carefully. until finally, you reach down and wrap your hands around the tool and that's when your heart sinks.

it wasn't a bolt cutter. it was a toy. lightweight and useless, like something that would go in a child's tool set. and you realise: you were never meant to escape this. you never even had a chance. you had willingly walked into a trap.

your time is up and an alarm sounds, the lighting in the room turning red. the staff walk through the door, heading straight for you, cocks and straps and toys in hand, grins of delight on their faces.

they push you back onto the table and use you exactly how they want to, each and every one of them noticing how soaked you've gotten just from being in the escape room and playing this game, mocking you for what a slut you are as they take you without any preamble.

they use all your holes simultaneously, manhandling you into whatever positions they want. bending you over, taking you from behind. seeing how much can fit into you at once. slapping you about, spitting on you, spanking and whipping, passing you from one to another. never a moment for you to rest or recover before you're impaled on another cock.

all while their mocking voices taunt you.

this is what you were asking for when you came here. this is exactly what you were hoping for. to be used relentlessly. you never wanted to escape anyway, no matter what you'd say. you needed to be used like this. only sluts ever enter these escape rooms, and so you would be treated as what you were. willing holes for them.

once they've all had their turn, they take the toy bolt cutter and shove it into your used hole, fucking you with it slowly. it's too big and uncomfortable, but you stretch around it so easily after all that use. your arousal making it easy. you keep crying out, and they keep laughing. this was the thing you thought would set you free. this was your salvation for twenty minutes or so, all you cared to get. and now they were filling you with it. and worse than that, they were making sure you enjoyed it.

they bring you to an intense orgasm with the very thing you thought would save you. your mind is foggy and you can't think of much aside from the feeling of the toy inside you. you're burning with embarassment.

you came so close to escaping. you were so resourceful and clever about it all. but now you were nothing but holes for them to use until they decided they were done. all that intelligence you used to try and get out would leak out with your arousal as they continued to whore you out. your brain would never work the same once they were done with you. once they had reduced you to something so pathetic.

they aren't done using you. they won't be for a while. and you don't know if you ever want to be done serving them. this is where thinking got you, and now you were being put in your place.

[dragonsholygrail]

You spread yourself as wide as you can, not knowing how broad your Ghost bf is, but wanting to give him enough room as he fucks his cock into your weeping walls.

The days breeze blows in through the open window, providing a bit of relief from the firey heat that runs along your skin as your Ghost bf forces more and more orgasms out of your battered cunt.

You whine, writhing against the bed as his massive dick stretches you out. Your pussy flutters around seemingly nothing, yet that wet squelch echos throughout the room with every rough thrust of your bfs hips.

Hands squeeze tightly at the sheets below you, needing to grab onto something, needing something to ground you as your bf takes you to new dimensions of pleasure. A ragged moan leaves you, hips now jolting with each plunge of his cock.

“Fuck! I-I wanna touch you. Want you so bad— God!” You exclaim, throat raw from your cries of ecstasy. The dull feeling of your hips meeting causes your head to spin.

Reaching out blindly behind you, your hand snags onto the sheer white curtain of your window. Through the fucked out fog within your mind, you slowly form an idea.

Before Ghost bf can react, you throw the curtain outward and as soon as it catches onto an unseen form, you wrap your arms around it and pull him closer. A low moan leaving you as his cock slips deeper inside of you.

A sharp gasp moves past your lips, eyes narrowing, swearing you can also almost see his features through the material. In his shock, Ghost bf stutters in his pace. Feeling your arms around him would’ve been enough to make him blush if he still could.

Spurned on by this new discovery, Ghost bf starts pounding into you, the pleasure of his length rutting its way along your walls now heightened by your touch on his skin and slight ability to see him. But you need more as you feel yourself about to reach your peak.

Pulling him further down, you kiss him without hesitation, your lips fitting together like two puzzle pieces. The thin curtain only adding to the tingles moving down your spine.

Ghost bf’s moan moves through the breeze as always, yet this time you can feel it too. Ghost bf immediately cums again as yours lips brush deeply against each other. You whimper as his spectral-cum shoots inside of you, body twitching before you follow right after, exploding all over his cock and your bed.

You both rock steadily against each other, drawing out your orgasms as you make out passionately. Not wanting to separate for a moment now that you’ve finally gotten to taste each other in this way.

But your bfs ghost cock can’t plug you up. Can’t keep you stuffed full of his cum so that not even a drop drips from your delectable pussy. But with these new findings your bf can’t pass up the opportunity to try. To finally force his cum to stay deep inside you.

More whimpers leave you as your bf pulls away and slips the curtain off his head. They’re quickly interrupted by a choking gasp as you feel him stuff as much of the curtain inside you as the curtain rod will allow. You both look down at your pussy with bated breath. When nothing leaks out, you smile and fall back down on the bed.

“That was… a good idea,” you say through breathless laughter. Not being able to help but grind into the texture of the curtain and stimulating yourself all over again.

Ghost bfs eyes darken as he looks down at you, wondering just what else that curtain can give you both access to. His cock twitches as it starts to come back to life.

[laligraves]

morning run

joel miller x fem!reader

[18+] | wc: ~ 2.8k summary: Joel overhears your argument with the neighbor. masterlist | AO3

warnings: HBO Joel, TLOU AU, dubious consent (i'm so serious, don't read if it makes you uncomfortable), NSFW, pre/no outbreak, some proofreading, Joel is a tall and very strong man, older man/college-aged reader, Joel lives in a wealthy neighborhood with an HOA (homeowners association), no use of y/n or too many details on reader's appearance, somewhat public setting, breeding kink (kinda), fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, creampie

“These HOA people are vultures,” your sister mutters. 

You look up from your laptop and watch out the window as the committee leaves on their golf cart, most likely on their way to torment another house on the block. 

“Is it that big of a deal that my flower garden has the wrong color of roses?” 

“There’s a wrong color of roses?” you ask in confusion. 

“Yes! The president of the HOA, Susan,” you sister spits out in disdain, “only wants light pink roses on this block.” 

She slams the written warning on the entrance table and storms off into the kitchen. “I’m not sure how her husband stands her. I guess that’s why he spends so much time at the golf course.” 

You follow her into the kitchen, partly because you want a break from your assignments and also because you want to hear more gossip about her new neighborhood. 

“You know she made me pay a fine because my car was left on the driveway after hours? It’s my driveway!” 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Suddenly, I’m not so jealous about your new place.” 

She throws a sponge at your head. 

“Why don’t you just say no?” you ask as you narrowly dodge the sponge. 

“I’ve tried so hard to be nice to everyone here. But all Susan does is turn people against me. Everytime I walk outside to grab the mail or go to work, people give me dirty looks!” 

You don’t like seeing your sister like this. It’s her home. One she worked very hard to buy in this wealthy neighborhood. No one has the right to make her feel like an outsider. So you develop a plan. 

You find out Susan’s schedule fairly easily. Every morning at 8 a.m. she walks her husband to his car and kisses him goodbye before he leaves for work. She then walks back inside for her notebook and pen to then walk around the neighborhood. 

She stops at every house to ensure it fits her standards and if they don’t, she leaves a written warning on the front door. During the weekends, she and her gang of friends drive around on a golf cart to give out even more citations. 

So at exactly 7:55 A.M., you make your way to her house. You’re careful in the outfit you chose this morning: a tight sports bra and running shorts. She, and most importantly her husband, are definitely going to notice you. 

You slow down as you round the corner, already seeing her husband place his briefcase in the backseat of his beamer. She walks right behind him with a lunch pail and kisses his cheek. You shout out a good morning and watch as they both turn to look at you. 

Her right eye immediately begins to twitch and she plasters on a fake smile. His eyes do an appreciative sweep of your body as he walks to the end of the driveway. 

“Good morning! Susan,” he says turning to his wife, “why didn’t you tell me we had a new neighbor?” 

He grasps your hand and gives it a firm shake. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as he slowly lets go. Susan finally reaches the both of you and grabs onto her husband's arm to pull him away. 

You give him a sweet smile, pushing your chest out in a calculated move so he has no choice but to look.   

“I’m just visiting my sister over on Ocean Avenue. The neighborhood is so nice I thought it would be perfect for my morning runs.” 

“I agree, you can run anytime you want–” 

“Sweetie,” Susan interrupts in a high-pitched voice, “you’re going to be late.”

He asks for your name and what you’re studying in college, then shakes your hand again while Susan seethes next to the driver’s side door. He drives off, promising a tour of the country club later that day. You're left standing alone with Susan, just as you wanted.  

“Look here, young lady,” she snarls, “this is a neighborhood full of families. Not some frat house. We do not allow blatant displays of–of–well this ,” she says as she motions to your workout attire. “I am going to write your sister a citation for this disrespectful action.” 

“Well, that does make me sad. I guess I’ll have to ask your husband to cheer me up later when I visit him.” 

Her face turns beet red and you wonder briefly if steam will come out of her ears. “What did you just say?” 

“Your husband was so nice in inviting me to the country club, how can I say no? I really need to work on my swing–” 

“You stay away from my husband,” she whispers, pointing a finger at your face, “or I will find a way to run your sister out of this neighborhood.” 

“Leave my sister alone,” you say as you walk right up to her and push her finger out of the way, “or I’ll fuck your husband.”

Susan gasps, dramatically placing a hand over her mouth. 

“I’ll make sure he finishes inside me, too. Maybe give him a baby.” 

With that, you continue your jog down the sidewalk. You don’t notice Susan’s neighbor, who stands by his gate and watches you run off.  

- 

You continue your jogs for the next few days, waving at Susan and her husband every morning. You and Susan come to an unspoken agreement: she stops bothering your sister and you make sure to stay away from her husband. 

Just as you jog past her house, you notice an envelope on the sidewalk. It’s next to a brick mailbox that has the name Miller written on a plaque. You check the envelope and sure enough you see it's made out to a Joel Miller . 

You walk up to the iron gate that matches the address and call out a hello , but no one answers. There’s red roses that wrap around the expansive gate which look and smell beautiful, but block your view inside. You test the handle of the gate and luckily it opens. 

“They must’ve dropped it when getting the mail this morning,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Mornin’, doll,” a gruff voice calls out to your right. 

You jump slightly and turn to look, finding a man crouched by the gate. He stands to his full height and you have to tilt your head up just so you can keep eye contact. 

“Good morning,” you whisper. 

He’s older and handsome, much more attractive than the college boys you're used to. He places his gardening shears down and takes off his gloves to shake your hand. You do your best to control the shiver that courses through your body at the touch of his warm skin. 

“Joel,” he states, swiping his other hand through his salt and pepper hair. 

You open your mouth to say your name, but he beats you to it. 

“How did you know–” 

“I heard your conversation with Susan the other day,” Joel interrupts with a slight smirk. 

His hand tightens for a moment until he lets go, dragging his fingers over your palm. You feel embarrassment wash over your body and you quickly hand him the envelope. 

“Right–um, how much of the conversation did you hear?” 

He lets out a laugh and drops the envelope into a basket that you’ve now just noticed. It’s full of the same red roses that cover his gate. 

“Just the part where you threatened to fuck her husband if she didn’t leave your sister alone,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “Effective threat, it seems.” 

His eyes sweep over your body and you become hyper aware of the workout clothes you're wearing. Once again, a sports bra and running shorts. 

“She’s backed down,” you say after a few moments, crossing your arms to cover your pebbling nipples. 

“So,” he continues while walking closer, “you offerin’ to fuck every man on the block or just her’s?” 

His words send a shock wave through your body, landing right between your legs. You ignore the pulsing in your cunt and instead lift your hand to slap him across the face. 

As if he’s able to sense what you’re about to do, he catches your wrist before your hand makes contact with his face. 

“How dare you–”  

“Don’t act so innocent now,” he growls, pushing your body against the gate. “You told Susan you were going to let ‘em fill you up. Put a baby inside of you.” 

Your back makes contact with the gate, luckily in a place where there’s no thorns. You try to push out of his hold, confused at how much you enjoy being manhandled by an older man you just met. 

“Let me go or I’ll scream–”

“Joel?” a familiar high-pitched voice interrupts you. “Are you there?” 

Your body stills at the sound of Susan’s voice. Theoretically, you could use this opportunity to scream for help. Sure, you’d have to face Susan again, but you’d be able to escape. 

Except, Joel manages to pick up your lower body and push his jean-covered cock right against your cunt. You wrap your legs around his waist to not fall and place one hand on the iron gate behind you.

He rocks against you, moving a finger in front of his mouth, motioning you to stay quiet. Your mouth drops open in surprise as he grabs your hips and begins to grind you down on him. 

“Yes, ma’am. What can I help you with?” Joel responds. 

She tries to open the gate and you press your body back so she won’t see you. You’re not quite sure why you’re trying to hide. 

“Joel, honey. Your gate is locked,” she says. “Come unlock it and let me in.”  

Through your daze, you faintly register her tone. Did she just call him honey?  

“Sorry, Susan. It does that sometimes. I’ve got my hands full at the moment,” Joel calls out, giving you another hard thrust. 

You bite your lip to stop the moan that threatens to escape. 

“That’s okay, I just wanted to stop by and warn you about the young lady that’s staying with her sister over on Ocean Avenue.” 

Joel raises his eyebrow and stops his movements, dropping your thighs from his hold. You're shocked again, feeling dejected that he’s stopping.  

He quickly spins you around and bends you over, pushing a hand between your thighs. You grab onto the iron gate once more and slap a hand over your mouth as he begins to rub a big hand over your thin shorts. 

“Warn me?” he calls out. “What’s this young lady been up to?” 

“Well, that–that– tramp ,” Susan spits out, “is acting in ways that she shouldn’t. I know you’re a hardworking man who has done so much for our community and the last thing I want is this girl making you uncomfortable.” 

Joel yanks down your shorts and plunges a thick finger inside of you. You’d roll your eyes at her words but instead they're rolling into the back of your skull. He thrusts his finger a few times and calls out a is that right to Susan. 

Joel adds another finger and you almost fall at the stretch. If those are just his fingers, you wonder how big his cock is. He uses his other hand to keep you steady and continues to fuck you with his thick fingers while talking to her. 

“I just,” Susan continues, “I don’t know what to do. Maybe we can find a way for the sister to leave? If we all band together?” 

Joel removes his hand from between your legs and places it on your back to keep you in place. This time you actually struggle in his hold, wanting to face Susan and give her a piece of your mind. 

“Now, Susan,” Joel admonishes, “don’t go blaming the sister for the younger one’s actions. There’s no need to be spiteful to our new neighbor. There’s more than enough room in this neighborhood for everyone.” 

You stop, surprised that Joel is standing up for your sister. He presses against you and you feel the roughness of his jeans on your bare skin. He brings you in close, gently rubbing his crotch on your slick cunt. 

“Oh, you’re so right, Joel. I just get so caught up in the politics of the HOA. I want this community to be perfect.” 

A wet glob of spit lands on your asshole and you clench in surprise. Joel quietly unzips his jeans and takes out his cock. 

“Fucking perfect little asshole,” he whispers, pushing the tip of his cock right on your hole. “Not today, baby. Today is that juicy, little cunt.” 

You arch your back and barely manage to stifle a whimper when he teases the tip of your entrance. 

“What was that, Joel?” Susan calls out. 

“That the community is already perfect, Susan.” 

His voice sounds annoyed at this point. 

“You think so, Joel? Thank you, I–” 

Joel uses that moment to plunge inside of you, bumping your g-spot and reaching so deep that you choke on your own spit. 

“I’m getting a call, Susan,” Joel says through gritted teeth, “I’ll speak to you later.” 

Susan gives a sad goodbye while you bite on your hand to stop your moans. Joel is big, much bigger than any of the boys in your past. Your pussy spasms and flutters over his length and you breathe in deep to adjust to the size. 

“S’tight,” he mutters, ”keep quiet f’me, doll. Too many people on the sidewalk at this time of mornin’.” 

You hum in response, wanting him to fuck you, to stretch you and make you come on his cock. He starts a rhythm, keeping one hand on your waist so you match his thrusts and the other slips between your thighs. 

Sticky wetness drips down your inner thighs and he swipes two fingers through the mess to bring them up to your clit. Joel pistons faster, rubbing harsh circles on your clit that have you accidently whimpering in pleasure. 

“I know, baby,” he coos, “feels so good, doesn’t it?” 

“ Y–yes ,” you whisper. 

“Showing off that pretty body when runnin’ around the neighborhood,” he groans. “Picking fights and trespassing. Just needed someone to fuck some manners into you.” 

Your fingers curl into the iron gate and your back arches even deeper. He speeds up, becomes harsher in his thrusts once he notices your pussy become softer, wetter, gripping his cock with each plunge. 

“Little cunt can barely take my cock,” Joel groans, “fuck, doll. You’re choking me.”

You wish you could bite his neck, leave red hickeys on his tan skin that you imagine tastes like salt and roses and spearmint. Your head spins from lust and you feel the coil in your belly, ready to burst at any moment. 

You hear voices, people walking past on the sidewalk for some early morning exercise. Joel lands a quick slap, slap to your clit and your cumming, clenching hard on his length while you fall apart. 

Your vision blurs and you faintly hear him say there you go, make a fuckin’ mess on me . Wetness spills from your cunt, only making it easier for Joel. You bite hard on your bottom lip to stop the whimpers and your fingers curl into the iron gate. 

“Gonna cum inside this pussy, put a baby in there,” he whispers. 

“ Please, Joel,” you whine. 

He brings your back to his chest, molds his lips to your neck and bites down, moving you like his personal fleshlight. Joel groans in your shoulder and then you feel it, hot pulses of cum, filling you up. 

You hold onto his arm that's branded across your chest and squeeze down on him, milking every drop from his body, wanting it to mark you deep inside.

Joel's body trembles from the exertion and he stumbles as he finishes, turning his body to lean on the iron gate with you still attached to his cock.

He keeps you pressed to him for a few moments, keeping his nose pressed to your neck as he breathes deep. Your own breathing regulates and you become aware of the sensitivity all over your body.

Joel stands straight and gently pulls out. He reaches into his jeans pocket to reach for a clean handkerchief that he uses to clean up between your thighs.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asks.

You manage a rough fuck off and lightly push at his shoulders. He laughs and helps you fix your clothes. He swipes your phone that fell on the ground the moment he pushed you to the gate, having you unlock it so he can put in his phone number.

You make it back home a few minutes later, sore but for the most part, satiated . Your sister gets home hours later, once you've relaxed in her ginormous bathtub and washed away the evidence of your morning run.

"Are you seeing someone?" she teases as she walks in.

"What? No, why?"

"Someone left a giant bouquet of red roses on the porch." 

Sure enough, you find a bouquet of familiar red roses on the front doorstep. You don’t need a notecard to know who they're from. 

[svtswhorehouse]

DATING SEUNGCHEOL INCLUDES…. — sfw

• sugar daddy or boyfriend? (the answer is both.)

• the definition of a REAL MAN. no one has ever treated you with as much respect or given you as much love as seungcheol has.

• you're his pretty little passenger princess and he's your personal chauffeur.

• mom and dad of the group, duhhhh.

• he would drop anything and everything just to give you his undivided attention, no matter how important it is.

• yes. he would still love you if you were a worm.

• he would definitely give you his bank card without a second thought. it would also be linked to your phone, he insists on you using it always and would throw a fit when you don't.

• you would also give him your card at times and he always takes it without a fight, but would never use it.

• would take you out on dates in which you can dress up pretty and maybe dine at a fancy and EXPENSIVE restaurant. don't be fooled though. he also pays attention to the little things so if you're into books, he's taking you to a library themed restaurant. if you like animals, he's booking a ticket to orlando and ya'll are going to the rainforest cafe or something.

• you would never have to lift a finger ever again.

• he would wash your car, fill it up with gas, and take it to go get serviced without any complaints.

• he would burn down the world for you.

• he always puts you first. if he had to pick between you or the company (if they ever made him choose) he doesn't even need to think, it would be you every time.

• also your body guard ! any social gathering ya'll attend, he always has his eyes on you no matter how far away you are from him.

• times in which you do drive yourself, ya'll are definitely the type of couple to have life 360 on each other. he would text you saying to slow the fuck down if you're speeding.

• no matter how much you insist he goes to sleep and no matter how late you're getting home — it could be 4 in the morning, he will ALWAYS wait up for you.

• he has the habit of buying you anything you even slightly mention. he also pays close attention to the things you look at when out shopping together and they would show up delivered to your apartment the next day. he would take the heat from you, but still would continue to spend his money on you.

• when you have a bad day, he is already there with open arms ready to give you the biggest bear hug and shield you from the rest of the world.

• whenever you two go out together, he always has a hand on your back to guide you through crowds or just so everyone knows that you're off limits.

• if you ever lose during game nights with friends or really anywhere, he would do the penalties for you!

• he always makes sure you're on the inside when walking near a street.

• if you ever doubt yourself or feel insecure, prepare for a long serious conversation with lots of tears because he WILL NOT be having any of that. no. not when he thinks you're one of the most beautiful, talented, and honorable people he knows.

• you have never felt so safe and secure than when he's around.

• he will constantly be saying "i love you." definitely the type to call you back immediately if you forget to say it and hang up.

• he has a personal agenda out for revenge against anyone who hurts or disrespects you in any type of way.

• he will be your designated driver for not only you BUT your friends as well during girl's night out.

• he may be competitive, but when it comes to you, he would let you win just so he can see a smile on your face.

• says he CAN'T (won't because he's stubborn) fall asleep if he's not cuddling you.

• he becomes the softest most kindhearted person in the world when it comes to you.

• he gets jealous easily, but he trusts you with his whole heart so he doesn't dwell on it for too long.

• when it comes to arguing, no matter if he was in the right or wrong, he is always the first to apologize. definitely the type to get you chocolate, flowers, and ALWAYS gets you a teddy bear after.

• would make you sit on his back when doing pushups or would give you a piggy back ride when he is doing pull-ups !

• he LOVES when you wear his clothes. you would always find his shirts or hoodies on your side of the closet and be like "hmm, how did this get here?" ask your boyfriend.

• rarely ever calls you by your name. always calls you baby or something cute. he also insists that you don't call him seungcheol. he will pout if you do.

• definitely impressed your parents right off the bat. your family absolutely adores him and your parents treat him like a son.

• he would tease you by giving you a hug when he's all sweaty after practice.

• he INSISTS on picking you up EVERYDAY after work.

[indecisivemuch]

Apples

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You tossed an apple to Luke without knowing the meaning of it in Greek Mythology (fluff, friends to lovers, happy ending)

Note: Just wanted to write something lighthearted and funny. Since I saw somewhere that apparently throwing an apple at someone means something in Greek Mythology, thought I should use it as a prompt.

Word count: 3.1k

You have been at Camp Half-Blood for a year. Within that time, you’ve been claimed by your Godly parent, learned so many things about Greek mythology, and, best of all, made friends who understood exactly what you were going through and all whom you loved dearly. 

One of them was Luke Castellan. You two were relatively close friends, though you swore he treated you differently than he would with others at camp. But you didn’t want to be foolish and assumed it was something. That didn’t mean you don’t treat him differently than you would with other campers though. You have always had a soft spot for Luke in your heart. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but you found yourself thinking about him too often.

“Anyway, Percy. Don’t worry too much, honestly. We all have been through what you’re currently going through. You’ll fit right in, yeah?” the younger boy offered you a lope-sided smile as you patted his back and stood up. 

“Alright, boys, I have to go now, but I’ll see you later,” you said before grabbing your plate, which would have been empty if it wasn’t for the apple you hadn’t eaten. The rest of the table - which included Chris, Luke, and Percy - said their goodbyes before chattering again as you walked away. However, you halted as you changed your mind about wasting the apple.

You turned back to look at the group before calling out, “Hey, Castellan.” However, you were slightly caught off guard to see Luke already having his eyes on you.

Luke swore that you have always had him mesmerized. If he even heard a whisper of your voice, his head would immediately try to locate you. To make matters worse, Chris even started calling Luke a “lost puppy” when he realized how your departure would always leave Luke like one. 

“Catch,” you tossed your apple at Luke. 

Multiple heads turned in your direction as the red apple hurled through the air before landing neatly in Luke’s hands. The Hermes cabin counselor had his eyes glued onto the fruit that was in his palms. You almost halted in your steps from his and other camper’s reactions. Some started whispering to their friends, pointing at you. You even heard one gasp. But you ignored them, finding it strange that people cared so much about such a small interaction.

“You can have it. I don’t think I’ll have time to eat it,” with that, you vanished from the scene, leaving at least half of the camp agape, including Luke and your friends. 

Then, the strangest of things happened for the next few days. It started with Luke already stationed outside when you exited your cabin the morning after. He cheekily presented you with one singular flower in his hand, and you took it with playful words, “Ooh, what did I do to deserve this special treatment today?”

“Nothing, just thought I should show how much I appreciate you,” Luke put his arm over your shoulder as the two of you made your way to the dining pavilion. You could feel your cheeks flushing at his action. He has never done this before. With his arms around you, the sides of your bodies brushed as the two of you walked. You noticed almost immediately how every other person would have their eyes on the two of you. But you ignored the attention and focused on Luke instead.

The sweet actions didn’t stop at flowers or more physical touches. For the next three days, Luke was stuck to your hip. So it was quite strange that you have not spotted the Hermes cabin counselor in the last two hours. Hence why you were spending some time with Clarisse, another close friend of yours. However, you felt an arm swinging around your shoulders, and you instantly recognized who it was from the familiar touch.

“Hey, Clarisse, can I borrow Y/N real quick?” Luke asked, quickly muttering a “thank you” when your friend nodded. “So, I have something to give you…” your face must have shown how surprised you were because he chuckled at your reaction. However, when the boy pulled his gift out from his cargo pocket, your mouth fell slightly agape at the reveal. 

Luke must have misinterpreted your reaction because he started nervously rambling, his voice a few octaves higher, “It’s not much, but honestly, this is all I can do with my arts and crafts skills. I’m just not really good with that y-”

“It’s perfect, Luke. Thank you so much!” you gave him a brief hug, but it was enough to stun him for a second. Luke felt this urgent sense of craving from how your bodies fit for a second. It’s as if he was made to hold you. He almost pulled you back into another hug but had to force himself to regain composure. Nevertheless, that didn’t last long because his eyes softened again at the sight of you trying on the bracelet he made. The beads in your favorite color, crafted with care, wrapped around your wrist perfectly, and you wonder how he knew just the right size to make it.

The truth was Luke had to ask Clarisse to steal one of your bracelets just so he could make a bracelet of the correct size. But you didn't need to know that, though - according to him.

The next night, there was a social gathering near the campfire. Luke reapproached the location with a hoodie in hand. Earlier, Luke excused himself to fetch the clothing item that was now in his hand that was meant for you. However, his brows scrunched as he spotted another figure next to you, sitting in the spot that he previously occupied. You were laughing at something they said. The way your laugh echoed in his head usually sounded like a lullaby or the enchanting voice of a siren. But right now, the idea that someone else elicited the same laugh made him want to hurl behind the bush he was standing next to.

Little did he know you were zoning out from whatever the other boy was speaking about, thus the fake laugh to not blow your cover. You were distracted just thinking about Luke and everything he has done so far - offering his portion of dessert to you because he knew it was your favorite; him winning Capture the Flag and ignoring everybody else to go hug you first, then having his eyes on you and only you afterwards; sneaking out of camp to go buy the items you mentioned once that you wish you had at camp and so on. 

Your mind quickly reminded you that the boy sitting next to you was still talking to you. However, when you snapped out of your thoughts again, you realized now he was looking at you expectantly and you scrambled your mind for a reply.

Thank Gods Luke plopped down on your other side, saving you from having to admit to the other boy that you were not listening to him. “Hey, you’re back,” you commented. Luke’s arm automatically threw itself around your shoulder and tugged you to him slightly. Your body leaned on the Hermes cabin counselor ever so naturally at this before you turned to him. Luke quickly set his clothing on your lap, and you stared at it questioningly.

“You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” your cheeks flushed again at how he knew without you telling him. You shivered maybe once or twice earlier due to the night air lowering the temperature, but it was so brief you were sure nobody had noticed. As you put on the hoodie, Luke averted his gaze from you to the guy on your other side. 

The Hermes cabin counselor arched one of his eyebrows in a challenging manner. Almost immediately, his ‘opponent’ slightly raised both of his hands. Luke internally snickered at the quick motion of surrender. 

“My bad, man,” you heard the other boy say as you managed to put your head through the clothing item and pull it down. Luke was physically preening at the other boy’s words and departure. Meanwhile, you were distracted by how you were engulfed by the smell of Luke from his hoodie. Your height difference also meant you were swimming in it, but it felt so comfortable.

“What was that?” you asked once the other boy was gone. 

“Nothing…” even the most oblivious person could see that Luke was lying. But, once again, you did not question his actions and carried on with the gathering. You could also feel other campers staring at the two of you, but you ignored that as well. 

That night - like every other night since four days ago - he walked you back to your cabin. You were honestly completely smitten by the attention he has given you, not that you would admit that to him. You were still not sure what caused the change, but you were still elated about it. Maybe he did return your feelings? Either way, everything felt perfect lately, and you went to sleep that night feeling like the stars aligned for you.

“I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, taking the plate of food. Today’s meal consisted of mac n’ cheese, steak, and an apple. 

“You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?”

“What? When?”

“When you threw him the apple? That is considered a marriage proposal.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.” Percy finally took a plate of food for himself. “And if the recipient catches it, it’s considered an acceptance.”

“You saw this and knew this whole time without telling me?!?” 

“I thought you knew! And you two seem so smitten already, so I thought you did it on purpose.”

“Percy, no! Is this a well-known thing? Do you think other people who saw it too thought I proposed to Luke as well?” Seeing Percy’s look and how he was fumbling with his words, you quickly requested, “Actually, no, don’t answer that.” 

The two of you walked over to Luke and Chris with plates in hand. You picked up the apple on your plate and placed it on the table. 

“Luke, we need to talk,” You deliberately placed the fruit there, hoping the boy would get a hint about the topic you wanted to discuss. Luke’s eyes flicked from the fruit to you. Though the hint of amusement in his eyes and a sheepish grin made you realize he knew all along. Luke stood up and followed you out of sight and hearing distance from other campers whose eyes were trailing after the two of you.

“You knew what it meant, and you didn’t tell me?” You broke the silence as soon as you two were far away enough. 

“Listen, I appreciate your proposal. But, it’s a little bit fast, don’t you think?” Luke teased, and you instantly hit his arm at that, causing the boy to flinch slightly, but the smile on his face told you he was anything but mad at your action.

“But you caught it. So, technically, you said yes,” you rebutted, sighing as you rubbed your face, “My Gods, does everybody at camp think we’re engaged? Wait, is this a substitute for an engagement ring? Did you give this to me because of that?” you pointed to the bracelet Luke gave you, your mind now understanding Clarisse’s teasing and her implications. You could see the way Luke was stifling a laugh. He settled with saying something else when he saw the pure panic on your face.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” the nickname successfully silenced you. You hated how it made you feel, but you would not mind hearing that daily. “No, it’s not an engagement ring.”

“Oh, so were you doing all of these romantic gestures and gifts on purpose to make fun of me and the situation?” you asked, though it was more with a lighthearted tone than one of temper. However, something shifted because the expression on Luke’s face changed from one of humor to earnestness.

“No, I didn’t do all this to make fun of the situation or you…” Luke’s voice fell off as tried to find the right words to say next. In that split second, Luke took a deep breath, and you could see how nervous he suddenly became, though he still kept a light tone. “I did it because I took it as a chance to maybe…win you over, and it also gives me an advantage because it fended off many other guys.” 

Undoubtedly, you were frozen in place, unable to register the words he was saying and the implications they bear. Neither did the boy in front of you act like the Luke you usually know - somebody who was usually confident, outgoing, always having his way with words. No, the person in front of you could not even hold eye contact, the pink hue on his cheeks now spreading to the tip of his ears as he shifted left and right. Luke broke the silence first, giving away the nerves that were gnawing him away from your lack of response.

“How about this? I’ll say ‘no’ to your mind-blowing marriage proposal for now,” you lightheartedly hit him again, rolling your eyes playfully. Seeing a positive reaction from you, Luke let out a small breath of relief, but the nerves quickly overtook again as he mustered up all the courage to utter his counter proposal: “But maybe we could start with something slower like going on a date? — Or I’ll even settle with you allowing me to try and ‘woo’ you.” Luke added the last bit as insurance, in case you didn’t want to take up on the date. Part of his mind wanted to scowl at himself for seeming so desperate - but Gods, he has always been a desperate man when it comes to you. 

“You’re such a dork.”

“Yet you still proposed to me.”

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?” Luke only shook his head in response. Once again, you haven’t responded to his offer. Luke could see that you were in deep thought, the cogs turning in your head as you digested what he just said.

“You mean it? That you wanna go on a date? That you wanna “woo” me and sweep me off my feet?” you questioned. Despite the humor in your voice, there was also a hint of vulnerability and cautiousness. “Does this mean what you’ve been doing for the past few days…they are all genuine?”

“Is it that hard to believe that I like you? I don’t think you even fully understand the feelings I have for you. I’ve had my eyes on you for a year now, which is the entire time I know you, and I’m afraid I can’t see that changing any time soon.” Luke had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying more because he was sure he would never stop talking about you if he could. Maybe those unspoken words ought to be things Luke would disclose in the future. If you give him the chance, he will ensure you hear everything he adored about you.

“Well, that’s good then, ‘cause I happen to like you too,” your words made Luke’s eyes snap to yours, almost in disbelief. 

Luke felt as if his heart was blocking his airway by the way it was thumping so hard in his chest to the point he could feel the vibration in his neck. He held his breath over your confession and the way you were looking at him. Oh, Luke was convinced he was utterly doomed because how could he be so affected by one single look. He was suddenly unsure whether he would be able to handle your affections or ever live without it if it was taken from him. He’d spend the rest of eternity like a deprived man.

“Aw, look who is nervous now,” you teased, deciding to somewhat torture him and get him back for teasing you earlier. “I did not think I had this kind of effect on you, Castellan,” you approached him slowly, keeping eye contact with his now dilated pupils. 

“I mean…all I did was say a couple of words and you’re all tongue tied. What would happen to you if I do this?” you swiftly grabbed Luke’s camp beads and pulled him down, eliminating a significant amount of space between your faces, though not completely. To steady himself during your action, Luke’s hands steadied on your hips and stumbled slightly, though you did not mind the touch.

You never knew it was possible for his face to flush even more, but it did. Luke gulped and your eyes casted down on the way his Adam’s apple moved when he did so. The way he reacted to you only intoxicated you with power even more. You glanced upwards a bit, eyes observing his lips for a split second before looking back up at his eyes. You smirked when you caught his eyes flickering back to yours from your lips as well. 

Just as you were about to close the distance, Luke pulled back just a bit, finally able to speak, though his words were heavy warnings, “If this happens—” Luke stopped, unsure he should let you know. Luke shook his head lightly as his eyes traced over your features before continuing, “If we kiss, there is no going back for me. I don’t think I could just…forget about it. So, please, just be sure before you do it.” Your eyes softened at his words.

“I promise, Luke. I am sure,” you muttered, though Luke knew you meant the words by heart from the way you were looking at him. 

You finally pulled the boy down again using his camp necklace. 

As your lips touched Luke’s, he let out a content sigh. His hands clung onto your hips, pulling you flush against his own body while you caressed both sides of his face in your hands. Luke felt like the world was swallowing him whole. The boy now knew what your lips tasted like, and it felt like an addiction. He could feel his heart waving white flags at that moment, completely surrendering to you. He was right before. There was no going back from this. 

But oh, if Luke knew an apple was all it took, he would have tossed one to you himself.

----------------------

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[moondirti]

working at a hardware store, you're too familiar with the odd customer. couples who come in with specifications so detailed, you can only imagine they're for kink purposes; women old enough to be knocked out by the fumes of the paint they purchase, looking to remodel after their husbands passing; men on the verge of a mid-life crises, more devoted to their lawns than they are their families. and though it takes a couple hours of dedicated customer service to get them out the door, satisfied with their purchase, that comes with the job that sees you paid. so it's not so bad. generally fine.

a one and done sort of thing.

(of course, that's because none of them hold a candle to this freak.)

cargo net, nylon cordage, duct tape, disinfectant. all that's missing is a shovel, and the police wouldn't fault you for calling this purchase in.

"moving?" you ask, tongue lashing against your best interests in face of the oppressive presence across the counter. a monster of a man, almost too big to fit through the store. thick arms and neck, a healthy serving of fat over every muscle, filling the space of his shirt beyond what it was sewn to handle. the camo balaclava is both ridiculous and an essential component to the intimidation he strikes in you, framing a set of eyes that squint at your remark.

(jesus, you didn't think people like him existed in real life.)

he looks like he's about to bite back, but decides against it.

"hunting." he says, then nudges the objects towards you like he has somewhere urgent to be at 10 pm. but okay, fine, you can take a hint. you scan the suspicious list of things and tally up his total.

"uh, 85 quid. thanks."

"bloody extortionate." the man mutters, stacking his purchases upon one, curled arm, before throwing a pink note your way.

nonplussed, you don't notice the offence immediately. the matter of payment is instead superseded by his offhand exit, his shoulder shoving open the door, head bowing to shrug out. and you watch as he walks across the parking lot, long strides taking him there in three steps, and watch as he slips around the brick perimeter. only then does your stomach settle.

but at that point, it's far too late.

50 pounds stare smugly up at you.

that asshole underpaid you.

by the grace of the gods (your manager), your shift ends soon after. it's a wonder you manage to get to your car at all, migraine splitting your skull in two. though it should be doing something to alleviate the pain, all your body wants to focus on is the lightened bulk of your wallet, now missing 35 quid after paying the difference out of pocket.

you take the time once you're seated to smash a fist repeatedly onto your steering wheel.

"fucking fuck! cock sucking bastard, son of a bitch!"

the screaming, though cathartic, drills your sorrows further into your head. you're temporarily blinded when your head slams back onto the headrest, phosphenes overwhelming your vision. little stars, ropes, knives and dots dancing over the windscreen.

it's a miracle you're able to discern the eyes in your rearview mirror as real.

"well, which is it?" the brute from earlier derides. his hand comes over your jaw, big enough to trap the whole lower half of your face in his grip. tucks his pinky under your chin, too, the makeshift muzzle keeping you from biting. it's all you can do to breath — long, filtered gulps of air, the space between his fingers smelling of salt. something sticky smears onto your nose. "am i a bastard, or the son of a bitch?"

not a one and done thing, then.

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

⋆˚࿔ 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

synopsis: hoyov. dragons in heat + preferred positions and when they’re most desperate

tags: face riding, cunnalingus, overstimulation, 69

wrd cnt: 0.7k

a/n: repost/rewrite from first acc!

Neuvillete

Neuvillette, can barely handle finishing his workday without you around. He tells himself he'll run back to you at the end of the day and cherish every part of you...after all the cases are looked over of course.

He caves, just like the last time. Seeing you walk into his office felt like salvation, and it tasted even sweeter. Well, you, tasted even sweeter. It didn't take him long until he pulled you onto his lap, letting you feel his members against your clothed cunt.

As soon as it was too much to bare, he threw you onto the table; the documents splayed out now irrelevant after a much more important matter was presented. As much as Neuvillette wanted to take his time, he couldn't help folding up that pesky skirt to your hips and pulling your panties off, throwing them off to the lamp where they hung like decoration, as his lips kissed your clit before his tongue circled it, sucking and tugging on it so eagerly it made you spasm as you gently pull on his hair, his palms holding your hips open for his face to delve the deepest it could into your cunt. He felt your legs shake and twitch as your back arched against the hard wood of his desk, as he stroked his self under the desk. His cum wouldn't stop leaking out, dripping onto his knees and even the floor as he moaned into you; considering pushing his entire schedule until later just so he could stuff them both into you.

Zhongli

Zhongli, whose most difficulty in restraint is when he's first awake. His heat basically wakes him up itself, like an empty and starving stomach, he needs relief immediately. Glancing to his left to see your perfect warm face, hair cascaded over the pillow and the blanket barely covering your indulgent figure; you were his antidote.

It starts so innocently, waking up with a gentle greeting and kisses to your head and cheek, but don't you dare kiss him on the lips so early in the morning. Not during this week.

On the chance you did, he'd have you struggling to fit both his cocks into your mouth while he shoved his tongue into your sloppy hole. He loved how your pliant body sat right above his face, smelling your sweet scent when he buries his face in it, the dripping arousal from your pussy coating his mouth and cheeks, hearing your desperate moans while he coaxed them out of you. Loud whines and mewls falling past your lips as he became drunk on your taste, his hands leaving prints on your hips in the process.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng, never thought he'd become so needy and clingy to someone like this. After his true form had expressed itself, old issues started to arise that he thought he'd be able to handle on his own; not wanting to rely on you for his behavior. But how could he? When you leaned over his shoulder to greet him with a kiss on the cheek, when you let your hand rest on his waist after each hug, how he just wishes he could suppress all his dragonly urges to push you against the wall and drain you of all your essence.

But all he can do is wish.

It's almost midnight, and Dan Heng is just barely getting started as he's licking up all the remnants of your squirting warm cum that's painted his face. Legs shaking and lips quivering, you feebly grind your pussy onto his soft tongue.

His groans following your hips, steadily tonguing your clit, pumping his slender fingers in your cunt as his tail wraps itself around your thigh; keeping your legs wide open for him. His tail tightening its grasp, not wavering, as Dan Heng loudly groans, licking your clit faster as he’s chasing his own high.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.