#as of rn i have their number blocked + had them block me on here (they told me they found my blog and was weirdly rude about what i post)

[edraculation]

had a british (or something idk/idc) friend in 6th-7th grade so absolutely vile that i can never look at the "(:" smiley face again without reliving having to interact with them... deadass the worst person I have ever met and several of my family members are actual convicted felons

[almostempty]

Kick and Scream

Self Esteem Part 3

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel catches you on a date and communicates how he feels about it (the only way he knows how).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, blow job, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), jealous!joel, possessive!joel, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, smash and dash, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak, special guest appearance by date night dave, OOC Dave bc I don’t know that man so I made him single, rich, hot, and pervy idc idc idc, more i might be forgetting rn,  

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to EVERYONE who read part 1 and 2, but ESPECIALLY  @auteurdelabre for inspiring, I hope you enjoy it bb. I'll try to tag those who specifically asked for more brb, and @strangergraphics

WC: 9.3K (idk it got long and horny heheh) 

AO3: HERE | Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 4: The more you suffer

You stare down at the hand that just landed on your thigh, cocking your head in assessment. You can feel the scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth. As you work out what expression you should paste onto your face instead, the man sitting next to you seems unbothered. Maybe even encouraged? He continues his lecture about the benefits of indoor rock climbing. You sigh, staring across the park as he continues without pausing to breathe. 

You watch the couples milling around the park, wondering if that’s what you look like with this guy's hand on your leg. You stare back down at it, his long fingers shifting slightly as he continues his animated speech. Sweat beads at the back of your neck, and you feel fidgety. Trapped under the weight of his limp hand. He doesn’t seem to notice when you squirm and readjust. He’s circled back to his earlier lecture about how you just have to learn to play an instrument. If he’d let you get a word in, you could verify that you already do, but he seems to prefer the sound of his own voice. 

This guy should get a podcast. The kind where a guy with a microphone talks to himself for three hours about whatever he wants. He’d crush it. You laugh to yourself, unintentionally encouraging him with your smile. He’s not not good-looking. But you’d prefer someone interested in asking you at least one question. 

You stifle a laugh at the intrusive thought of taking him home and stripping his clothes off while he prattles on about amateur bird-watching, sorry–birding, or unicycling. 

Eventually, you extricate yourself from the disappointing date, accept an awkward hug, and turn down dinner. You haven’t left the parking lot yet when your phone buzzes. 

Unsaved number: had a great time with u

Unsaved number: would love to see u again :) 

It’s not that your skin crawls, but it is a full-body no. 

You: thanks, I’m glad I got to know you more 

It’s not technically a lie. You’re glad you learned he’s not a fit for you. You feel okay about leaving it at that for now. You watch the sunset from your parking spot. The park is filled with couples laying on blankets being romantic. You roll your eyes at them and then at yourself for being bitter. Your phone buzzes again, and you wince, hoping it’s not your long-winded date again. It’s not. 

Joel: what you doing?

Fucking Miller. You scoff aloud in the private space of your front seat. By now, he should be on your blocked list, but the quick hit of euphoria that floods through your bloodstream, warming your cheeks, keeps you hooked. He’s a filthy drug that blinds you from logic or survival instincts. Your eyes dart to the pedestrians in the parking lot. Worried. As if the milling strangers know what you’re up to and are about to shame you. A little voice reminds you that if you feel guilty about something, you shouldn’t be doing it. You ignore that voice. Nobody in the parking lot catches on, coast clear, and you let yourself grin wide as a fool when you type your response. 

Later that night, you’re grinning again. Sprawled across your couch, sweaty skin plastered to the faux leather cushions. Sated. Bought and sold on your own lie, you tell the little voice that you didn’t want Joel to stay anyway. You convince yourself some form of compromise is happening, however twisted, when he shows up and leaves you wrecked. He comes to you. You don’t have to get to know each other to make each other feel good. Whatever puts you at ease. 

Sometimes it works. Some days, you feel hollow and anxious. Obsessively tapping your phone to see if he’s responded when you reach out first. Pacing around your home, stressing over whether you should stay up just in case and even in bed, you can’t help but stay alert for a knock at the door. 

The cycle leaves you with dark circles under your eyes most days. But, on the mornings after Joel shows up, you have a bright twinkle in your eyes and a knowing smirk that greets you in the bathroom mirror. Katie noticed the smirk one day and called you out. She demanded an explanation for the mystery dick fairy. 

You wouldn’t admit his identity to her, afraid of getting too involved with someone in her boyfriend's network. But you did admit to the toxic cycle, and your friend was not as amused as you when you tried to pass it off as a joke. She tried to convince you to look for someone to date, but you argued that wasn’t what you wanted anyway. She suggested at least someone who could commit to a plan or send a text back. You knew it didn’t sound great out loud. 

As the days of summer crawl along, you wonder if she’s right. At least, it was worth considering. It’s a feeble attempt to smother your spiraling thoughts about Joel. Still, when you start getting messages from the dating app Katie chose for you, it gives you something to interrupt your racing thoughts. At first. Somehow, it starts to feel even worse. Ignoring the sinking feeling you get when it isn’t Joel’s name in your notifications gets more challenging. 

You had accepted that it was a lost cause to plan anything with him, but you still can’t find the self-respect to turn him away when he shows up at your door. Sometimes, he sends you a grammatically inconsiderate text. You wonder if he somehow has a cell phone plan that still charges him by the message with the way he uses as few words as possible. 

He never stays. Never invites you to his. He evades any predictable behavior. Maybe he’s worried someone ordered a hit on him. Maybe that’s all it is, you muse. Not a contracted kill. The unpredictability. Chaos. That’s what makes him addictive. The brightness of the highs makes you temporarily forget the darkest lows exist. That, and the dirty little thoughts that pour from his mouth and drip into your psyche. That stupid, sexy voice burning into your memory, yeah, that’s definitely addictive. You snort at that. I am unwell, you think. As you pick up your phone again, you see a message from someone new. 

\\\///

Heat radiates off your face as you fling another shirt across the room. You’ve tried on the same three outfits over and over again. Ripping them over your head and tossing them into the pile of laundry purgatory. Maybe sweating and mouth-breathing is a turn-on for your date; if so, you’re gonna nail the first impression. You sigh and commit to option two: the little black dress. A classic, right? 

“Shit,” you curse at yourself when you stumble while attempting to pull your shoes on as you walk down the hall. This is what you get for agreeing to a late evening date on a weeknight; you feel like a mess. Scrambling to play it cool and classy, you pause to recalibrate before opening the door. What was his name? You can’t remember. He didn’t look like your usual type, but Katie had convinced you to branch out a little. More specifically, she told you it was a green flag already if he wasn’t your type. 

You swing the door open, hoping he introduces himself first. He looks expensive. The dark-washed denim, the boots, the jacket, and the watch. Like he walked out of an ad campaign for a brand out of your budget. Dave. He does introduce himself, thankfully. He’s more clean-cut than your usual type, but he speaks confidently and gives off an air of put-togetherness that intrigues you. His voice definitely stirs the butterflies in your stomach. 

Oh. You realize you’ve definitely been busy staring at him and have no idea what he actually said with his sultry bedroom voice. Your eyes widen a little. You don’t wanna fuck this up and embarrass yourself. Luckily, he seems unbothered. He tilts his head with a seductive half-smile. He’s enjoying the way you assess him. That definitely does it for you. Stupid, smug men making you weak in the knees. 

“You ready?” he asks, voice all smoky for no good reason. 

“Yeah,” you manage to say as you recall how to speak and act human. Until you see his luxury car waiting for you. He clocks your beat of hesitance. 

“Good.” 

His authoritative voice flips the right switch in you, and you let him lead. When he opens the door for you, it’s like the final component of his spell. You are bewitched. Under a thick veil, you didn’t even notice the truck that rolled by as you sank into the leather seat. You didn’t notice when the truck pulled over up the block, idling noisily on the quiet street. No, you were busy, focused on manually breathing and taking in what you’d describe as the interior of a spaceship. 

The good news is that Dave is charming. He is easy to talk to as he drives. Flirty and quick-witted. He asks you questions and pauses to consider your responses. You aren’t sure you have much in common, but you like his self-assured demeanor. 

When you walk into the club he’s brought you to, you hesitate once again, feeling underdressed. The club is split with a lounge on one side of the bar–full of intimate booths and plush chairs surrounding tiny tables and trendy mood lighting. Kind of like a swanky hotel lobby, you decide. On the other side of the bar is a dance floor, dimly lit with loud music blasting. Women in bodycon dresses and heels fill the room. You feel plain in comparison. 

“I didn’t know there was a dress code,” you mutter. 

“There isn’t,” Dave asserts, “besides, you look good in this.” He accentuates his statement by running his hand down your spine. It settles some of your nerves and lights up others. He ushers you, hand on your lower back, towards a small booth. And as you settle in, he’s undeniably charismatic. Dave doesn’t reveal much about himself but keeps you laughing and seems genuinely interested in you.  

Despite the loud music and people noise, it’s easy to feel like the room is only for you and him. You sip your drink and warm up to his affection. You’re quick to smile, and despite how serious he seems, he has a playful edge that has you on your toes. 

You can taste the chemistry between you, bright and sparkling. He spurs your confidence with his dark eyes when he not so subtly lets his gaze linger on your body. You stop shying away from attention and try to bask in it instead. It boosts your ego and stirs up your desire. 

When you let yourself look, really look, you decide Dave is handsome. His strong features, broad shoulders, and impeccable grooming work for him. He seems meticulous but not too uptight to have fun. A dark sense of humor flirts behind his twinkling dark eyes. You decide to let him know that you’ve determined he is a handsome man. He gives you a look. Like he already knew you thought that. Your cheeks warm slightly at that. Were you obvious? 

It’s not until he peels away from you to refill your drinks that you notice how close you have been sitting. You mourn the loss of his body heat as he walks away. You had low expectations after your last few dates, but tonight, this feels different. Your eyes trail along his path to the bar, and you lazily rest your chin in your palm before your breath hitches, and you freeze.  

You feel like you’ve swallowed a bowling ball. It’s lodged in your throat first, then constricting your chest, until finally, it sinks. A heavy, solid weight flipping your stomach. You’re locked on a different set of dark eyes. They’re glowering at you through lowered brows from across the room. Seated at the same bar where Dave ordered your drinks. 

Joel stares at you over his drink. He downs the glass without taking his eyes off of you. One quirked brow, asking really? 

Really what? Is he judging you? For what, being on a date? 

Another glass replaces his empty tumbler, but he doesn’t acknowledge the bartender or the rest of the world.

This fucking guy. 

The bowling ball in your gut mutates into something fiery. But, you have nothing to be guilty about. It’s not your fault he’s alone, bitter, and drinking at a bar full of people having more fun than him. In fact, you could say it’s his fault that you’re both here. 

A scowl forms on Joel’s face when Dave slides back into the booth beside you. Good. You hope he suffers. You hope he sees how easy it is for someone to treat you well. And how happy you look. 

You don’t hesitate to lean your body against Dave, giving in to your urges. You squeeze his arm when he makes you laugh, and your touch lingers. He preens under your admiration when you comment on his firm biceps. He is quick to match your advances. Finding excuses to brush your hair behind your ear and settling a heavy palm on your knee. His hand creeps a little higher up your thigh but doesn’t graze the hem of your dress. Respectful. That’s different. 

You don’t need to look again to feel Joel’s eyes burning into you. It incites you that he has the audacity. The gall to make faces at you for showing up on a date. You decide you’ll give Joel something to scowl about, feeling emboldened by your date’s touch.  

You slide Dave’s hand further up your leg, letting go when he gets the idea. You reach for your drink, feigning nonchalance, but your breath catches, and your hand trembles when he traces his fingertips around the crease of your thigh. He skirts beneath the hem of your underwear, drawing lines over your hip and back towards your center. 

The soft touch tickles deliciously, and you feel the anticipation building in your core. He watches your expression, hawklike, noting the tiniest details in the features of your face. He notes when your breath stutters or your eyelids flutter softly. 

“This what you wanted?” he husks, still watching intently. Yes, yes, yes! 

“Almost,” you toy. Something about having both men’s eyes on you has your skin itching with desire and your blood running hot. 

Dave scoffs softly, repeating your word choice and shaking his head. Almost. 

“You looking for more?” he taunts as he wedges his large hand fully between your legs to cup and tease your cunt. 

You can’t help the breathlessness of the yes that slips out of you. You roll into his palm, and your mouth parts at the friction and his boldness. He smiles wolfishly, flashing his teeth, when he feels you twist and rock against him. His look encourages you. And you tilt your hips and shift your legs to give him better access. 

“Dirty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, still locked on your face. You swell at this. His eyes lower to your glossy lips before he sips casually from his drink, so composed. 

Your cheeks warm at his words, but he has his answer when he slips a finger beneath the damp lace between your legs and drags it through the pool of arousal gathering at your entrance. Your lips part at the contact, chest heaving, and you give him a nod and coy smile in response to his question. You’ll be his dirty little thing tonight. 

“That’s good,” he declares, pressing a kiss just below your ear before adding, “I’d like to do dirty things to you.” 

His husky voice and declaration stir an urgent need to be touched within you. He continues to agitate your nerves as his hand massages over your swollen sex. Your skin feels tight and prickly, tensing, ready to feel more. You’re unconcerned with the debased nature of being fingered in public. 

When your eyes are instinctually drawn back towards Joel, you shudder. You can feel the twitching of your clit as your cunt floods over Dave’s fingers. The depravity that another man’s glare eases the slip of your date’s teasing touch is not lost on you. Instead, it turns you on even more. Joel’s homicidal stare has you squirming. You’ve seen darkness in his eyes before, but not like this. There’s no twinkle of mocking, and it’s not cruel in a hot way. If looks could kill, then this room would look like the club scene from Blade. 

Dave murmurs something filthy in your ear that makes you gasp. Your hand flies to his thigh, gripping tightly to keep you from melting onto the floor. 

“Don’t be shy, dirty girl,” he croons darkly, “you can touch.” 

“Fuck,” you groan under your breath when you move your hand to find his hard cock straining against his well-fitted jeans. 

He chuckles lowly at the way your eyes widen in response before he plunges two fingers inside of you, and you stifle a throaty sound. Your mind still wanders to Joel, and you wonder if he can see your perverse display below the table. Judging by his clenched fists on the bar, you’d say whatever he can see is enough to fill in the blanks. The sick part of you that feels more turned on by his agony expands within you.  

“Oh god,” you whisper as you suck in air. 

Dave works his fingers lazily into you. You feel intoxicated by the attention of both men. A concern flashes through you that someone else in the club could catch on or see more than you’d like to show. But a feeling in your gut tells you that it doesn’t matter. Dave seems strikingly confident with a lethal attention to detail. And the ferocity on Joel’s face only eggs you on. 

When you think of humbling Joel, a sinister smile pulls at the corners of your mouth. He’s the one that unleashed the horny, risk-taking monster within you and then disappeared. Fuck moping about him. You’re getting yours, you decide. 

You shoot Joel a wink. Pouring gasoline on the fire, hoping it pisses him off. 

You lean into the salaciously tempting energy radiating off of Dave. Reaching to hold his jaw as your lips lock and you let him control your mouth. Kissing him riles you up more. You palm at his erection over his jeans, delighting in the noises that roil deep in his chest. You hold back whimpers as the pressure of his fingers curling inside of you finds the perfect spot. 

He pulls back from your kiss and looks down to watch your hand groping at him. You like watching him watch you. 

“You gonna take it out?” Oh. Fuck, you want to. It feels like more of a risk than you’ve taken so far. 

“Here?” you ask him softly.  

A wrinkle appears between your brows. Dave watches your swollen lips again just as your pink tongue darts out to wet them. He raises a brow at you, eyes dropping to where his arm disappears under your dress. 

“Oh, are you feeling bashful now?” he goads. His fingers curl against that sensitive spot inside of you as his palm presses firmly into your swollen clit. He makes it hard for you to answer. You try to pout at him, but the reflexive rise in your brows at the pleasure betrays you.  He chuckles again. “No? Just distracted, hm?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can mouth. It is distracting. Not the fingers inside you, well, not completely, but the urge. The craving to leverage your lewd new lover’s lack of regard for appropriate behavior into emotional revenge. The thought of Joel growing mad with jealousy as he watches you come overtakes your critical thinking. 

Eat your heart out, Joel Miller! You dare him across the room, letting your jaw fall slack and your brows knit in obvious pleasure. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Dave asks, “Here in this booth? Where anyone could see?” he tuts like he’s disappointed, and it works. The danger of it all does something to heighten your senses. It’s blinding. The bass from the music blaring from the dance floor rattling in your ribs, Dave’s designer cologne filling your nose, the sheen of sweat collecting on your chest, and the daggers in Joel’s eyes when you glance to confirm he’s still watching. All the sensations clash and shove you towards your release. 

“Yes,” you hiss quietly, “yes.” Your eyes slam shut as you try to remain composed while riding his fingers under the table. You flicker in and out of reality as your climax rolls through you. You’re drunk on the reversal of power when your eyes peel open, and you see the hardened expression on Joel’s face glowering at you. You wonder if his dick is just as hard in his pants, and the thought has you contracting again around Dave’s fingers.

“That’s a good girl.” Dave’s voice is somehow even deeper. It sends another ripple of pleasure to swirl low in your abdomen. You’d like to hear that again. 

With a touch more clarity after the violent edge of your arousal is dulled, your hand works at his belt, desperate to feel the heat of his cock in your palm. He assists, lifting his hips when you unbuckle his belt and pop the button on his pants so you can slide your hand beneath his underwear. His tension and urgency further stoke your power trip, and you feel overcome with the need to know how badly he wants you. When you wrap your fingers around him, hear the groan he makes, and feel the mindless buck of his hips, you have a more than good enough answer. He’s yours. 

Dave watches the way your eyes glaze over when your thumb smears the precome dripping from his head down his length. His hand stills distractedly between your legs, and his chin drops as he watches where your hand disappears under his dark boxer briefs. You’re constricted by the elastic waistband, but your grip is tight. Almost as tight as when he fucks his own fist. He’s mesmerized by the way you jerk his cock just right. 

You feel yourself salivating with the need to taste him. You’re getting frustrated with the limited space and want to see him in your hand. You sigh, wishing you could, until you realize you can, and grin. 

You pull your hand back out of his pants, and he snaps out of his stupor. Before he can comment, you cut him off. 

“Keep your pants on and take me to the bathroom so I can suck your cock right.” 

Your voice comes out lower than you thought it would. His eyes flare before he matches your devious look and obeys, spewing filthy thoughts you can’t make out under his breath as he does. He’s ushering you down the hall in seconds, and then you’re locking the door and dropping to your knees. Dave doesn’t wait a second longer, wrenching his belt open and dropping his jeans just enough for his cock to spring free. 

You don’t tease or start slow. He admires how you waste no time like you’re desperate to taste him. And you are. Only pausing for a moment to admire the way he looks, stiff and leaking for you, before you eagerly wrap your lips around him. You slide your tongue everywhere and bob up and down with vigor. Salty and vaguely sweet, precome teases your palette. You want more. The best you can do to express that is swallow around him and suck until he’s moaning and cursing above you. 

You let your saliva pool and spill from your lips so you can slide your hand down the rest of his length while you revel at the weight of him on your tongue. You find the moves that have his fists clenching and thighs straining and repeat them. You hum around him as pride blooms in your chest over how his composure cracks. 

You wonder if Joel has smashed through the bar with his fists yet. At least he didn’t break down the bathroom door before you could get on your knees. Would he strangle Dave first if he saw the two of you? Or would he drag you home and gag you on his angry cock instead? You moan obscenely as your imagination runs wild. You look up at Dave. He watches you with fierce eyes. You wouldn’t mind if they shared you, you consider, but that would take a miracle. 

You continue messily and enthusiastically until your knees ache, and you decide he has to come for you. You try to beg for it while he’s still in your mouth before you have the brains to pull off of him and tell him what you want. He’s endeared by your unrefined hedonism.

He grips your jaw in his palm when you get the words out. 

“You want to swallow my come?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you plead impatiently on your knees with a hoarse voice. You’re a pornographic sight on the tile floor with your wet lashes, swollen lips, and saliva glistening on your chin. You open your mouth for him and hold out your tongue. 

“Oh,” he strokes his thumb along your cheek, smiling down at you, “that’s a good girl.” 

Your eyes close at that, feeling the praise warm your skin before he slides back into your wet mouth. 

Guiding you faster and a little rougher, Dave doesn’t take long to come. Spilling onto your tongue as you groan around him until he stops pulsing in your mouth. You swallow, glowing for him with glassy eyes. He helps you to stand before tucking his softening cock back into his jeans and fastening his belt. You’re adjusting your dress and reaching for your bag on the counter. 

“What do you need?” He asks a little softer than you expected, causing you to pause. 

“Take me home,” you smile at him dopily before pausing and wincing at yourself in the mirror. You look like a freshly face-fucked mess. 

“Uh, actually, give me a few minutes to freshen up first, and I’ll meet you out front?” 

He nods, “I’ll pull the car up.”

“I’d like that.” You reply and lock the door behind him after he slips out. 

Once you feel more presentable, you pull your phone from your bag and tap the screen to check the time before opening the door. 

Seeing Joel’s name makes your stomach flip. You open the text. 

Joel: Miss me? 

It snaps something in you. Something that enrages you. He has to be certifiably insane, you think. It came through a little while ago, but you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in the bathroom. You begin to spiral, debating if you should march to the bar and throw a drink in his face or pretend like he doesn’t even exist. You feel your face burning hot, and the bathroom is suddenly suffocating. You need some air before you get into the car with Dave. Just long enough to breathe normally and look less like you want to break something. 

Leaving the bathroom you find an employee exit further down the hall. A faded sign on the door warns that an alarm will sound, but the rock wedged in the door jam holding it open a crack begs to differ, and you slip into the dark. 

A lanky, pale kid in a black apron sits atop a picnic table in the alley. 

“Oh, sorry,” you feel a little guilty interrupting his break, “just wanted some air.�� 

“All good,” he responds before sliding off the makeshift seating. “Last call for the kitchen anyway. Have my seat,” he waves at the table like he’s offering a throne. You accept. Exceedingly grateful to have the air and the privacy to regulate. Just some slow, deep breaths. Then, you can walk out the front door and let Dave take you home. 

The door swings open again, and you tense, ready to hop off the table and find another space. 

“Sorry,” you start your apology, but it’s cut off. 

“You should be,” Joel accuses harshly. He’s in your space with two of his long strides. Rushing at you like you’re caught in a snare trap, and he’s starving. You briefly look the part with your eyes wide in the moonlight, shocked by his sudden appearance, until your barely dampened rage rips from your throat.

“Joel, what the fuck?” you spit out in disbelief, but he interrupts you– 

“I thought I already told you what happens if you’re gonna be a filthy tease?” his voice lowers as he ignores your question and paces in front of you with a dark, wicked stare. 

“What are you doing here?” you press, ignoring his threat. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. Like he has some certificate of entitlement to your whereabouts. He towers over you. Your eyes narrow to slits. If you could shoot lasers out of them, you’d do it now. 

You laugh. Loudly. You’re still laughing when he grabs you and pivots your frame so your legs dangle off of the end of the table towards him. Closer. He gets even closer, standing between your knees. You tilt your face to look up at him. 

“You on a date?” it’s a growl carved from stone. You choose to remain ignorant to the shiver it sends through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. How dare he charge up on you like a territorial werewolf in the night? And how dare he look so fucking good with that snarly expression? No. You laugh again. Wild-eyed. Words start coming up before you even hear yourself.

“What is wrong with you, Joel? Why were you watching me? You looking for a show?” you jab. Gnashing at him with your words. He snorts dismissively at you, and a barbaric smile creeps onto his face. Like he’s in on some joke you don’t know about. He irks you so bad your skin crawls. 

“S’that what you call it?” he asks, “A show?” Continuing to ignore your other questions. He is so close to you that it burns your skin. 

“No, Joel. You were right the first time. I am on a date. A real date. You know what that is, right? Like, he asked me out, picked me up on time, bought me a drink,” you’re tallying on your fingers, “answered my–”

“And then what, you fuck him in the bathroom and hide out here? Alone in the alley?” 

It clicks. He knows exactly why you’re flustered. The asshole must’ve sent his text for his own slimy experiment. Trying to rattle you. What fucking game is he playing? Is he trying to win you? Like you’re Dave’s possession to lose? 

You scoff at his interjection, “No, Joel, I’m not alone. You followed me out here to make sure of it, right?” 

“Right,” he rumbles. His dark eyes glint even in the shadows of the alley. He leans lower and closer to you until you tip back, palms on the table behind you, then elbows. Exposing your cleavage to the moonlight. He pauses, eyes raking down your face, neck, and chest. How does he make you feel raw and vulnerable even when fully dressed? 

“You haven’t answered me,” you huff. Irritated and arched beneath him. 

“I asked you first,” he argues. A childish rebuttal for a grown man. You’re pretty sure you’ve asked why he’s here a hundred times, but of course, that doesn’t matter. He’s insufferable with his attitude and inability to communicate. Everything about you is taut, and you feel frayed. 

Joel dips his head and his lips brush your ear, tickling you, before he rasps, “I asked if you miss me, baby, and you haven’t answered.” 

A tremor runs through your body. 

It’s criminal. Your mind converts his voice directly into a hot coil of arousal. The throbbing between your legs causes you to wriggle beneath him.

“I need to know,” he croons, begging you to give in. 

His arm slides under your back, lowering you onto the table. Your restraint collapses terribly quickly for him. His voice. His touch. He knows all of your buttons. 

Laid on your back, your legs instinctively wrap around him as he bends to meet you. 

Soft puffs of air shakily flow between your lips as you struggle to concentrate. On what? You aren’t sure. Not good. You squeeze your eyes shut like maybe he’ll disappear. 

“I mean it, baby,” he continues purring with a sharp edge, “you tell me when you miss me.” 

You know it wouldn’t matter even if you did. If you texted him. If you called. It wouldn’t matter. It would probably make you feel worse. But when he says it, you feel your heart doing flips anyway. 

He slides his hands over your body, and you feel the last of your logic escaping as you tug him towards you. You’re grinding against him stupidly without a single thought. Just having him this close to you had you feeling desperate and needy. You could come again right now just by dry-humping like horny teenagers. 

The craving for him is so intense that you’ll surely die if he doesn’t keep moving. You lose any shred of composure that you were still clinging to and let out a needy whine for him. And when your fingers twist and tug at his shirt, it’s like a green light to Joel. 

He closes any and all gaps between you. His hand skates roughly under your dress, bunching up the fabric. He presses open-mouthed kisses against your neck and grazes his teeth enticingly along your jaw. 

Groping, grinding, grunting. All his movements dance a line between deliberate and frantic. 

You have tunnel vision, lost from time and space. When his low moan vibrates through you, your hand shoots to his belt. He rasps into your ear again, “That’s it, baby, I’m right here if you miss me, don’t need some jerkoff tryin’ to waste your time.” Your fingers fumble. What– “Oh, shit!” a voice yells. You freeze. “Don’t mind me!” The drunk guy slurs as he stumbles out the backdoor and sways down the alley towards the street. 

Your situation hits you like a bucket of cold water. Joel seems unfazed, still curled over you. You push at him and sit up. 

“What did you just say, Joel?” 

“Hmm?” he murmurs at you. 

“Joel, I’m serious. What the fuck?” 

He’s not listening. His hands are still searching your body. The scent of his faded deodorant is so familiar in your nose. The words are coming up again. Before he casts his trance on you. 

“No. I said I’m serious,” you repeat, “I’m not playing your games. Done with your weird shit.” Your body feels rigid, and your mind is clearing through the fog of lust. “Just because I have no self-esteem and I fuck you anytime you show up on my doorstep doesn’t mean you have any claim to me.” 

He blinks at you, finally registering your tone, expression shifting. “I actually tried, you know? I wanted to get to know you. You just bail. I keep suffering for it. Like an idiot. I keep thinking it would show I care.” 

“Baby–” 

“And now what? You see me on a date and decide it would be fun to ruin it? Ruin a chance at something better than waiting around wondering if you’ll show up looking to score?” You’re on your feet now. Livid. Ablaze in the dark. “No, you don’t even care enough to think about that,” you realize aloud. 

His features harden. Your head shakes slowly, exasperated with your burgeoning understanding. All you can hear is the white noise buzzing in your skull. Your next words are quieter and lower, forcing him to pay close attention. 

“You just wanted to prove something, right? Thought you’d fuck me on this table and run like you always do? For what, to prove you could?” 

His nostrils flare, and you don’t miss how he grits his teeth.

You don’t falter; he doesn’t scare you. You press on with your accusations prickly on your tongue. You back him against the wall next to the door as you continue. 

“You don’t like hearing it?” you cock your head at him, amused with his discomfort. “Were you going to leave me here in the alley full of your come like I’m some pathetic whore for you? Would you walk me back to my date after that? Was that your plan?” 

Joel snaps, manhandling you in a split second. Pinned against the brick wall, you can hear your heart pounding. It’s a paper-thin line between anger and lust, and you can’t tell which has your blood pumping. You can’t tell if he’s about to yell at you or fuck you. You hate that you can’t tell which you’d prefer.

His eyes are locked onto yours. Not revealing anything. You shift, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. He doesn’t keep you waiting. Joel shoves his hand into your panties, fingers slipping immediately into the fresh pool of arousal between your thighs. A shaky exhale comes out of you, but he doesn’t seem to need to blink or breathe anymore. 

He brings his glossy fingers to your mouth. Silent. He taps at your lip until you open and suck, tasting yourself. His mask slips a little. One brow twitches as he studies the scene of your lips wrapped around both of his fingers. But his eyes flick to yours when he pulls them out of your mouth and drags them down your bottom lip, smearing spit against your chin. 

“Tell me,” he says in a whisper that scrapes across your skin, “does it taste like you miss me?” 

You swallow tightly. A lump forms in your throat now, about as large as a civilization-ending asteroid. 

You can hear your phone buzzing. Forgotten on the table. Panic streaks over your eyes as you wonder how long you’ve been out here. You duck under his arm, dashing for your phone. You don’t look at him. You can’t. As you sprint down the hallway, you swing the door open, kicking the rock in the door jam, hopefully locking Joel outside. Cursing at yourself for almost letting Joel fuck you in the alley across from a dumpster.  

Dave sits in his car, idling along the curb near the front of the club. You’re surprised he didn’t leave. You hope it hasn’t been long. You don’t dare check your phone. Maybe it was only a few minutes, or it could have been an hour. You don’t think time functions normally when you’re around Joel. 

Dave is frighteningly observant, slinking out of his car to open the door for you before you get close enough to reach for the handle. 

“I was just starting to wonder if you’d snuck out the back door,” he chides. 

You feel the blood rushing to the surface of your skin. Hot with embarrassment over your behavior and his on-the-nose word choice. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I did step out for some air. Wanted to cool down.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he assures you, tilting your chin towards his face with his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes dart around his face, wondering what he sees on yours. “Was it too much, dirty girl?” he coos. 

“What, this?” you lilt mockingly as you palm over his bulge, “I don’t think so.” 

“Good,” he snorts softly. “Get in the car.” He adds as he opens the door for you. 

He pauses before pulling away from the curb once seated in the driver’s side. 

“Is your boyfriend going to be following us home?” 

“My what?” you feel the blood drain from your face. 

“The one from the bar,” he continues, measured and eerily calm, “the one who followed us here?” Your head starts spinning at that, but Dave carries on, unbothered. “I assumed he likes to watch. You should’ve told me. It would’ve been easier than wondering if he’s a deranged stalker or–” 

“No.” You cut him off and struggle to continue for multiple reasons. “It’s not like that. I thought it was a coincidence,” you feel a confusing mix of emotions. 

“Followed us?” you’re curious. 

“When I picked you up. In the truck?”

“Oh god. No. He’s,” you pause, searching for the right words. 

“An ex?” 

“Not even that. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe he’d follow me.” 

“So he is dangerous?” 

“No.” Only to my self-respect. 

“You want me to take care of him?” 

“No.” You reply before putting any thought behind what that means. “No. He’s just an asshole with a staring problem.” 

You withdraw. You hadn’t thought about why Joel was here. How ridiculous it sounds to imagine Joel voluntarily sitting at the bar in a club like this alone. You feel the blood rushing to your ears. Stupid little butterflies flap their wings in your stomach before they’re reduced to ashes, and you begin to see red again tonight. How is Joel ruining your night without saying a word this time? 

“Take me home,” you say firmly.

He does. Dave walks you to your door. You invite him in, but he’s observant, noticing the clouds in your expression. He declines your invite but assures you he would be very interested in seeing you again. He gives you a chaste kiss that makes you laugh, considering how bold you both have been tonight. It lightens your mood. 

He lingers for a moment before he pulls out his wallet. 

“It was on the house this time,” you snark. Curious about what he’s doing. 

He hands you a sleek business card. A business card? Is this guy Patrick Bateman? 

Your face wrinkles in confusion. 

“I already have your number,” you flip the card over in case you’re missing something. It doesn’t say anything, just has a phone number. 

“I meant what I said, that I’d be interested in seeing you again for pleasure,” he smirks, “but if you change your mind, at least keep this.” 

You don’t understand why you’d need his work phone number but try to play it cool and nod.��

“If your stalker becomes a problem, you call me.” 

You’re still confused about what that means when he drives away. As you shut your door, you realize you have no idea what he does. 

You’re still in the middle of composing a text to Katie about how her green flag date included a bathroom blowjob and a business card when you hear a knock at your door. You swing it open, assuming foolishly that it would be Dave. 

Before you can blink, Joel kicks the door shut and backs you down the hallway. He looks like a man possessed as he hurtles towards you. It sends a chill down your spine that you think would trigger your fight or flight response, but yours seems to be reprogrammed to fight or fuck. Staggering backward, you yelp when the backs of your knees hit your mattress. 

“Can I fucking help you?” you snap at him as you realign with reality. “Jesus Christ, Joel, were you waiting outside the window or something?” 

You glare into his eyes, but a toxic part of you only wants to focus on his lips. And how close they are to yours. You also can’t deny the even more debauched part of you that flutters at the possessive look in Joel’s eyes. 

He laughs darkly, “Nah baby, I knew you’d send him on his way.” 

You roll your eyes at that. Cocky bastard. 

And he is. He emits a frenzied energy as he takes you in. Looking you up and down like a prize. Like he’s considering where to write his name on your skin. 

You roll your shoulders. Trying to shake off the idea that you’d like to be possessed by him, but it thrums persistently inside of you. 

“You didn’t know shit, Miller,” you accuse sardonically. 

Joel reaches for you. You think he’s going to tell you off. But his hands glide over the tops of your shoulders and up the column of your neck until he’s cupping your jaw in both hands. It feels jarring and vulnerable to be held by him this way. To feel like he just wants to look at you and to know you can’t look away. You wonder what’s going on behind his dark eyes. What he sees when he looks at you What he thinks. 

The longer he looks at you, the more the tension builds (of course, because it’s Joel). You start to itch, fingers twitching with the need to grab him and pull his full weight on top of you. Despite your building desire, he’s still quietly reading your face. Joel Miller, the enigma, you muse. 

Before you can flip him any shit, his mouth is on yours, and his hands drop to your hips to hold you firmly against his body. You want him to keep holding you there, but closer. You need him even closer. 

He groans into your mouth, and you kiss him back hungrily. Your bodies slot together in a twisted fate. You couldn’t care less about the date you just had at this moment. You can hear Joel’s words from previous encounters that have burrowed into your consciousness, and you’re starving for more.  

A selfish and greedy satisfaction warms in your chest at him being in your bedroom. He pulls your lower lip between his teeth before breaking away to tease bites along your neck and shoulder. You shiver. Your fingers dig into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your knees buckle, and fall into the bed with him on top of you. He doesn’t stop trying to taste you everywhere, trying to feel every part of you. You breathe out single-syllable praise as your thoughts become hazy.  

You still feel needy. You writhe and strain as you attempt to work his shirt up his broad frame. You’re insistent on feeling the blistering heat of his skin against yours. He leans back up, out of your grip, causing you to sigh in exasperation. Of course, it couldn’t be this easy. What does he have to say now?

“You want me to leave?” 

“What? Why?” you growl out. He is not about to body slam you into a bed and then walk away. 

“Thought you were done with my ‘weird shit’ or whatever you called it,” he taunts. 

“I am,” you huff.

“Tell me to stop.” You can’t. 

“Take your clothes off,” you answer instead. 

He does. Then, he’s pulling your clothes off and climbing over you. You aren’t sure you’ve ever both been fully naked like this. Definitely not while in a bed, at least. It’s more intimate than your relationship calls for. It makes time feel syrupy, but your other senses feel sharply tuned. Joel’s breath fans hot over your ear as he tucks his face into the corner of your neck and shoulder. 

“So,” he sucks at your delicate skin before continuing in his smoky tone, “your date couldn’t satisfy you?” 

“Shut up,” you snarl at him, uninterested in playing games. You’re too lost in the intensity of his physical presence. You need him inside of you, and you tug at his body, trying to pull him closer. It’s useless. His strong arms are braced like two stone pillars on either side of you. 

He’s such a pest. His mouth quirks, and he looks all too pleased with himself. You roll your eyes again. You know what he’s getting at. What he wants to hear you say. But, you’re reluctant to stroke his ego. He’s going to be unbearable if. The thorn of it that hurts the most, though, is that it’s not a lie. It’s an admission. A confirmation. 

He makes you feel so good in ways nobody else ever could, but the pain of knowing he’ll never be yours eats at you. It feels like exposing your beating heart in your chest to confess you want him so badly. You ache to hear him tell you he only wants you again. Even if it’s not real, you lie to yourself, you just need to hear it.  

While you wrestle with finding the words, he begins to torment you. The heat and arousal weigh heavily between your naked bodies. He lowers closer and closer to where you need him most but refuses to alleviate your painful want. Wickedly, he exploits your neediness. Teasing at your skin with his tongue, teeth, and breath. 

“Tell me, baby. Just let me hear it,” he says. But you can’t. 

When he blows air over your strained nipples, and you arch under him seeking contact, he darts down to kiss at your stomach and inner thighs instead. When he gets closer and closer to the apex of your thighs, grazing his nose over your mound, you could snap. 

You reach to dig your fingers into his hair and direct his mouth to your throbbing clit, but he’s stronger than you. Devilish man. He crawls back up to hover over your face. You know he’s enjoying it. Wondering how quickly you’ll break. It makes you want to kick and scream.

“Tell me it’s not true then,” it’s a challenge directed at you, but it feels like he’s also challenging himself. 

He drags the head of his cock over the slick lips of your cunt without precision or direction. You are so convinced he’s torturing you, but he looks like he’s in pain from restraining himself as well. It makes you crazy. You try to reach down to line him up with your entrance yourself, but he’s faster. He grabs your hand and pins it above your head. 

“Fine,” you grit out. Frustrated. You aim to smother your fear with sarcasm and puff your chest, hoping it works. 

“You’re right, Joel. It’s true.” He doesn’t move, waiting to hear more. 

“I missed your filthy mouth and your big fat cock.” You mock with an exaggerated whine. You keep going before you lose courage. “And my date couldn’t satisfy me.” You pause, steeling yourself. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because even when I had his cock down my throat,” you force yourself to look in his eyes, “all I could think about was you.” 

You tried to keep the snarky, biting tone in that last part, but your voice betrayed you when you met his eyes. It came out sounding as vulnerable as it felt to say. His expression flickers. You feel too honest. You should take it back. You want to curl up. He grins above you. 

“I know, baby,” he coos. You hold your breath. Of course he’s going to be a condescending ass about it, you start to bemoan internally–but when he finally sinks into you, it shuts off your inner monologue and slows down time. “All I can fuckin’ think about,” he says as he fills you as deeply as possible, letting a satisfied sigh fall from his lips. 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

The words rattle around in your mind. Joel begins to rock into you, deliberately grinding his pelvis against you. All he can think about is you, too? Or fucking you? Or how he’s ruined you for other men? 

All I can fuckin’ think about. 

It echoes in your head as he picks up his pace, splitting you open with heavy, mind-altering thrusts. Suffocatingly intimate. Face to face. Skin to skin. Soul to soul. His voice isn’t just echoing in your mind; he’s also running his mouth about something. Muttering about how he knew you’d be waiting for him, how he’s going to fuck you until you forget your date's name, how nobody else can satisfy your needy cunt. 

Oh. 

He’s not wrong. You want to hear more. 

“Yes,” You can stoke this fire. You don’t mind finding out what happens if you rile him up while he’s inside you. “Only you,” you pant, “nobody else fucks me like you do.” 

He makes a throaty noise in agreement and shifts. Large hands wrap around the back of your knees and press them towards your chest, tilting your hips up. You choke and sputter as he slams into you with force. The new angle creates a blissful intensity. 

“That’s right,” he says, “nobody else.” 

He pounds into you like he could fuck you through the mattress, maybe even through the floor. The lewd sound of his thighs slapping against your ass fill the room. You tuck your chin to your chest to watch the way each thrust makes your breasts bounce. You notice that he’s mesmerized by the same sight, and you take the opportunity to shift your gaze, studying the look on his face. 

It’s more sensual than anything you’ve done together before. You can see the sweat beading on his chest from exertion. You’re nearly folded in half and unable to stop your soft cries and moans. It’s raw, sticky, and vulnerable. You feel warmed at the thought but also fragile. Breakable. Hypersensitive emotionally and physically. It’s all too bright and hot. 

You let his voice push you over the edge, and your climax rips fiercely through your body. You faintly hear him groan as your tight walls contract around him, but his voice is drowned out by the pleasure. Your legs tremble, still balanced over his shoulders. 

Your core muscles spasm as he keeps sawing into you until your hips are jerking at the sensitivity of your come down. He slows, breathing heavily over you. You can see the animalistic edge in his eyes. You have to push it. Play it out. 

“Make me yours,” you incite. 

You definitely just meant to imply, ‘fuck me hard and come inside me, please,’ but you worry he’s interpreted it differently when he drops your legs. Wrong. He turns you over, laying you flat on your stomach, pulling your arms behind your back, and pinning you to the bed.  He straddles your closed legs. Your shoulders strain a little as he leans into you. His heavy body compresses your prone form, and his cock weighs heavy against the curve of your ass; it feels right. A perverted comfort blanket, stealing your breath. 

“Repeat it,” he tells the back of your neck. 

“Make me yours.” You turn your head to the side. You can’t see his face, but you can hear the string of curses he chants when he lines up and wedges himself into you. The added constriction of your position unravels you both. 

“Mine,” he grunts. You muffle your own noises into the sheets, along for the ride. He doesn’t last much longer before you feel him still overtop of you. You close your eyes, focusing on the sensation of the pulsing and throbbing of his cock inside you as he fills you up. Breathing deep, your back rises against his chest before he slides off of you.

You roll onto your side. Facing each other, you still at the sight of him. Another breath shared between you, chests expanding towards each other. For the briefest moment, you think he might stay. You can see the soft edge of relaxation in his features. Your hand drifts toward him, an instinct based on nothing rational, just wanting to feel him. You feel the stupid, dreamy expression settling on your face. Before you can speak or figure out what you were reaching for, he’s snapped out of the bubble of tranquility. His walls are up. 

He’s dressed and leaving, walking towards the door as you can only sigh into your dirty sheets. 

He doesn’t even leave with a snide last word. Just the door closing. 

if you'd like to be on a taglist please let me know !

[herefortheships]

Anyone else had this happen to them today? I literally lost half my followers in a matter of minutes. I had 984 and suddenly now I have 492. I did have a period of time I think around 2016 where I was constantly followed by p*rn bots, but I would block them myself, so I'm not sure how I was followed by almost 500 bots? Assuming Tumblr is cranking down on the bots.

Anyway, there was a time I was mostly inactive here, though, it could have happened around that time, but I don't think so? I hadn't noticed my follower count was above the 400s (last time I had checked around 2014 that's what my follower count was, I think 380-something lol) until recently, when I had an uptick in followers after BJBJ, I noticed I had passed 900 which I thought was cool. Especially since I hadn't been much active since 2021. I don't know how many followers I had since, between 2014 to September when I started posting about Beetlejuice, but I remember it being in the 800s.

Who knows, maybe the being over 900 was the mistake and it's been corrected now, and I've always been in the 400s after all 😆. But yes, I did notice it just now because I had a notification and when I checked the Activity on my phone, I noticed I was no longer at 984. That is a huge drop in numbers which is why it made me go "huh?". 492 is literally the half of 984, so maybe my follower count was accidentally doubled before. Or for some reason Tumblr decided to remove half of my followers.

Let me know if this has happened to you too because I don't know what actually happened. Maybe I just got caught in a huge group block chain, but I highly doubt it 🤷🏻‍♀️. Also if you were following me and randomly aren't following me anymore, then that means Tumblr removed you, not me. I don't "soft block" people.

[jellybeanium124]

pathetic vent post lol

so the thursday before last, one of my coworkers told me she's quitting bc she got a job in the field she wants to have a career in. I was happy for her and told her so, but I also felt kind of sad, because she's a woman close in age to me and I've been thinking we could be friends if I wasn't technically her boss for a little while now. so finally near the end of our shifts (we were closing) I buck up and ask if her she'd want to exchange contact info and stay in touch and hang out after she left.

and y'all she looked so happy and excited to be asked that. absolutely 0 hints that her delighted response wasn't genuine. so she puts her number in my phone, and even takes a silly picture for the contact pic, and I send a test text and she responds to confirm it's her correct number.

on monday I text her about hanging out later in the week, with ideas. on tuesday I text her again, with new ideas if she didn't like my first ones. I didn't mean to double text two days in a row.

nothing.

I wait till yesterday and send her one last text, explaining that I really do wanna be friends, I am more chill outside of work and she's only seen Work Nina if that's what she's worried about, but that I don't wanna bother her.

it's been over 24 hours now, and nothing. part of me wonders if she changed her mind and blocked my number.

it's just really disheartening because I've had another person string me along and then not respond/continually cancel on me pretty recently. after my college friend group broke up thanks to the serial sexual predator (which is a whole nother story, dw he didn't do anything to me, in fact he refused to talk to me the first time we met when I introduced myself and tried to make polite small talk, and I realized several months later that he didn't engage with me at all because he didn't wanna fuck me 🙃) things have been kind of dire in the irl friends department and it's sad and pathetic and I thought finally here was a girl I really connected with, and she liked gossiping with me at work, and she seemed really really excited at the possibility of being real friends with me, and then nope... not a single response to any of my texts. zip nada zilch.

it's just hard... I was basically socially rejected by everyone in my film program at my uni, then I finally started to make friends at the jewish club and a serial predator with an apartment full of guns who sells stolen lego sets on ebay and does cocaine ruins that, and then I'm at work and now that I'm a manager I'm the boss of most people there and I wouldn't be close friends with most of them anyways and the one girl who I think I could be really close friends with fucking ghosts me after I was brave enough to ask if she'd wanna be friends. it's been like five straight years of rejection for me. I always had friends in k-12, I wasn't a "popular kid" but I was well liked among the venn diagram of gays, nerds, theater kids, and band kids and I had a lot of friends in high school. I don't fucking know what happened. and now I'm on meds that are finally giving me energy and happy chemicals so I wanna go out, I wanna do stuff, I wanna walk around, and I don't wanna be an apartment slug anymore but I don't have anyone to do anything with and there's only so much fun you can have by yourself. and I'm still too shy to go to a bar alone because I know I'll stand in the corner paralyzed by social anxiety. I'm trying bumble bff rn but I'm so shit at responding to people and I kinda hate myself for it and I'm trying to do better but I keep not responding to people for too long and yeah maybe my ex-coworker is stuck in that cycle too idk.

oh yeah and the whole past year of antisemitism makes everything worse because I'm deeply realistically afraid that any goyim I meet are going to be hateful hamasniks <3 so that's a fun lil bonus.

jesus man... idfk. it's just shitty. it's just fucking shitty.

[softcarebears]

HOCO WEEK 9/21-9/28

monday 

41. ga tells me that he has a crush on this girl bow that i used to be bsfs w/ before she moved to the other side of cali

42. me and bbsf become close w/ bow 

43. ga tells ginger and bbsf that he likes bow

tuesday  (nothing happened)

wednesday 

44. me and pinkie go get our tickets for hoco 

45. pinkie gets bullied bc she’s (not to be rude to furries cuz idrc abt that do what u want, the context in which she does it makes it weird) wearing a hot pink hoodie w/ cat paws, giant REAL fox tail hanging from her belt and has a cat headband on and also wants to be called a japaneses name (she’s 100% white)

46. i find out that the only real reason i haven’t been over to pinkie’s house is bc she has a wall of real animal bones that she doesn’t properly clean that have bugs in them 

47. i leave pinkie to go w/ a and turtle bc they’re like my bsfs 

48. pinkie gets pissy and skips fourth block

thursday 

49. tutorial time, me and bbsf share my water, bbsf mentions that i’ve done his makeup before. i wouldn’t normally bring that up cuz it’s very common for us but this leads to turtle further trying to get us together 

friday 

50. hoco rally, i sit w/ cowgirl, pinkie, pinkie’s friend tootsie and my friend from dance and drama, ruby 

51. turtle and a sit behind us and i mainly talk to them and ruby the entire rally, pinkie is oddly nice abt it

52. i walk up to bbsf, bear and bow after 4th block ends and apparently pushed bbsf into to bushes and cut him the fuck up 

53. hoco game, band/colorguard get new uniforms (aka bbsf, five, berry, zim and no name)

54. me, pinkie, cowgirl and tootsie sit by band section to hangout w/ them

55. 8pm i have a breakdown bc that officially marks 2 years of my dad being dead

56. obvi all of my friends try to comfort me 

57. pinkie tries to make it about her for some reason

58. one of my friends wins hoco queen

saturday

59. me and pinkie go to a boba shop to take pics before hoco 

60. we run into bbsf who was across the street

61. we get to the school and i go get my friend diamond 

62. bbsf finally arrives

63. bbsf pulls me into a hug (and rejects pinkie’s hug after) 

64. me, diamond and our other friend fuego (can u tell i’ve run out of names) r all dancing when ga, ginger and a guy who i think i mentioned once like a year ago all come up to me and ask if i’ve seen bbsf 

65. like an hour goes bye and i find out the trio is planning on jumping bbsf

66. i send that voice message to bbsf 

67. i find bbsf and we have, the best way to describe it, a moment…

68. bbsf leaves early

69. bbsf’s older sister finds out abt the almost jumping and chews the trio out

70. a bunch of other shit happened bc i was bouncing around like 4 groups but this is called the bbsf saga so everything else will have to wait until the other sagas

HEY POOKIESTAR! sorry for letting that ask marinate...i was very busy (i was lazy bababooing BUT IM HEREE!!😔)

also miss gworl i'm in the middle of a cyclone class 3 rn hehe..but cyclone is not really cycloning...ITS MORE CYCLOWNING🤡

ohhh so ga basically was threatening to jump BBSF because he bbsf grew close to manic pixie dream bow girl BECAUSE HE GA HAD A CRUSH ON HER OHHH

so bow came back from other side of cali very demure...

PINKIE IS A FURRY WTF...she wears a tail and wants to be called a japanese name ITS GIVING ASIANFISHING

..um..chile anyways...hell naw...does make sense though she acts like a feral child...🥱#imapinkiehater100percent

"me and bbsf share my water"FIRST THE SLUSHIE NOW THIS?? JUST SAY YOU WANNA KISS HIM AND SHARE SALIVA U STOOPID biatch U ARE DOWN BAD IN SUPERLATIVE FORM SO THAT MEANS YOU ARE "DOWN WORST"

"bbsf mentions that i’ve done his makeup before." i have a theory about this particular part...ill say in the end but im hella delulu yknow so don't listen to my words 100 percent lmfao (you should actually listen to me)

everyone else's names:🎀🌈✨💎🌺🦌🧸

the others:

for number 55 oh noo pookie im sorry to hear that...fawk pinkie...CAN'T SHE JUST SHUT HER GOOFY FURRY ASS UP

HE REJECTED PINKIE'S HUG AND PULLED U IN A HUGGGGG BOMBOCLATTTTT HE A MAN OF CULTURE HE LIKES YOU GIRL JUST FUCKING DATE ALREADYYYYY HOW MANY SIGNS ARE U TRYNA LOOK FOR U BLIND ASS

Y'ALL HAD A MOMENT OH MAHHHH GAWDDDDDD and not u saving him...stawp!! its giving hero x damsel in distress trope; bbsf is the damsel in distress ofc🎀

haiya but why did he try to frolick in the meadow with bow though...tskk i feel like he is kinda a player my dakoko 🥥

anyways my theory about the makeup thing...because i am a whore in THEORY and not in practice (i am but secretly hehe at times dw...3-5 business days)

ok so when u do someone's makeup...YOUR FACE IS CLOSE TO THEIRS RIGHTTTTT....you get what i mean...there is so much proximity there is no distance at all...BABABOOI

similar to when you are about to kiss someone [coughs coughs]...so the fact that he "randomly" remembered AND SEEMINGLY POINTS THAT OUT OF THE BLUE shows that this particular and notably phenomenal romantic and very intimate moment that emerged from the planets and stars from the milky way galaxy aligning [pro poetic yapper] has marked him or left an impact on him yknow what i mean...LIKE HE MIGHT THINK OF THIS MOMENT EVERY NIGHT OR SO OFTEN THAT HIS TOES ARE TINGLING OR HE IS GIGGLING AND BLUSHING LIKE A MIDDLE SCHOOL GIRL IN HIS ROOM...like y'all were close to kissing...he definitely was examining your face perhaps HIGH CHANCE of him staring at your lips [cutely sips her pomegranate tea under the covers with plenty of passion🍵🔥that shit bussing btw]

also him mentioning that shows his interest in you also in all delulu interpretation that this particular mention to you evokes a sense that he may have been secretly inquiring about whether you remember that very intimate moment of high chance of smoochy smooch camouflaged by you doing his makeup...to see if you have feelings for him or have a romantic interest in him...VOILA!!🎀

bai bai

[sharpth1ng]

Hiii Sharpie sharpy sharp knife guy, do you have. Any WRITING TIPS. ANY AT ALL./nf 🧍‍♂️

Trying to work on a fic it was going so well broski ! I lost all my writing knowledge overnight jelphelp help HELP 🙏

I mean it sounds like you're stuggling with writers block so I do have some specific suggestions.

Don't panic, you haven't lost your writing knowledge. Creation isn't a consistent, linear process and its normal to have it fluctuate. Usually when we feel like we've lost skill or have plateaued our brains are actually just processing and working through things we'll be able to use later. I promise the knowledge isn't gone and writers block won't last forever.

If you've been working on the same project this whole time and you're having trouble moving forward on it then try working on something else. When I get blocked working on my main fic I either jump ahead to work on a scene I had planned for later or I switch to work on a wip for a while. Doing this can give your brain a little break and allow you to passively process. There's actually a lot of research indicating that we a whole lot of processing when we aren't actively thinking about the thing we're trying to process. Also working on something else might help you see what you're working on from a different angle, which could help you overcome the block.

If you're struggling with figuring out a specific detail, conversation, or character reaction, it can help to spend a little time on background world building. This is why I have wardrobe moodboards, playlists, and a number of other pieces of characterization that may never be mentioned in the fic but that help me understand my characters and the world they inhabit. Not all details need to be explicit and present for the purpose of your story, but I think it does help to fill them out as much as possible for your own purposes. Another way to do this is to find some of those ask lists that float around tumblr and answer them as that character. Sometimes the character wont have an answer to a question, or they may think its stupid or flat out refuse to answer it, and that's an important piece of characterization as well. A character is as much defined by what they wont say as by what they will.

I think those are my best pieces of advice I can come up with rn! But just in case, here's another post I made with some writing advice in the past:

[brains5ana]

zombie blog turn around!!

this is my personal blog about my anorex14 and depression this is both my safe space where i can cope with my life right now and my way of documenting this disorder in case i dont survive it so that my loved ones or anyone who wants them might get some answers.

₊˚⊹ 𐂯please dont interact if you are not already disordered or are in recovery. block dont report this is really all i have .₊˚⊹ 𐂯

life rn - mom died in august now im taking care of my 15 yo autistic sibling and household because my dad is abusive and doesnt really parent. my grandparents help take care of them sometimes but they dont live with us and are televangelists who try to convert us(my sibling is pagan). my sibling is awesome but its a lot to take care of them while grieving so much and i worry about them a ton.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

me ୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩🦴 ⋅

17 they/them bi and taken veryyy happily dni creeps

bg - grew up in poverty w pretty bad parents (i love my mom a lot but she was young and fucked me up a little bit as a young kid mostly she was good but our relationship was kind of complicated for while). got bullied really bad from elementary school till quarantine when i was in middle school. my dads a redneck and my mom was a hippie now my dads like a frat bro?? and hes insane.

alternative (riot grrl goth punk etc) i like music(esp live punk shows), painting, writing, horror movies, ZOMBIES

political activist mostly w the environment but also general big leftist

white, able bodied (maybe) hindu vaishnavite

im very mentally ill and have had suicidal thoughts and depression my whole life. diagnosed cptsd, ptsd, chronic depression, generalized anxiety disorder, ana suspected adhd

my ed - got bullied for my weight and started trying to lose weight in 5th grade. i went to a nutritionist in 6th grade who told me to count calories so i did and then i went lower and lower and lower seeing how little i could consume in a day(i also started having an exercise addiction then). in 7th grade i started doing intermittent fasting and restricting below what you need to live in retrospect. then quarantine happened and i started looking at ana tips. id sleep all day until 4 pm to avoid food and workout at night. i got to my lw and was plateauing and worrying about dying so i told my very shitty therapist at the time who told me i wasnt low enough to have an ed but still told my mom who got me an appointment w an ed doctor. and there started my forced recovery bc the ed doctor told me i definitely did have ana and wouldnt have survived another month or two. after resisting for a long time and trying to secretly relapse i gave in. and it worked, i fully recovered. i didnt get thoughts i was happy and didnt have to lose weight anymore. and then people started treating me badly and a girl who was in my friend group started making fun of me for being fat and i realized i cant deal with that and everything else. so im 40 lbs down and trying to loose more.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

this blog ୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩🦴 ⋅

BYF - this is an ed bl0g w triggering content do whats best for you i cant facilitate everyones recovery but it is possible and waiting for everyone

DNI - 14 y/o and younger, those interested in recovery (you can so do it i believe in you), creeps, p3d0s, p0rn accounts, fatphobes (fuck off and die), terfs, transphobes, etc

this is a number free blog for the most part and if not ill tag #tw ed numbers or #tw ana numbers

on here ill post wieiads, b0dy checks, collages, diet plans for myself, themed moodboards, a lot of zombie content.

i use the tag #brains4ana or #brains4ana4vent for vent posts (if im coherent enough to care)

other ongoing tws - meat, cannibalism(all the zombie stuff) alcohol addiction, nicotine addiction, mentions of sh, ed (duh)

[pleasuretrade]

hi here's the very rough(!) first chapter of a fic that i'm not done with.

if anyone wants to beta or just offer feedback i would be grateful :') but i'm writing this very slowly and don't plan on seeing it done for at least a few more months

March x Healy

Summary: 1980. March and Healy take your classic "reunite me with my estranged adult child" case and may or may not wind up getting involved with a cult, irritating 80's toys, shady business, gardening, and drugs. Oh, and they're pretending to be boyfriends because that's totally a perfect cover??

Rating: 18+ for the eventual porn

Length: I'm gonna guess 30k? I'm at 15k rn and we're maybe halfway through. frankly i got no idea

Tags that aren't exhaustive and mostly aren't applicable to this first chapter, but just a sneak peek: pretending to be boyfriends and there's only one fucking bed anyway bitch, March wearing jeans

 The thing about kitsch dolls was that they were supposed to be cute. In abundance they became disturbing. An uncanny noise of soft pastel abstraction, dotted with innumerable eyes, staring at you from living room walls and display cabinets. It didn’t help that almost all of them were religious; angels with halos, praying children, robed biblical figures. March felt like he might combust if he made direct eye contact with the teeming mass of holy ceramic.

“March, did you write that down?”

 Holland whipped his head toward Healy, and then at their client, and then at his open, empty notepad. See, you shouldn’t have that many dolls in one room, it’s distracting. It’s weird. “Sorry, ma’am, could you repeat that?”

“Benjamin Larry Hooper. We called him Benny.”

“Bejamin….L… Hooper… Benny.” March mumbled, pen dashing across the page with a show of gumption.

 Mrs. Hooper nodded at him, all patterned dress and curled hair, hands placed politely on top of their respective thighs. “He was fifteen when he left, he’ll be twenty-six now. Tall for his age, I’m sure he’s giant by now.”

 Holland wrote in big block letters: DOB 1953 TALL

“This is my most recent picture of him, just a few months before he left.” Mrs. Hooper, Francis, reached across her doilied coffee table to hand Healy a framed photograph. It was obviously some kind of family reunion, the photo lined with folks like a tin of sardines. “That’s Benny.” she said, tapping a young man sitting cross legged in the very front row.

 Benny Hooper looked like any other fifteen year old at a family reunion, irritated or bored or both. He had a great mop of hair, a downright halo of pitch black curls reaching every direction. The slacks and short sleeved button-down were probably not his normal choice of attire, so that wouldn’t be helpful even if the kid had disappeared less than a decade ago. The shot was too wide to memorize the details of someone’s face on top of being old. The Benny in the photo hadn’t even finished puberty yet. Overall, the photo wasn’t great.

“Very helpful, thank you. We could use any other photographs you have, too.” Healy smiled pleasantly the way he did. It was freakish, the way the guy could go from deadpan bruiser to soft-eyed teddybear in an instant.

 Holland smiled along, ignoring the everpresent eyes of Mrs. Hooper's kitsch, even though he knew that there was no chance in hell they were finding Benny Hooper.

-

 “There’s no chance in hell, man.” March lit his cigarette in the passenger seat and donned his sunglasses.

 Healy tapped his fingers where he rested his arm in the open window. “We have a lead.”

“If you wanna call maybe seeing a glimpse of someone you haven’t seen in eleven years driving a truck a couple of times a lead, sure, we have a great lead. Can we stop at Hammy’s? Told Holly I’d bring home dinner.”

“Y’know, I bet I could count on two hands the number of times you’ve gone proper grocery shopping since I’ve known you.”

“That’s not true, you went grocery shopping with us like two weeks ago.”

“And you bought eggs, bread, a gallon of neon colored juice, a gallon of whiskey, and five frozen pizzas.”

“Are those not groceries? Is that not sustenance?” March waved his cigarette for emphasis.

“Anyway,” Healy redirected, taking the turn toward Hammy’s, “all we have to do is stake out the spot she saw the truck, right?”

“If everything worked out just that easy we’d be out of a job, Jack.” March took a drag from his cigarette, thanking the stars that loaded, aging ladies were willing to shill out for the most unfeasible asks imaginable time and time again. Healy let it sit because he knew it was true by now, well over two years down the line as a PI.

“Why do you think the kid really left?” Healy asked after a while, expertly flat when Holland had figured out eons ago that the guy really was invested in each case, even the small ones.

“I don’t know, too many doilies? An aversion to puce colored carpet? I wouldn’t stay long either.”

 Healy ignored him. “I find it hard to believe he just up and left for no reason.”

“Maybe Mrs. Hooper’s chicken is dry.” Healy purposefully hit the curb pulling into Hammy’s, jostling March’s cigarette nearly out of his hand. “I mean, it’s not like it matters. Even if we find the kid, he’s not comin’ back. Ten fuckin’ years. Remember that girl, Arrow or Rainbow or whatever she named herself?”

 Healy grunted in reluctant remembrance. They’d found her after a long, boring two months and by the end of it all she’d had to say was ‘thanks for letting me know my family's looking for me, you can go now.’ Not that it mattered much to Holland. They made out with enough money to take a couple of weeks off so they could take Holly to Catalina Island. She got food poisoning on the first day but still claims it was the best trip they’d been on in years (which wasn’t very meaningful considering they’d gone on maybe three of them since she was little).

“Guess you’re right.” Healy parked the car in the crowded parking lot. The line at Hammy’s was always so damn long. “Not getting paid to psychoanalyze the guy.” He sounded reluctant. Any time Healy couldn’t slip in one more act of Good it made him feel like a failure. It was something March secretly admired, however harebrained it was. He glanced a punch off Healy’s shoulder before getting out of the car. “That’s the spirit.”

-

“So why do you think he really left?” Holly asked through a mouthful of burger.

“Jesus, you two should become shrinks.” March grumbled.

 Healy sat comfortably sunken into the couch, a March sitting cross legged on the floor on either side of him. “It might be useful to know.” he added.

“Right. Like maybe you’ll be able to narrow down what kinds of places he’d go if you knew.” Holly agreed.

“Our only lead is a truck. Anyone can drive a truck. I don’t care why he’s driving it. All we have to do is follow.”

“So you admit, it’s a lead.” Healy pointed at him with a french fry.

“It’s a crumb of a lead. It’s the suggestion of a lead. It’s a lingering scent of maybe a lead.”

“Says the guy with no sense of smell.” Healy winked at Holly, who bit her lip to stop her smile from blooming. “A lead’s a lead.”

“Did you notice anything about Mrs. Hooper’s house? Like, anything that might make someone want to run away?” Holly was fifteen and already putting in more work than March.

“Yeah, puce carpet.”

 Healy nudged March with a socked foot. “She seemed nice. Boring, maybe. Said her husband died a few years ago and her other kid’s off at college somewhere, so the house was pretty quiet.”

“Boredom could drive someone away.” Holly said thoughtfully.

“And if it did that still gives us absolutely nothing to go on. Some kids just hate their parents, alright? Guy probably just hitchhiked to New York or something.” March said.

“Sounds nice.” Holly murmured under her breath. Healy nudged her with his other foot.

 March, begrudgingly, loved the gentle way Healy mediated. Fatherhood was something Holland hadn’t really been prepared for, much less being the single dad of a teenager. It didn’t help that he was a big time fuckup or that Holly was too smart for her own good. Having another person in their lives— having Healy in their lives— was a saving grace.

 Recently, Holly had started dating her first boyfriend. Or at least the first that she’d admitted to when she’d lost all plausible deniability after that time they’d picked her up from school and seen her drop some young punk’s hand like a hot iron. It was a point of contention now, between Holly and Holland. Boys were pigs, and Holland would know, he used to be one. It was one of the endless number of things Healy had become referee over, but also something Holly had adopted a near constant attitude because of.

“So when are you starting the stakeout?” Holly asked, fiddling with the cracked straw of her milkshake. March looked at Healy for an answer. He was always better at managing their schedule. Unlike March, he usually remembered what day of the week it was. Healy looked back at him and shrugged. Wasn't like they had another case on, much to the dismay of their wallets. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

 Holly got that look on her face. “Can I come?” Tomorrow was a Saturday.

 March shook his head. “Don’t you have normal teenage things to do? Shouldn’t you be like sneaking vodka out of someone’s mom’s cabinet on a Saturday?”

 Healy chimed in before she could argue. “It’s gonna be boring anyway, Holl. You’ll be sitting in the backseat twiddling your thumbs all day.” She knew that. She’d been on stakeouts with them before. But Healy’s say was more valuable to her than her dad’s, apparently, so she dropped it.

 It was late when Healy headed home, agreeing on the asscrack of dawn to reconvene and start their stakeout.

“Why doesn’t he just live here? You guys spend every day together anyway.”

 March wandered into the dimly lit kitchen for a glass of rye. Their (second) rental, real house unbuilt as ever, was always so still when Healy left. Another item on the laundry list of things March tried not to think about. “Because he’s a grown man, Holly, with his own house.”

“I wouldn’t call that dump a house, and anyway it’s an apartment. He should be sleeping here and not in an attic with a laughtrack that plays until two in the morning.”

“Well then you can invite him to stay for a sleepover next time. You guys can paint nails and read magazines.” Holland wasn’t stupid. He knew that wasn’t really what girls’ sleepovers were like. One time he’d walked in on Holly and her friend eating donuts and saying such depraved things about Joe Strummer that he’d vowed to not open the door without knocking ever again. He never looked at that Clash poster on her wall the same way.

 Holly scoffed in time with the ice tinkling into Holland’s tumbler.

-

 The sun shone way too brightly for Holland. When he’d woken up he’d still been a little drunk, but now out of the house and into Healy’s car a hangover had eagerly seeped in. They’d agreed to start the stakeout before the sun came up, but March had skillfully convinced Healy to take him through a drive-thru breakfast and they were running late. He now nursed a coffee as the sun rose into the perfectly wrong spot in the sky. They watched cars zip lazily by from the corner of a parking lot.

“I just think it would be good to have a dog around.” They’d had this discussion every other day for a month now. March wanted a dog in the house for the very logical reason of alerting them to intruders, Healy nay-sayed because he was a killjoy with no imagination.

“I’m telling you, March, putting in a doggy door just isn’t gonna be enough for a German Shepherd. And we all know you’re not gonna walk it.”

“Why do you even care so much, man? It would be my dog.” And more importantly, why did Healy even have a say in whether or not they got a dog?

“I care because I’d somehow get stuck taking it out half the time. And your sorry ass wouldn’t train it. We’d have an untrained, overpriced menace tearing around the house.” The house. Not Holland and Holly’s house, but The House.

“Well, whatever, even if that was true it’d make a good guard dog, right? No one’s getting past a pent up, feral German Shepherd. Might shit on the carpet but it’ll take a guy’s dick off. Balls too.”

“You should really consider a shrink. I think you’ve lost your damn mind.” Healy shook his head, but Holland caught his smile.

“You taking new patients, doc? I’ve been told by my teenager that I’m a headcase.”

“I could make some room in my busy schedule. Gonna cost you about the same as a purebred German Shepherd, though.”

 March smiled and leaned back into his seat. Absolutely nothing of interest was happening outside at all, which was just fine now but give March three or so more hours and he’d start going stir crazy and the headache wasn't helping.

 Mrs. Hooper had seen the truck twice, once in the morning and once in the early evening, which gave them an unfortunately broad window of time. She’d described it as a white, short cab semitruck, maybe a GMC, with a small trailer on it, which narrowed it down almost not at all. It sounded like every third short haul semi chugging around Los Angeles, of which there were many. Very many.

 The only thing they had to go off of was that the second time around she’d seen what she thought was some kind of blocky hand-lettering on the driver’s side door, done in “nearly illegible” multicolor. When Healy had asked what she meant by “multicolor” Mrs. Hooper had only elaborated as “horribly garish.” So at least there was that.

 The odds that the guy driving the bespoke truck was this Benny person were essentially zero. That was about half their cases these days, desperate longshots funded by desperate rich people. The other half was still taking photographs of idiots who fuck with the curtains open. It was wearing a little thin. Couldn't people invent more important problems to investigate? Whatever. A job’s a job’s a job.

 The coffee in March’s cup had gone cold just in time to meet the creeping heat from outside. He downed the tepid sludge before wrenching the little metal fan out of the back seat and plugging it in. It whirred to life gracelessly.

“Hey.” Healy tapped him on the arm, which startled and excited Holland enough that he flung his empty coffee cup onto the floorboards.

“What—what, you see something?”

 A short cab semi puttered toward them from a distance, aiming for a perfectly timed red light. Healy pulled up the binoculars and squinted through them, waiting for the cab to pull into view enough to see the driver’s door. March’s breathing was shallow in anticipation.

 The truck moved, and Healy tutted, and March could see the glaringly blank door even without the binoculars. “Driver’s blonde. Ginger beard.” Healy said, still staring through the eye pieces like the truck and driver might magically change. “False alarm.”

“They’re all gonna be false alarms. This is gonna be like finding a needle in a haystack, only the needle was never in the haystack to begin with.”

 Finally, Healy let the binoculars fall into his lap. “I ever told you how much I love your optimism?”

[roses-for-rosalyn]

Try Me

part 3

part 1, part 2

minors dni pls!! 🔞 (I will find you)

I wrote this because I'm having writers block and I don't feel like working on my Abby fic rn lol. I also have been bed ridden with a weird cold so there's that. There's barely any plot here it's literally just porn.

content warnings: Dealer! Ellie (sort of), teasing, dom! Ellie, Sub! reader, Fem! reader, Fingering (r! receiving), dirty talk, mentions of drugs, and as always no use of y/n

word count: 1.6k

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

So you’re back. Staring at the number “400”. The three brass digits you know all too well nailed on the chipped, rust colored door. It’s been about a week since your last interaction. The interaction that you can’t think about without your cheeks turning bright red. The interaction that had you hands down your lace panties every night since then, biting your lips, barely able to contain your moans. God, you needed her so bad. 

This time you weren’t sure why you were here. She just kind of asked you to come over text. The words “come over.” lighting up on your phone screen under her name. It’s embarrassing how quickly you agreed with no questions asked. I mean after what she did for you last time, she could ask you to eat dirt and you’d do it willingly. 

You finally knock twice and patiently wait for the door to open. You hear footsteps approaching and the door swings open to reveal Ellie. She was in her usual skinny jeans and tank top, but no flannel. Her toned muscles and tattoo are perfectly on display. Your mouth becomes dry and you have to swallow before speaking.

“Hi.” 

“Hey.” She’s smiling, looking you up and down. You're wearing your usual pajama shorts and sweatshirt, but this time you took extra care to put on a matching bra and pantie set, just in case. It was desperate and weird, but the payoff could be worth it. 

Ellie was looking at you with this intimidating hunger that almost made you want to put on a second sweatshirt. You smile back at her and she turns to her side to let you in. You start to make your way towards the couch again when Ellie grabs your wrist and tugs you towards her. You stumble right into her chest and look up at her green eyes. Her hair was messily framing her face and you could make out the freckles dotting her nose. She was breathing a bit heavy, you could feel her chest heaving against yours. 

“God I missed you.” She doesn’t give you time for a response before she lightly grabs your jaw and kisses you. Hard. Her lips are so soft and warm and inviting you melt into her, unable to control your body’s reaction. She pulls away still breathing heavily and looks deep into your eyes with that same hunger. 

“Bedroom.” You just nod in response, that kiss rendering you momentarily speechless. She makes her way to what you had assumed was the bedroom holding your hand to guide you. 

“We can smoke later, but this needs to happen now before I lose my mind and end up accidentally ripping your pretty clothes.” You feel the wetness between your legs grow at her comment. 

“Well I’m glad you aren’t planning on destroying my clothes. They’re the only ones I brought.” You smile a little. 

Ellie sits down on the bed and grabs your hips so you're standing between her spread legs. She runs her hands down from your hips to your thighs and says “That just makes me want to destroy them more.” She looks up at you and smirks. 

She runs her fingers along the hem of your shorts and slowly moves them down. Her warm hands tickle your skin as she tugs your pajamas downwards. She lets the shorts pool at your feet and takes a moment to stare at your lace underwear. She places a few kisses along the waistband gently and then looks back up at you. Her warm hands are lightly gripping your hips, keeping you steady.  She runs her hands along the hem of the sweatshirt and says “Take this off for me princess.” 

You obey and tug the sweatshirt up over your head and discard it on the floor. Ellie looks you up and down with surprise and an increased desire to rip your clothing. 

“You dressed up all pretty for me?” She smirks and even as she’s sitting below you she intimidates you. 

“Maybe.” You breathe out now a bit embarrassed. 

“Admit it.You were craving this again from the moment you left.” She says with an evil smile. “You’ve stuffed your cute little hands down your panties countless times thinking about me huh?” You can’t even respond to that, she was too right. 

She laughs and looks back down at her hands grazing your underwear, “Don’t worry I haven’t been able to get your pretty moans out of my head.” 

“Really?” You’re genuinely shocked considering you really didn’t do much for her during your last encounter. She had you too blissed out to even offer.  

She moves from her position on the edge of the bed to sitting propped up against the pillows at the head of the bed. “Yea, really. Now come here princess.” She gestures between her legs. You move so you're leaning up against her chest, her warm body radiating against you. She starts kissing her way down your neck while her hands move to your stomach. Her soft hands grope your breasts massaging the soft skin, causing you to let out a breathy sigh. 

“So perfect for me.” She whispers roughly into your neck. Her voice causes you to whimper hips bucking up from the ache building between your legs. She moves her hands down your stomach and grazes them on top of your panties. Teasing her fingers across the lacey material. You begin to squirm a bit involuntarily but she stills you by casting her other arm across your lower belly. 

“Stay still for me, pretty girl. I want to take my time with you this time.” 

 “Ok,” You breathily reply. You have to grip the bed sheets at the sound of her demanding voice.  

She cups your cunt roughly and you let out a soft moan in response to the pressure. You lean your head back on her shoulder trying not to buck your hips up into her hands. 

“God you just do exactly what I ask, don’t you, my good girl?” She mutters before kissing your neck, sucking lightly. “You can move against me princess, make yourself feel good.” You sigh in relief and begin lightly rocking against Ellie’s hand desperate for any kind of relief. You start to grind a little faster against her letting out a soft moan at every little movement. Ellie moves her hand up and down your slit still on top of your soaking panties. She moves her finger in slow circles on your clit and you’re not sure how much more you can take. Your hands grip the sheets harder, you’re convinced you’re going to rip them with how frustrated you are. 

“Please.” You whimper out, unable to contain your need for her to touch you where you needed her. 

“Gonna need you to beg a bit harder than that princess.” You can hear the snarkiness in her voice, but it didn’t change your desperation. 

“Please Ellie, Please, I’ll do whatever you want just please.” With that Ellie pulls your panties to the side and swipes a finger up your slit. She moves her finger up and down collecting the wetness that had pooled between your legs. Without warning she starts moving your clit in circles with her finger. You moan out in relief, finally the ache between your legs was being tended to. She moved her finger slowly massaging your clit gently. When your breathing started to pick up she started moving her finger a bit faster. Ellie moved her finger down to circle your tight entrance. Once you opened up for her she slowly inserted her finger into your cunt. You moan as she curls her finger upwards repeatedly, hitting you right where you needed her. She inserted a second finger and you let out a whine as your muscles stretch and contract around her fingers. She starts moving her fingers in and out of you faster, hitting that spongy spot so perfectly you can’t even manage to make any noise. Just when you’re convinced you can’t take anymore she takes her thumb and starts moving your clit in slow circles. This almost sends you over the edge. Your back started to arch and a loud moan was forced out of you at every thrust of her fingers. 

“Ellie I’m gonna..” You whine out.

“Not until I say pretty girl.” She spreads your legs out further, hooking hers around yours. She thrusts her fingers inside you even harder, hitting you right at that spongy spot so hard you see stars. 

“Ellie I can’t..” You beg, not sure how much longer you can last.

“Alright, come for me princess.” Almost immediately your muscles violently contract around Ellie’s fingers, your hips bucking up against her hand. You squint your eyes shut at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Ellie fucks you through the whole thing, never slowing down. Your body goes through waves of pleasure that cause you to moan embarrassingly loud. “That’s it, so, so perfect.”

 You start to come down and Ellie still doesn’t let up, you have to grab her tattooed arm to get her to slow down. She eventually pulls her fingers out of you. She brings them up to her mouth and sucks them clean, humming with satisfaction. She gently grabs your jaw and turns you so she can kiss you. She’s gentle and warm and soft and you are sure you must have melted into a puddle of your former self.  Your limbs feel like jelly and all you can feel is Ellie. All you can hear is your breathing synchronized with hers and you could fall asleep right here. 

“Could use a nap.” You murmur. 

“You can sleep here, we just have to get ya cleaned up a bit.” You nod weakly.

“It’s your turn next time, okay?” You manage to slur out sleepily. You feel like you owe her at this point. Although, she doesn’t even give you a chance before she has you incapacitated. 

“I’ll do whatever you want, princess.” 

good night lovie dovies! lmk what you think! As always any Ellie or Abby requests are welcome 💕🪷

[jinchuls-moved]

hi, important lil note

pseud change, jinx -> echo

you don’t have to read but there’s a not so thought out ramble of all the thoughts in my head rn under the cut. i feel like ive been tricking people and i want to explain myself

okay so, i moved blogs when i was in a very negative space. i only stayed away for about a month, i missed tumblr and i missed writing even if it took me a hot minute to feel good enough to even be semi active on here.

tumblr can fucking suck. i left because there was drama with a few people that left me a mess honestly, those people have since been blocked and i started to feel a little bit better. i also noticed a number of people breaking mutual with me, which i completely understand curate your space as you need i’ve done it a few times myself, but the amount of people that did in a short time (as far as i noticed) gave me a terrible feeling and i needed to leave. i felt unwelcome and like i had done something wrong to people i had only interacted with a few times. this was on top of a lot of stuff i had going on irl, i felt so fucking alone in every aspect on my life regardless of my friends that made it so obvious they were there for me. i hated how i was at the time, and i appreciate every single person that stuck by me.

so i made this blog for a fresh start. i thought a new pseud and a new blog would make me feel better. and it did, for a while. my friends knew and they listened to my request to change tags, not refer to me as any previous nicknames and essentially not make it too obvious it was me. although i don’t think it was entirely impossible to tell. but now i miss all those things, i miss being stupid with my friends, i miss getting to call my best friend my wife on dash, i miss getting to miss astrology aims and mother nesi nesi, i miss the mutuals i used to have that i didn’t tell about the move because i was scared they were going to think i was stupid. i miss the url i kept going back to bc i loved it (possibly the most silly reason but still ukaishin holds a special place in my heart)

and it just doesn’t feel right. everyone has been so nice to me so far and it feels wrong knowing that wasn’t how echo ended, it makes me wonder what was wrong with me then that wasn’t now? but reality is, it’s nothing. shit happens, i needed time to get over a lot of things and it took time. even quite recently i had a terrible evening because of an old mutual. as in i had a mental breakdown because they added one stupid word to an ask that made me feel pathetic for sitting there the night before crying about how much i was missing them to aims.

getting called jinx in dms throws me off, i appreciate those that knew me first as echo using the new pseud, but it never took. it was never a name i was happy with (except for the first couple weeks on this blog) and im sorry for any confusion and having to switch pseuds again. i just don’t want to move blogs, i don’t want to have a whole thing i just want tumblr to be the happy place it was for me for almost 2 years. it got me through uni, being on here with the friends i’d made, i spend my final year of school in a constant mental breakdown, crying on the phone to my mum almost everyday and it was kaze that kept me going, motivating me to get my degree. it was kaze that flew to england to meet me and attend my graduation. it was aims that was the first person to reach out to me and give me the type of friendship i needed. it was everyone in our silly delululand server that made me laugh and reminded me that no matter how shit people were there were good ones. and it’s the good that’s made me feel better. and the good that makes me want to try one more time to maintain that happy place i had 2 years ago

that got too sappy but i refuse to edit <3

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

hi sanaaa

here’s some advice for that cunt that said that to u cus the way she’s acting all innocent is so crazy. i’ve had a similar experience so this is me talking from my (obviously biased) point of view.

unfortunately theres really nothing you can do about it, i know it’s hard to hear people telling you how it’s your fault for how you talked too much (or whatever your case is) because when you really look at it, who the hell is crazy enough to get so pressed over such a stupid thing. trust me, apologizing will probably not help. i apologized to this girl through email (since she blocked my number) and the only response i got was “lol”. i know it’s hard not to think about her and miss her, i thought about my ex friend for nearly a year after it happened. it’s hard knowing you cared about them more than they cared about you since they so easily treated you like shit but keep in mind that if they act like this they are never worth your time. in my situation, i cried a lot and felt guilty for still crying over this that had happened so long ago but i saw a quote that strangely made me feel better. it said “if you still cry about it, then it still matters” so please just remember that if you ever feel that way. sadly, there is probably a deeper reason to why your “friend” treated you this way and you will probably never know. i know how badly you might wish for her to say sorry since she has caused you so much pain but the truth is she will probably never change. but this is all something you will look back at in the past and be glad you stopped being friends with her. ily sana please don’t feel like you have to hurt yourself or anything else to cope with this thing you didn’t deserve <333 sorry if this is too long

mhm, you’re so right…and i’m so sorry that this has happened to you too :( even you’re so sweet and you don’t deserve it either…i guess you’re right cause this is what i sent her a tiny message saying that she’s a cunt for this and that she’ll regret it shdkkendjej 😭😭😭

but either way thank you so much for looking out for me, dear ;3 why did we stop messaging again??? lol imma message you rn hahaha

[flowerslut]

😂☀️🏅

What’s the funniest comment someone has left on a fic of yours?

this is such a tough one, but half of @volturialice’s comments on call of the night made me laugh so hard that I befriended and then hung out with her. and fast forward five years she has clowned her way into my heart ~irrevocably~ 🥰❤️

honorable mentions go to these specific ones (top one belongs to my wife ofc)

and I wish I could find the tumblr ask that says “thanks for the stories my therapist will know your name” because that one takes the cake.

Has anyone ever left you a comment that made your day? What did it say?

ALL THE TIME ARE YOU JOKING??? most recently I’ve been getting a lot of comments from people telling me about how my version of maria in roots is turning them into maria stans, and every time that happens I twirl my hair and kick my feet like a lovesick idiot 🤩

also a lot of people have left comments on call of the night (and walk in the dark) to tell me about how they binge-read it over a day or two and those are always my favorite because it means I derailed someone’s sleep schedule for at least one night and that delights me every time. but here’s a pair of comments I think of regularly:

because it 1000% summed up the way I wanted everyone to feel during the climax of cotn’ and to see that I stuck the landing? sublime. nothing will ever feel as good as seeing these as the first two comments after I posted that chapter 🥰

What is the fic you’re most proud of?

this is suchhhhhh a hard one so I’m gonna be a cheating little cheat and answer it in three parts. because my personal favorite fic of mine (not the best, per se, but my number 1) is north star. tbh, that fic should have been much trickier to write (empath alice and psychic jasper? how do you even attempt to successfully jam that into canon!verse?) so i’m very proud of myself for cranking it out over the time span that I did. that was the first fic I ever gave to my wife to look-over and make lil edits to, which is something that I had never once done before with any of my writing EVER.

then or course you’ve got call of the night, and just about everyone has heard the story about that fic, but I really am soooo proud of myself for finishing it! 16/17 year old baby shan would have been sooooo happy to know that it was lovingly completed (technically speaking) in my 20s!

but I think I have to nominate roots for ‘fic i’m most proud of’ just due to the sheer size of this project. and maybe it’s that Current Fic Bias talking (since it’s the only fic of mine being updated/worked on rn) but I really did daydream, outline, and draft an entire 200k word fic with multiple alternating povs and so many moving parts that my even readers are making timelines to make sure they don’t miss anything. that’s so cool for me! that’s so fun! roots has swamped my brain for a year and a half, I’ve put my whole pussy into it, and not to sound like a broken record but shoutout to my wife @volturialice for basically being my editor. the fact that she hasn’t killed me for not knowing the difference between “its” and “it’s” or divorced me for my fixation on unnecessary scene blocking isssss miraculous 🥴

send me more fanfic asks

[witchinatree]

magnus protocol episode 30 ramble

WE'RE SO FUCKING BACK WE'RE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FUCKING BACK

i was relistening today to get in the spirit but i only got through episode 15 :( it's ok though 16-29 were more recent

anyway i'm like hardcore tweaking because i need this so bad but i'm also so not ready for this HIATUS?? it's both over and we're so back

i'm like kind of nervous.... LMAOOO????? anyway um here's hoping my blog @is-teddy-vaughn-still-alive doesn't immediately have to start saying he's dead for the rest of time i've had it for like 3 days

this is going to alter me as a person.

TWEAKINGGG here we go :]!!

the magnus protocol intro goes really hard i think i've said this before though

he said job but i heard jon. dead end JON like the season 2 finale of the magnus archives

OH IMMEDIATE SAM POV LET'S GO I GUESS. sam stop ignoring her.

WHY DID MY EX JUST TEXT ME. WHY DID MY EX GIRLFRIEND JUST TEXT ME. I THOUGHT I BLOCKED HER NUMBER?? HANG ON I HAVE TO PAUSE AND TELL MY FRIENDS ABOUT THIS AND THEN GO BLOCK HER NUMBER WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. dude.

oh my god i have to respond to this because i have class with her tomorrow are you fucking serious chat are you fucking serious

i don't even.. i can't even.. what the hell. during my magnus time? really? on THE magnus day? fuck oh my god. i.. i..... I'M SCARED??????

we're not touching that. anyway ummmmmm what the HELL ??? LMAO SORRY WE'RE GOING BACK TO THE PROTOCOL RAMBLE NOW???? we literally haven't spoken since like march when she sent me the "breakup closure playlist" and i thought i BLOCKED HER. tweaking OUTTTTTTTT.

having to restart the episode after this one i'm.. i need a reset..

sam she's not upset she's telling you you're in TROUBLE stop GHOSTING HER you are in DANGER babe. SAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE IS RIGHT SHE IS RIGHT SHE IS RIGHT BABE YESSSSSS!!!! connect those dots honey it is your fault

SAM? SAM? SAM? WHAT'S? WHY IS HE COUGHING? I'M REALLY. WORRIED. I'M REALLY SCARED.

if sam dies here i'm gonna have to delete those sam hating posts i swear to god i'm gonna have to delete them i love him now

"there's a plan?" (disregards) woah. celia. what. i'm really really really scared help

i feel like we're listening to his final moments and i'm no................ "we're safe here" CELIA??????

ALICE PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW THEM PLEASE BABE IT'S OVER FOR SAM BUT IT'S NOT ENTIRELY OVER FOR YOU

COLIN? COLIN???????? COOLLOLININNK??????????? I'M CRYING COLIN HONEY PLEASE DI NOT DIE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WHAT DID HE DO WHAT DID HE DO WHAT DID HE DO WHAT DID HE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

GO TO THE OFFICE ALICE. HE'S DEAD TEDDY'S DEAD ALICE YOU NEED TO STOP IGNORING THEM FOR SAM'S SAKE THEY'RE BOTH DEAD AS HELLLLLLLL

gwen come through and be okay pls. gwen pls. TREVOR HERBERT NEVER FAILS TO MAKE ME CACKLE I'M SORRY.

lena do you still have your job? babygirl? oh god. something bad is gonna happen to her. is there a lena death count lmao

"but i think you will be" LENA???? shaking actually hello. goodbye lena???? YOU'RE ALL GOING TO NEED IT WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT???????????????????? gwenny are you laughing or crying or nope you're laughing. you are laughing.

they're at hilltop center oh my fuckign god they're here nervously petting my desk??? what am i doing.

"checking for tape recorders" LORD.

"call it a hunch" loooooooooooooooord.

hey why's sam humming he's being so fucking weird rn???? he's being so weird????????? so is celia actually i really hate this

"we want your teeth" these are all weird places huh. interestinggggg.

celia you gotta stop pushing sam please pleeasasee

i'm so freake WHO IS THAT WHOOO????? LMAO??????? poor dude

"i better go lock it back up before it's..." ooh supernatural worker

LMAOO IT'S SO HAUNTED PLS GET OUTTTTTTT PLSSSSS GET OUTTTTTTT

you SHOULD go sam and celia you SHOULD

she's being super weird is she like actually a shitty person bc i was kinda defending her with my whole being

"if you're stupid enough to go poking around, that's on you" this guy would love alice

oh speak of the devil hi babe!!!!

NO HESTITATION AFTER THE BRIBE LMAOO

I ACTUALLY HEARD THE TAPE RECORDER THIS TIME I'M SO PROUD.

oh the custodian is gonna die that sucks so much because i actually really like him he's coughing like sam was i'm really worried

oooh that was the clearest thing we've heard the archivist say

THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES MUSIC I'M GOING TO START CRYING SO LOUD I CAN'T EVEN ANYMORE

OH WHY WOULD YOU BRING UP THE FINGERNAIL THING I LOST A FINGERNAIL FROM THE ROOT YESTERDAY.

dogs.. like lady mowbray...

NIKOLA ORSINOV????????????????????????? NIKOLA??????????????????? BABE?????????????????????????????

no it was a person unfortunately

DEAD IN HIS OFFICE???? oh what the actual fuck

okay they're really not subtle about the magnus archives theme anymore LMFAO

oh my god he's dying :( i really liked him he seemed so chill

WHAT??????????????????? DID HE JUST BECOME THE BUILDING????????????????????????????????????????????? DUDE COME ON CAN ONE MINOR SIDE CHARACTER JUST BE OKAY AND HAPPY. rip i guess? rest in piece (singular)

"she can wait" you're pissing me off.

celia knows this too damn well she knows it TOO well. did she ever have to dig herself out of this

IS THIS THE RIP??????

celia? celia is this where you came from. "almost" HUH?

WHAT'S HAPPENING WHAT'S HAPPENING??? SAM YOU'RE KINDA REAL FOR THIS ACTUALLY PLEASE EXPLAIN TO HIM PLEASE

if he dies. i'm gonna be so upset.

WOAH. WOAHHHHHHHH. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. THE INSTITUTE ALCHEMY IT'S ALL ABOUT BALANCE IT WANTS HER BACK IT. WHAHTUAHAHDHAHGAGDGASYFGAFYGTASGTGFGJS

the equation doesn't balance so you have to go back? oh that's why she wakes up randomly because it's pulling her!! "there's nothing to go back to" sad face. lynne hammond did have a................................ celia. ceeeeeeelia.

celia don't fucking do it don't fucking do it don't fucking do it.

"I REALLY DID LIKE YOU" I'M HYPERVENTILATING. SHE'S CARRYING A KNIFE. I'M HYPERVENTILATING.

I'M CRYING. WHAT JUST FUCKING HAPPENED. WHAT IS FUCKING HAPPENING. WHAT IS FUCKING HAPPENING. IS THIS CELIA'S STATEMENT???

THE FEARLESS ONE I'M ACTUALLY WEEPING??????

WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT SAM ARE YOU OKAY. ALCIUEJ NAOLIKJDHFJVDFHIJBHABHIFBJGHF

I'M SO UNOKAY I'M SOOOOO ALICE NO PLEASE BABYDOLL PLEASE YOU'RE SO FUCKED YOU'RE SO FUCKED

NOT THE FUCKING HILLTOP DUDE GOD DAMMIT

shaking trembling violently rocking back and forth i'm scared i'm scared i'm scared

gwenny.... hhhhhh

oh hey it's trevor! can we pls go find out what just happened to sam i need him to be alright.

what is that fuckass no HELLLLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO OH MY GOD ALICE IS THERE AND CELIA AND SAM OHHHHHHHHHH MY GOD. OOOOOOOOOOOOH MY GOD. WHERE'S SAM.

he's not.. is he? oh no.

THEY BOOOOOOOOOOTH FELL THROUGH???????? AND YOU'RE ENDING THE FUCKING EPISODE THERE DON'T FUCKING TALK TO ME ANYMORE YOOUUUUUUUUUUU. YOU. OH MY FUCK.

i need to go take a moment to reflect or something holy fucking shit.

[celebration-of-the-ordinary-life]

you know what. since I can't draw ambitiously for shit rn you're getting rambling instead while I decide what to draw of some ocs (un-nucarni related)

I just like thinking of Euri's interactions with everyone too much. he's stubborn, but on the flip side for it, he's determined. he's naive, but hopeful; lazy but passionate. he's painfully nostalgic; and in a way, having lost his shrine and no longer going by his true name, "Matsuri", is a reflection of growing up and learning not to lose your inner child; but learning not to cling incessantly to grief & denial, either

on that topic, I think about his shrine very often 🌸. he only obtained his human form far after his shrine's ruin. it used to be frequently visited by the tribes though (or at least the nearest one), and it was a favorite of kids'. his existence as Matsuri was full of folktales. "the tale of matsuri", always something focused on learning to love or appreciate that which was around you, not to be greedy, how to cherish your whimsy or curious heart, etc. hes always been fantastic with kids. it was also probably full of plenty cautionary tales too, about how doing x will get you y, etc. he's a rascal to the fullest definition

once, a little girl visiting with her parents to pay respects wound up playing with him. he let her chase him a brief stint through some of the nearby trees, hiding in their limbs and hopping tree to tree until he heard their prayers finish. he led her right back to her parents arms, all while they laughed as she insisted of the "sunset tiger", the one that hopped through the trees and chuffed at her each time she found him. she promises too, he let her pet his fur; how soft it was, and how he nuzzled her temple and urged her on back to her family, only to disappear into the painted, pink tiger lilies engulfing the shrine.

stories like these probably constantly replay through his head. he spends his days now mostly with Quincy or Kuya, either at one of their cabins or (on the rarer occasion) Aster's mansion (though he's usually only there if Quincy has come to visit. I always imagine he'd not want to give up his duties to the forest so easily, and is more prone to visiting frequently than staying long-term outright). and when he can, he almost always accompanies Olivine to take care of or teach children. he's a natural at it; always giving the most outrageous voices to a story's characters, giving the most absurd traits to the lesson they're teaching.

"it's too boring if we just make them count these as are... but what if they're missing!? what if I lost them around the classroom, and, ah, little cubs..! help! I can't find my wood blocks! I can't remember how many I had! here, for every one we find, we'll count them together. I'll remember when we find the number! ack! how did that one get way up there!? here, here, come, come! I'll put you on my shoulders. grab it for me! I'm too small!"

of course, meanwhile, the idea of anybody else—Dante, Eiden,—calling him short? agh...!! he'll let it slide, but only because that smile on your face seems so genuine... b-but don't do it again...! or I'll .. bite you..!!!

anyways. on a similar note, I think he'd feel infinitely healed to be loved and appreciated for who he is now. he so constantly clings to the legacy of Matsuri, as if this celebrated leoger wasn't him. to hear the name "Euri!", to be called for food or help or even a scolding, he can't help but chase the sound of his name.

maybe... he doesn't have to be forgotten, after all. maybe a prayer, an offering, doesn't have to be something left at the foot of a shrine. maybe it doesnt have to be spoken before clapped palms.

I'm sure the sound of his name now does a lot to convince him he doesn't have to stay in that shrine. he doesn't have to be Matsuri, if that's not who he is anymore.

[pinievsev]

🩷 omgomg i just had this epic idea (that simultaneously retains to my personal life in a way)- so i know that beomgyu won’t win for the body guard AU (it’s inevitable) even though i really really want Gyu to win… it’s ok so i have another idea.

🩷 hear me out- y/n just had a major falling out with their two closest bestest friends and beomgyu tries his best to comfort them. y/n dosent show this side of them ever and it’s the first time gyu has seen this with such deep rooted heartbreak.

… i really just need smthn to cry to rn 🤷‍♀️

AMICA

CHOI BEOMGYU X GN!READER

Angst to fluff! (My favourite 😤)

The names "Kira" and "Mina" are the most basic names I could think of for reader's friends. Don't come for me they're not what we're here for 😋

Warnings: Angst? If anyone has a problem with that, Awkward gyu, crying?, Maybe some spelling mistakes which btw, feel free to call me out on. (Please.) Also it's pretty short? I wrote half of it at 3am and the other half at school- 🥹

Amica: friend in Latin because I'm the king of titles.

As always requests are open and my masterlist is pinned to my blog! Without further ado, Les gooo!

{taglist: @laskyy }

You only ever had three close friends, well one now, Kira, Mina and Gyu. You had known Beomgyu since middle school and had met Kira and Mina in highschool, even tho gyu went to another one, you still kept contact and lived in the same area.

You had had a crush on gyu for maybe a year now, pretty recent considering how long you've known eachother for, and both girls knew it, so why the hell would they accuse you of trying to steal Kira's crush was still a mystery. Maybe they just didn't want to be your friends anymore and tried to get rid of you without you knowing? Not sure.

All you knew was that both had blocked you on all social media as well as your number so you decided it wasn't worth your time and energy trying to fix. You and them have been getting distant lately anyways, so what's the point?

What hurt you most was that they had made a complete fool of you in the middle of the park, yelling about how bad of a friend you were, calling you all sorts of things, a backstabber being one of them.

It wasn't worth it, so why did it hurt this much.

You bolted down the road and to your apartment block with tears in your eyes, failing to notice and hear a shouting gyu, trying to get your attention from across the street.

You slammed your door shut and kicked off your shoes, basically diving into your couch and sobbing. It shouldn't hurt this much. Your crying only lasted a couple minutes though. A frantic knock on your door alerting you. You hoped and begged and prayed that it wasn't them. Taking slow steps towards the door.

"Y/n? Hello?!" You let out a breath you hadn't realised you were holding at the sound of Beomgyu's voice, you opened the door and let him inside, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

"What happened to you?" He asked looking at you with almost worry. You've never cried Infront of him, and you weren't planning to, until this moment. A couple of seconds was all it took for you to break down and start sobbing again, causing his eyes to go wide "Whoa whoa whoa! Hey uh, here come on"

He was speaking quickly and fumbling over his words as he led you back to your couch placing the bag he had with him on the small coffee table, he sat down next to you.

He rubbed soothing circles on your back, shushing you. He was never really one to comfort people, but he was trying his best and you appreciated that.

You rubbed your eyes once again, apologising "sorry- sorry. I don't know why I broke down there" you sniffled, eyes red and puffy already. "Don't apologise. Do you uh want to talk about it?" You shook your head and he only nodded in response standing up.

"wait here." He said rushing off to your bedroom and returning with a heavy gray and white blanket, your favourite one.

He gently placed it over you, he might not be good with words, but he was the best with actions. He picke dup the plastic bag he had placed on your table and walked to your kitchen "I'll be right there!" You heard him call before you could even question him.

A couple of minutes later, again, he returned with two bowls of ramen for the both of you, placing them down. He sat on the couch, Criss cross next to you, pulling the blanket over both of your shoulders. He reached out and handed you your bowl then grabbing his. "if you don't want to talk. We'll just eat" he said taking a hold of the remote and turning on the TV, playing some random movie neither of you were interested in.

As you ate, you could feel him turning to check up on you every now and then. And once you had finished you put your bowl down and leaned your head onto his shoulder, closing your eyes "you're the best friend Gyu... You know that?" You spoke quietly.

As much as he tried, he could not deny his feelings for you, the way he hated seeing you sad, the way his heart dropped to his stomach as soon as you started crying and the way his heart fluttered but at the same time shriveled up at your words just seconds ago.

But what if you didn't like him that way? What if you were crying over a boy? He couldn't risk loosing you.

You opened your eyes when you didn't get a response from him, looking up at him. He was already looking at you, his eyes switching from your eyes to your lips making your stomach do flips.

You stared at eachother for a few more seconds before he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours ever so slightly, testing the waters.

When you hummed in delight at the feeling he was assured, rushing to completely wrap you both in the giant blanket before leaning in again, kissing you quickly yet softly. You wrapped your arms around his middle as you pulled apart.

His eyes scanned your face for any signs of regret but once he found none he grinned widely "am I still the best friend?" He asked jokingly "nope. You're just the best" you said kissing his cheek and hugging him close. The reason for your sadness now long forgotten under the cozy blanket and the adorable pecks he left all over your face mixed with your laughter.

[trannydean-moved]

ur spn oc intrigues me so much. i couldn't find the post u mentioned this in so i may just be misremembering but i'm p sure u mentioned some sort of spn musician au with him? and i have been so curious about that pleaasse 🙏 i need to know the details

oh yeah!!! my au where dean is a musician 🥰🥰🥰 it's actually inspired by two different fanfics i like (texas state of mind by palominopup and starstruck by peanutbutterjelly-pie. tbh i haven't finished starstruck but i love what i've read so far). i love this one, but i don't have the most planned out for it yet 💔 but here's what i've got so far:

dean is a (probably country) musician who has had writer's block (or the song writing version of this?) for a hot minute and he's been really pressed into needing to get inspiration for something new. sometime makes him remember his two "best friends" (THEY WRRE ALL GAY FOR EACH OTHER. duh) from high school, and he suddenly gets inspiration for a song. it's a love song ofc, like he's confessing his feelings and expressing his sorrow of not keeping in contact with them, and talking about how he'll prolly never see em again so he's sad about that.

he writes it and records it and releases it, and it's a huge hit. there's also lots of controversy surrounding it because no pronouns outside of i/me/my are mentioned in it, and the two names used (jaime and cas) are both technically gender neutral! so everyone's like "okay is this two guys??? two girls???? a guy AND a girl???" (btw both jaime and cas are non-binary so HA none of those options are right 🥰). so like the song gets popular both bc it's a hit and bc it's talked about so much bc people are trying to puzzle out the entire context of the song.

meanwhile, both jaime and cas hear the song, whether it's because they keep up with dean even tho they haven't been in contact since the end of highschool, or they just hear it on the radio bc it's playing everywhere rn. both are shocked, bc like "🥹🥹 omg he remembers me... he remembers US". they've all been living separate lives for a while, it's been at least 15 years since they all last saw each other. like dean went to a college far away, cas and jaime lingered a little before they just moved on to do their own thing because dean was gone, and they didn't see the point of sticking around their old hometown, and it hurt too much to be together with dean not there as well. they were THEE trio!! they weren't whole without dean :(

and now all three of them seriously reminsce about their old high school "friendship" and it becomes painfully clear to all three of them that yeah. they weren't just friends. they definitely were more than that. but what can they do about that now??

well first thing's first, jaime decides to look cas up in the phone book of the place jaime last knew he was at. he's surprised and relieved to see cas' number was still there, and he calls cas. he's basically like "hey so have you heard what's been playing on the radio lately"

and cas is like "um yeah...."

"we should go see him"

"how the hell are we going to do that?? he doesn't just have his home address on his twitter profile 🙄 it's not going to be easy"

"oh come on, who ever says true love is easy?" and jaime says this mostly jokingly, like to break the ice of THAT conversation. despite how jokingly he says it, it's PRETTY obvious from the song that dean is in love with them both still, and he really misses them. dean is SO in love with them and really, jaime and cas feel the same too. and cas ends up agreeing, of course, because jaime is obviously right about meeting dean again.

cas and jaime meet up and are sooo awkward and silly while trying to figure out how they're going to see dean again. they find out when dean's next concert is and they decide that's a perfect place to reunite with dean. tho cas is like "it's going to be difficult for him to notice us when there's tens of thousands of people at the concert"

and jaime's like "we'll MAKE him notice us" and cas is quite worried about what that could mean.

unfortunately i haven't thought of how exactly they're going to get dean to notice them yet. but somehow they do, and dean is SO excited, and he puts his whole pussy into that concert just for them 💕💕💕

then they ofc reunite afterwards and there's lots of awkwardness bc NONE of these guys can be normal 🙄🙄🙄 BUT it's cute and it's going to be cool.