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ebodebo · 4 months ago

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Tough As Nails—Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy

thinking about cowboy!simon riley… MDNI | part one |

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He had become a nuisance. A pest, a headache. Every single adjective you can think of to describe a pain in the ass he was.

Your father's ranch hand, whom he hired all of six months ago, had become something of a bother, an inconvenience to you. He was annoying and stubborn. Narrowed his eyes at you too often for your liking. Scoffed when you would correct him. And scolded you when you would have people on the property when your parents would leave town—even going so far as to kick your guests off the property altogether.

But tonight would be different; it was the Fourth of July. You would happily throw your party in the barn your family owns, on the property they own. You weren't going to let him order you around tonight.

"What the hell is all of this?" Simon seethed, taking in the concrete floor covered in empty beer bottles and spilled grain. His booming voice caused some partygoers to straighten up, though no one dared to speak.

He clenched his jaw at the lack of cooperation. "Huh?" He paused, his fists clenching so hard they began to turn white.

"So, no one can speak?" He walked over to a guy sitting on a bale of hay, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and yanked him off the hay tossing him aside.

"Get the fuck off my hay." He gritted to the guy.

"Where is she?" All he could think about was the little pain in his ass who was responsible for this. The guy he pulled off the hay immediately pointed towards an old wooden outhouse away from the barn.

Simon rolled his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. "If I come back and any of you are still here." He looked over everyone.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you for trespassing."

Safe to say, everyone in the barn scrambled out of the barn at that very second. Simon turned on his heels and stalked over to the outhouse, where he saw you leaning up against the outside with a guy's hands roaming your body, making out.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" You jumped at the sound of his voice, pushing the guy on you off your body.

"Sim—"

"Don't." He moved closer, standing directly in front of you, pointing his finger at you. "Don't Simon me."

"It's the Fourth of July, Simon. Lighten up."

"Do you realize your idiot friends spilled hundreds of dollars worth of grain and fucked with your dad's equipment?" All he had to do was glance at the guy just kissing you for him to go scurrying off.

"Shit, I shouldn't have left them alone. I wasn't thinking." You curse, looking up at him to meet his eyes.

"Ya, you're right." He stepped closer.

“You don't think." He gritted out before continuing.

"You're impulsive. Reckless."

Your eyes widen at his words. Who does this guy think he is? "Don't forget you work for me."

He lets out a deep, dry chuckle. "Actually, I work for your dad."

"Whatever." You scoff as you take a step to walk past him.

"We are not done talking." He reaches out to grab your wrist; you swiftly turn your head to look up at him.

"I'm done listening to you." You grit out, eyes full of anger.

"Oh, is that it?" He scoffs out as you take a step away, only to trip over a wide hole in the ground, making both of you topple over, him falling on top of you. He's quick to plant a hand on the ground before, so his entire body weight isn't on you.

After you recognize the pain from the fall, you look up at Simon, who's on top of you, eyes boring into yours. Your pulse increases at the proximity, and your breath becomes more shallow.

His eyes blazed with fury, yours full of irritation. You can't help but glance at his lips, hovering not too far away from your own. This little action made him lose it. His self-control was already hanging on by a single thread, and the look you gave was what finally cut through. His lips crashed onto yours with such force that it took your air away.

It wasn't gentle or tender. It was desperation, months of built-up vexation. It was downright sinful.

You gasp once his lips meet yours but quickly return the sentiment. Your hands move to glide through his light hair, gently tugging on the roots, making him groan.

He yanks his cowboy hat off as he grips your waist to flip you so you are now on top of him, straddling his waist as he sits up.

"I thought you didn't like me." You smugly remark as he connects his lips to the side of your neck, and his hands start undoing buttons on your top.

"Like has nothing to do with this." He murmurs into your neck, lightly nipping at your sensitive skin, making you sigh.

"Keep telling yourself that, Cowboy." You jest, grabbing the back of his neck bringing him back up to your lips, already greedy for another taste of him.

He continues working on undoing your top buttons as his tongue collides with yours, and your teeth graze his own.

He cups your breast over the fabric of your bra as soon as he gets the buttons undone, making you whimper. His hand slips down to grip the fat of your ass as he leans in so his lips are lightly grazing your ear.

"You do it on purpose, don't you?" You could feel the roughness of his voice so close to your ear. You leaned into his lips grazing your ear.

"Do what?" You breathe out as his hand roams from your ass to the front of your belt, gently unclasping your belt buckle.

"You playin' dumb now?" He questioned, gently nipping at your ear lobe. The sensation made you let out a low moan before roughly grabbing his face and connecting your lips back to his.

He matched your hungry kiss, reciprocating an even hungrier one of his own as he tossed your belt off to the side and slid off your pitiful excuse for jean shorts down past your thighs.

He quickly undid his belt buckle and threw it off to the side, sliding his jeans down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this." You breathe out, reaching between the two of you to release him from the confines of his boxers.

His mouth went dry at your touch. "Do what exactly?" He choked out as you carefully pumped him up and down.

"Ride you." You casually said as you slipped your already-soaked thong to the side to accommodate him. He could have come at your words. He almost did, but a quick relay of the steps to clean an AR-15 suppressed the urge.

You grip him and slip him inside your dripping cunt, hissing at the contact. He grips your hips and gently sinks you lower, groaning as you grind into him.

He brought his face closer to plant deep, wet kisses on your lips before groaning into your mouth as you continued your movements. "Fuck. Just like that."

Your entire body erupted with goosebumps, and your nipples hardened at the sentiment. You grip his shoulders tightly, but before you pick up your pace, you hear a familiar truck pulling up to the gate of your family's ranch.

"Is that—" You begin before he thrusts into you, making you moan and throw your head back.

"So fuckin' sensitive." He leaned into your exposed neck and licked a strip up to your lips that were slightly parted.

"Better come quick, sweetheart." He pants, gently bouncing you up and down on his cock, fingers digging into the tender flesh on your hips.

"Wouldn't want your parents to see you riding me. Would you now?" You let out a pathetic whimper, bringing your hand down to swirl circles on your aching clit, while he wraps a strong arm around your waist to hold you in place as he drills himself into you.

Each thurst, each swirl of your finger, made you feel a sense of nirvana you didn't even know was possible to get to. It was pure bliss. That and his dirty tongue were spewing such filthy words that were making you wetter than you ever knew was possible.

"Tell me you're about to come because—” His pleading voice sends a final wave of heat through you.

"Fuck. Yes, I'm coming." You yelp, slipping your fingers through his hair and pulling on the light roots again. He silently curses as he comes, gripping you tighter and pressing your chest against his own.

By the time both of your orgasms subside, he silently and gently eases you up to assist you in pulling your thong and jean shorts back on. Then, he casually fixes his jeans and grabs his belt to put back on.

You glance at him, picking up his cowboy hat from the ground and carefully wiping off some dirt that had gotten on it. Though he doesn't slip it back on his head, as a shock to you, he places the hat on your head. It was a little big on you, so it fell a bit more in the front, slightly covering your eyes.

"Keep it.” He says, bending down to pick up your belt and buckle, gently slipping it around your waist and clasping it. He gently pats the buckle clasped in the front, then looks down at you before speaking.

"You earned it."

a/n: who the fuck even wrote this

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

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tfc2211 · 2 days ago

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The thread...

Updated info on the wrongfully euthanized squirrel Peanut, & raccoon Fred…

Some ridiculous judge DID sign a warrant. For a squirrel? On a called -in “complaint” by this photog Monica Keasler to the DEC, for unknown reasons. The woman proceeded to brag on her now deleted FB account - she’s also ditched IG & Linked In because people found out who she is.

Reviewing facts, it’s a pathetic case of government waste, overreach, & misuse of resources.

These people rescued & raised Peanut as an orphaned kit. They had him for 7 years. The man created an animal rescue sanctuary as a result, and had allll the app. process done, & it was SIGNED. The only thing waiting on approval was an enclosure. This animal was not capable of wild survival. They tried that initially, but Peanut came back with injuries. Some rescued wildlife is not releasable - this is exactly why rehab sanctuaries will keep select animals after rehab capability is maxed. A few potential reasons: Missing limbs Birds with lack of flight Loss of vision or hearing Predators unable to hunt sufficiently Prey unable to evade predators Failure to thrive due to health deficits Captivity-raised lack of survival instincts Conditions requiring ongoing medication This RAID involved making the victims sit outside their home for 5 hours while these maniacs tore up everything. They were denied the right to call legal counsel. Feds went thru closets, leaving a complete mess. They broke soap bottles in the bathroom. They took apart the man’s TOILET upon escorting him before he could use it because apparently there could be some important squirrel propaganda hidden in there (I’m assuming in the tank). 😒 Please make it make sense. They further questioned his wife’s immigration status (Germany), in spite of her having all necessary docs & ID. Because these psychos descended unannounced & hunted down these ordinarily docile rescues in their normally peaceful home, somebody supposedly got bitten. They used that as justification for killing them to examine brain tissue for signs of rabies. (Let’s be clear… they were observed putting on gloves. Was anyone ACTUALLY bitten?) What’s really going on here? We all want to know. If you are thinking, “It’s just a squirrel “, look at your pets. Do it right now. Why do you think you are exempt from over-reach like this, & what’s different from your dog or cat?

WHAT???

I am a feline rescuer. I’ve also rescued other animals to either be rehab-released, or homed as appropriate. I have been doing this most of my life, in fact. Birds, including a baby hummingbird once. Rabbits. Lizards. Snakes. Dogs. What’s the difference, I ask you. This is NOT about permits. He had the paperwork. Signed. It was in final process. Why do Feds have the time & resources for one MF squirrel that’s not bothering anybody? If they need something to do, I have a few suggestions. Some legit tasks first… and a couple of impolite instructions after that. I usually try to avoid posting things that end up in the political arena, but here we are. This is as far as I’m concerned a bipartisan concern anyway, so today I am speaking up. NONE of us should be ok with this type of abusive home invasion. Do you want to be treated like a criminal, like a drug dealer, on your own property.. when you have done nothing harmful to anyone? I’m absolutely certain that I don’t. AS a rescuer MYSELF, this hits hard. I’ve had tragic abuses committed by other organizations that I had to then correct & be the responsible party - costing me hundreds in the aftermath, plus deciding under duress of the situation to adopt as a result. Over the lifetime of a pet, that’s thousands. I continue to do this, in spite of not having a donation for it in 4 years. So to me, it’s an important issue. We talk all the time about being responsible citizens, but when it comes to actually demonstrating it, who steps up? In my neighborhood, it’s just me. Out of pocket.

So YEAH… #JusticeForPeanut

Read whole thread on X if you want your head to explode over this whole thing and what they went through. Just insanity.

#Peanut the Squirrel

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d-lmthael · 2 months ago

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Please do not ignore our suffering and our causes

I am Imtithal from North Gaza, I share with you the deep sorrow of my family from Gaza, so I created this campaign for him to try to help him and his family. I know that donations are not easy in these times, but I believe that every contribution has the power to change someone's life.

That is why I am participating in this campaign with all my faith, not only to keep them saved, but also to protect their dreams and help them get out of Gaza. I am Imtithal from Gaza, I lost all my dreams and my job as a dentist, I lost my home, I lost my brother Obaida who was killed and he had young children, and my family lost their entire livelihood because of this war in Gaza.

We live in miserable conditions and live in poor conditions with my family of 35, most of whom are young children. We are always trying hard to provide a living as hunger and thirst kill us.

The scene continues, full of depression, sadness, fear and horror. The siege imposed on us, the genocide that follows us, all kinds of torment and suffering, the spread of diseases, all of this and more kills life in Gaza, kills our existence, and our lives have turned into an endless nightmare, amidst hopes hanging by a thin thread.

We are suffering now, and we do not know what tomorrow will bring. We do not know when this war will end!!! Because we have lost everything beautiful, we are about to lose more.

We face harsh conditions and a dark future for our lives, displacement, poverty and pain. But there is a glimmer of hope with your help and generous donations.

We can leave Gaza and build a new life and rise from the rubble. Every small donation can make a big difference. That is why I seek through your donations. To get out at a time when an individual pays huge sums of money ranging between ($5,000, $10,000) per person. My family and I are in dire need to get out of Gaza so that we do not lose our lives, and we also need to rebuild our lives again, so that we can rise and return as we were. A new home

#dungeon meshi #formula 1 #free palestine #epic the musical #hugh jackson #sonic the hedgehog #wade wilson #artists on tumblr #bill cipher #jujutsu kaisen #free gaza #freepalastine🇵🇸#gaza genocide #gaza strip

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fixomnia-scribble · 2 years ago

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Scientists are very serious.

This is a post about science. And soup.

Dr. Elinne Becket, a microbiologist from Cal State University, is in the middle of one of those Fridge Experiments that happens to us all - except in this case, she is uniquely placed to unravel the science down to the microbial level.

While cleaning out her fridge, Dr. Becket found that a tub of family-recipe beef vegetable soup had turned bright blue. “Ok I'm outing myself here,” she tweeted, “but there was forgotten beef soup in our fridge we just cleaned it out and it was BLUE?!?!? Wtf contam would make it blue??? Like BRIGHT blue!! Even w/ all my years in micro I'm not handling this well.“

Read on for a breathless and ongoing saga of Soup and Science, and the wonderful international community that is Academic Twitter.

Academic Twitter quickly reminded her of her Responsibilities to Scientific Inquiry. (Cue the chanting from around the world of “CLONE THE SOUP! CLONE THE SOUP!”)

“I can’t believe y’all talked me into going back into the trash.” she tweeted in response, over a photo of a puddle of beautiful Mediterranean-sea blue soup in the trash bin, with bits of veg and noodles arising from the depths.

Scientists being scientists, Dr. Becket agreed to take a sample and send it to colleagues for cloning and microbial analysis.This involved getting arms-deep into the trash bin of Old Soup. “I’m never forviging @ATinyGreenCell (genomic biologist Sebastian Cocioba) for this.�� Dr. Becket tweeted, with a photo of a properly dipped and snipped and VERY blue q-tip in a small clear plastic tub.

Diving into decomposing soup was not the only hazard. She writes: “My mom (who made the soup for my birthday) came across this thread and now 1) I have to answer for letting her soup spoil and 2) she's worried @ATinyGreenCell will figure out her secret recipe.“

Dr. Becket and Sebastian were able to culture the Blue Goo!

Becket posted a photo of three petri plates of streaked beef bouillon agar at 72 hours incubation, at 37C, room temp and 4C. She writes: “Left the plates where they were for another 2 days, except the 37°C one was brought to RT, which then grew white stuff over the yellow stuff and stinks to high heaven. RT looked the same. 4°C had impressive growth. Restreaked them all onto TECH agar, awaiting results!”

Sebastian, from his lab, tweeted a photo of three more covered petri dishes, with early results: “Great progress on isolating the glowy microbe from our #BlueSoup! It's so fluorescent the streak is GREEN. Still needs another restreak as it seems there is a straggler but should clear up in the next plate. Exciting!”

Then yesterday, Sebastian tweeted out an updated photo of his plates under daylight and blacklight. “Whatever grew on the #BlueSoup colony plates overnight glows under UV, but only on King's Agar B! That particular media is used to tease out fluorescein expression in pseudomonads. What are the chances that the same cell line expresses fluorescent AND blue pigments?“

“Looking closer, there definitely is a handful of different microbes showing distinct phenotypes. Could be that the blue producer and the fluorescent microbes are totally different microbes!”

At which point, Professor Cynthia Whitchurch of Norwich, England, responded: “Consistent with P. fluorescens being at least part of the #BlueSoup community. The fluorescence is due to production of the siderophore pyoverdine which is up-regulated when iron availability is limited. P. aeruginosa produced this too but my guess is you have blue Pf.”

And Australian agricultural researcher @WAJWebster helpfully tweeted a petri dish of ALL KINDS of colourful bacterial colonies from white to yellow to orange to stark black, with a cheerful: “You need bact-o--colours? I got you, fam.”

The best part is that as of today, March 9, 2023, THE BLUE SOUP MYSTERY CONTINUES. WE ARE WATCHING SCIENCE HAPPENING!

A paper is being written. And Dr. Becket’s mum is getting an author credit as the proprietary owner of the #BlueSoup recipe.

Dr. Becket’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/bielleogy

Sebastian Cocioba’s Twitter is here: https://twitter.com/ATinyGreenCell

Fun IFLS story is here: https://www.iflscience.com/microbiologist-investigates-after-her-beef-soup-turned-blue-in-the-freezer-67894?fbclid=IwAR0H27KqVZhzzrosnjzzKkxuKASZ-0L0Lt6hGwCRDJK8xvFbbSlyS4JvwlM

#soup #science #science twitter #academic twitter #fridge experiments #bluesoup

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screampied · 8 months ago

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“. . do you . . know what happens after death, sweetheart?”

the words that slipped out of nanami’s lips struck you right in the very depths of your heart.

it stung—a sharp prod that made the very crevices of your mouth twitch. his hands, his once warm and loving hands started to grow abnormally cold. frigid to where you even started to adapt to his chilled temperature.

“no why….” you started, feeling your throat tighten. “why are you asking me that, kento?” you sniffle, tightly interlocking your fingers with his.

he stares at you with a warm smile spreading across his lips.

regardless of his current position, peacefully resting his back against the ground—his inevitable fate had finally caught up to him.

nanami’s breathing patterns changed significantly. everything was so loud, all he could make out through his peripherals was splotches of blur and your pretty worried face. “. . because,” he continues, and his speech was so slow. you could tell he was trying to get every word out, every syllable, every vowel. just for you and only you. “i’m about to find out, my love . .”

your irises focused on him. nothing else, no one else—just him.

you’ve never seen him like this. so pale, so weak, so . . . scared.

his pure emotion, it showed in his eyes. his perfect brown eyes that you never failed to get lost in. for the first time in what was probably forever, nanami felt…scared. he tried his best to conceal it in front of you though. but even his best wasn’t enough, because you probably knew him better than you knew yourself.

“don’t say things like that, kento,” you mutter, already feeling that annoying plump knot rise up in your throat. your breath was shaky, tremble after tremble. “you’re fine. you can get up. we can get up.”

he knew when you said we, you implied that you’d both be walking away together — hand in hand, like in those stupid cheesy movies you’d watch with him every sunday after he gets off work. but alas, reality was quite harsh to face. an even more incredible tough pill to swallow. nanami knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

it was irksome, you had to squeeze your eyes shut to prevent a single tear to roll down your cheek.

nanami’s eyelids were hanging on by a thread, just barely open. he was trying—trying so hard to hang on, a small pout curls against his lips before he huffs out a single breath.

“ah . . forgive me, you’re right,” he says, his thumb swiftly stroking the front of your hand. a single tear escapes past your lower damp eyelid. even his voice sounded different. a voice you grew to love, so sweet and protective. it now sounded incredibly tired. you could hear a slight wheeze between breaths of his. “hey, don’t cry. don’t do that, look at me.”

his voice was so soft, you sniffled—despising the irritating tears that started to run down both sides of your temples. if it was anything nanami couldn’t stand, it was that he couldn’t stand to see the love of his life shed such sweet pitiful tears for him.

you looked at him, watching his eyelids struggle to stay open for you. everything ached, his body didn’t even feel like his own anymore. it was an indescribable feeling from when he got struck, laying against the slick cold floor of the shibuya train station.

“. . d-don’t leave me,” was all you managed to say, your lips was trembling, your heart pounded and you didn’t wanna say goodbye just yet. “kento, i need you.”

“hm? what are you mumblin’ about, sweetheart? ‘m right here.” his voice, it sounded happier.

you furrowed your eyebrows, now finding yourself buried into nanami’s bare chest, damp chin pressing against his pecs and all.

you were here safe and sound, snuggled up all against him, as you should be. it took you a long while to calm down, he’s staring at you with a soft loving gaze—a brief look of concern before you mumble out a, “..kento? are you okay?”

“why wouldn’t i be, baby?” nanami hums, a soft thumb stroking your back. with a relaxed breath, he leans in to plant a gentle kiss near the very tip of your forehead. his touch was forevermore soothing, a touch you never wanted to forget.

you let off a jittery sigh of relief, finally coming to the conclusion that it was another one of your horrid nightmares. you had nothing to worry about.

he was fine.

you were fine,

everything was fine.

. . is what you kept telling yourself.

nanami never told you those words, he didn’t kiss the tip of your forehead or stroke your back lovingly whilst staring into your eyes. the only true unbearable truth was that nanami was gone.

he was gone, and his last words weren’t even “i love you,” or “i’m sorry.” on his fatal dying breaths, nanami’s last words to you while squeezing your hand, sliding a ring into your palm, he rasps out a breathy, “will . . you marry me?”

but before you could tell him yes, he was already gone.

#★vegasbaby.#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fic #jjk drabbles

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driverlando · 5 months ago

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✧.* TOTALLY US

synopsis - sometimes sex isn’t all sunshine and flowers, you and Oscar know that better then anyone else

before you continue: this contains smut so minors dni!! if you enjoy pls do give it a reblog, it means a lot to us writers :)

You never thought a quiet evening in could turn so hilariously chaotic, but here you were, tangled up with Oscar on your bed, the two of you giggling uncontrollably between heated kisses.

It had started innocently enough; a quiet dinner, a shared bottle of wine, conversations that flowed effortlessly and a movie neither of you had paid much attention to. Now, with the credits long since rolled, you were a tangled mess of limbs, caught somewhere between passion and laughter.

Oscar’s fingers traced lazy circles on your arm, sending shivers down your spine. You turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat at the playful glint in his eyes.

“Want to watch another one?” you asked, though your voice was heavy with a different kind of anticipation.

Oscar smirked. “I have a better idea.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that made your toes curl. You responded eagerly, hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, his hands roaming your body with increasing urgency.

“Bedroom?” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your skin.

“Yes,” you managed to reply, your voice breathless with desire.

You barely made it to the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way, leaving a trail of discarded garments that marked your path. By the time you reached the bed, you were both down to your underwear, the air between you electric with anticipation.

Oscar’s hands were everywhere, exploring your body with a mix of tenderness and urgency. He pushed you gently onto the bed, hovering over you, his eyes dark with desire.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky.

You felt a flush of heat spread across your skin, your body responding to his words and touch. He kissed you again, deep and passionate, before moving to your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire down your throat and across your collarbone.

His hands found the clasp of your bra, and with a deft flick, he tried to undo it. He fumbled for a moment, making you giggle against his mouth.

“Need some help?” you teased.

“I got it,” he insisted, though his fingers were still struggling. After a few more seconds of awkward fumbling, he finally managed to unclasp it, and you laughed together as he tossed it aside.

“Stupid thing” he murmured before moving his mouth lower, his lips and tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming beneath him. You could feel his arousal pressing against your thigh, and you reached for him, eager to feel him fully.

He responded by slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your legs and discarding them. He paused to shed his own remaining clothes, and then he was back, his body pressing against yours, the heat between you almost unbearable.

Oscar’s hand slipped between your thighs, fingers finding your most sensitive spot. You gasped, your hips arching into his touch. He teased you, drawing out your pleasure until you were begging for more.

“Please, Osc,” you moaned, your voice trembling with need.

“Patience,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to make this last.”

His fingers continued their slow, torturous rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to tip over, you felt a sharp pain in your leg. A cramp, you realised. You winced, trying to stretch it out without breaking the mood, but Oscar noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern etched on his face, replacing the lust in his eyes.

“Cramp,” you winced, trying to stretch out your leg. “Just a cramp.”

Oscar chuckled, massaging your calf gently. “We really know how to set the mood, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, we’re a real romantic comedy.”

With the cramp finally easing, you resumed where you left off. Oscar’s fingers brought you back to the edge, his touch expert and teasing. You were so close, your body trembling with anticipation.

He moved over you again, positioning himself between your legs. As he pushed into you, you both gasped at the sensation, the connection electric. He started to move, slow and deliberate at first, each thrust building the intensity.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his back. The pleasure was overwhelming, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

“God, you feel amazing,” Oscar groaned, his voice husky with desire.

“So do you,” you managed to reply, your fingers tracing the muscles of his back.

Oscar began to pick up the pace, the rhythm quickening, the intensity building with each movement. You felt the tension coiling in your belly, your body trembling with anticipation.

And then, in a sudden shift, Oscar’s elbow slipped and accidentally jabbed you in the ribs. You yelped, more surprised than hurt, and he immediately froze.

“Sorry!” he exclaimed, eyes wide with concern.

You laughed, the absurdity of the moment breaking the tension, your giggles turning into full blown laughter. “It’s okay. We’re really on a roll tonight, huh? It’s been a disaster”

Oscar grinned, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. “Only a little,” he murmured against your mouth. “But we can make it work.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before adjusting the two of you to find a better position.

This time, when he entered you again, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust that made you both moan with pleasure. The rhythm resumed, the connection between you growing stronger with each movement.

You felt the tension build again, your body arching into his. Just as you were on the brink, his phone rang. You both froze, staring at the offending device.

“Ignore it,” you pleaded, your voice shaky.

Oscar glanced at the screen. “It’s my mom.”

“Seriously?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. “Can this night get any more ridiculous?”

He silenced the phone, tossing it aside. “She’s just going to have to wait.”

You laughed, pulling him back to you. “Good choice.”

Oscar’s lips met yours again, and the fire between you reignited instantly. His hands roamed your body, each touch reigniting the pleasure that had been building. He moved inside you again, the sensation even more intense than before.

You moved together, the rhythm perfect, the pleasure building rapidly. This time, there were no more interruptions. Your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, laughter giving way to gasps and moans. You finally reached that elusive peak together, the pleasure washing over you both in waves.

Afterward, you lay tangled in each other’s arms, hearts racing and smiles plastered on your faces.

“That was…something,” Oscar said, his voice filled with a mix of satisfaction and amusement.

“Yeah,” you agreed, snuggling closer. “Definitely something. And totally us.”

He kissed the top of your head, a contented sigh escaping his lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And neither would you.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula one smut #f1 smut #oscar piastri oneshots #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri fluff #f1 fluff

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theseventhveil1945 · 5 months ago

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The powerful colors of the 70s and the darkness and creepy atmosphere of the orphanage are brilliantly reflected in the costumes created by two-time Oscar-nominated costume designer Paco Delgado. For the world in the orphanage with the nuns and the orphan girls, he wanted everything to have a sort of gothic feeling. “From day one, Kasha (Arkasha Stevenson) said she wanted to have these figures sort of floating through the hallways,” says Delgado. “So, we designed the costumes with light materials. They look heavy, but in fact, they are really light, and they move with the wind.” Delgado continues, “Then for the girls, we knew that we were in an orphanage in the seventies, but we wanted a specific ambience, so the girls were dressed in uniforms and clothes that were made in the forties or fifties.” Margaret’s look, however, was completely different. “We wanted to create an outfit that reflected the fact that she was almost a novice. But at the same time, she was out in the world. So for her costume, I looked back at what Yves Saint Laurent was doing in the seventies, when he did these amazing outfits. They looked really severe, but at the same time, they had a sense of glamour and style.” In discussing Delgado’s craft, Stevenson says, “The details on all of Paco’s costumes were so magnificent. The nun habits are so unique: they had this unusual pleating, which became the common thread between everything in the orphanage. [x] THE FIRST OMEN (2024) Dir. Arkasha Stevenson

#filmedit #filmgifs #costumeedit #horroredit #horrorgifs #dailyflicks #junkfoodcinemas #the first omen

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alexaloraetheris · 4 months ago

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Oh boy, I feel like it's time for a post nobody will like.

We all know clothes are getting worse. Recently I found some jeans I bought in high school, and since I lost weight recently I tried them on and they fit, so I'll be wearing them once we get out of the Hell season.

But I took them and compared them to the most recent pair of jeans I bought, and... Honestly the difference in quality is so fucking stark it made me want to give up on life. The jeans I wore in high school have gone through everything. I'm talking half of Europe here, because one of our teachers was pretty big on school trips everywhere she could get the money for. They've been washed, tumbled, survived an actual car crash and they're still good.

The most recent pair I machine-washed ONCE, everything else was hand-wash only. I babied them to the max because they made my ass look like was on Instagram. Do you know what they look like now?

They're full of fixes like these. They lasted less than a year on their own. I got another decent year out of them SOLELY because I kept fixing them. And fixing them again. The crotch alone I had to fix SEVEN TIMES. I COUNTED.

And these weren't cheap jeans! C&A jeans tend to be around 40$ these days, and I got these for about 30 with a discount. I expected them to last me AT LEAST a few years, because those high school jeans? THEY'RE THE SAME FUCKING BRAND.

Considering this was the quality I was getting for nearly 40$ I figured I might as well get the same quality for 15$ and downloaded SHEIN. I didn't get jeans from them but I got some light, fluttery summer pants in the style that, honestly, I fucking love. I got three pairs for the price of one C&A jeans, and I am aware I will have to baby them even more, because out of the five pairs of pants in total I have bought on SHEIN only ONE is made of the fabric that I might be brave enough to machine wash. And with SHEIN continually getting sued for using sweatshops I probably won't be getting those pants again.

So what to do with that shitfuck situation?

I am insanely lucky my grandma knew how to sew really well and didn't mind me looking over her shoulder as long as I was quiet. I am aware that's not a skill everyone has, but quite frankly? When nobody has any money and even paying big bucks for clothes does not guarantee any kind of quality, and even fucking THRIFT STORES are full of just junk now, I think it's time to face the facts.

You need to learn how to sew.

I'm not talking about sewing your own clothes, though if you can and you have the time and patience, it's probably the best option (good luck finding decent fabric, because we can't even find THAT anymore unless you're ordering from fucking Belgium). I'm talking about fixing up seams and sewing on a patch, little repairs that make your clothes last. It might be junk, but with sewing you can make it last twice as long for the price of a spool of thread.

Now that I've pissed off everyone who is, for some reason, morally opposed to learning how to sew because it's a 'girly hobby' or 'supporting the patriarchy' (a take that left me baffled like nothing else) I'm going to piss off everyone who already knows how to sew.

I recommend getting this little guy.

It's called a stapler sewing machine, for obvious reasons. If I recall correctly, it was invented to fix clothes on the go for fashion shows and/or cosplay. It does only a chain stitch and needs to be pushed manually, but if you need to, like, hem your trousers and you don't want to spend half an hour on doing it manually (and don't already have an actual sewing machine) this is a lifesaver.

Here's a tutorial how it operates:

youtube

Now, why am I recommending this? Because it will only set you back six bucks. I got two right off the bat because I was banking on one not working (and I was right) and so I could use it for spare parts. The one in the video (Spring Come) is the one I have as well, and it's the one that actually works. I can't vouch for any unmarked ones, but the blue one works. It IS a little temperamental, but with a bit of practice it makes things so much easier.

The reason I'm not recommending an electric machine of any kind, even the one that costs 18$, is because, if you're a beginner, then an automatic sewing machine becomes a machine that exponentially speeds up the rate at which you make mistakes, and if it breaks down, good luck fixing it unless you have a dad/uncle/friend who knows his electronics. This thing can be fixed with a screwdriver, and takes the same needles as an ordinary sewing machine.

You can buy a bundle of needles just about anywhere for any price and they'll be decent as long as they're steel, but I would recommend looking for some actual better quality thread. Everywhere else, you can pinch pennies, but the thread itself is what's holding your clothes together, so this should be the part where you're looking for quality instead of price.

Alright, those of you who didn't scroll past with a derisive scoff at my take, I hope I've been helpful.

#sewing #stitching #clothes #Youtube

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ozzgin · 2 months ago

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I've kept my promise and returned with dino smut. Switch it to a dinosaur hybrid if you're too afraid of the full package. Content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (gangbang), monster dinosaur smut

"You've got to be kidding me."

You kick the wheel and walk away, trying to steady your breathing. This can’t be happening. Behind you, the guide continues to tinker with the car engine. He has a reassuring smile plastered on his face, but you can tell from the cold beads of sweat that he’s just as terrified.

You are stranded in a desert filled with dinosaurs. Scientific miracle? Sure. Presently your death sentence, too.

“Don’t walk too far from the vehicle, (Y/N), otherwise I can’t reach you in time if something happens.”

“What, you have a black belt in dinosaur fighting or something?” you scoff at the man.

“Now listen, do you think we didn’t anticipate these scenarios? I am equipped with this little guy here”, he says, pulling out a small, electric device. “Has enough juice in it to shock a T-Rex.”

Maybe he has a point. The Jurassic Park proudly dons a reputation of flawless service and guaranteed safety. Surely they must be equipped to deal with something as insignificant as a car breaking down in the middle of a guided tour.

You attempt to smile back, gathering some courage. In your newfound peace you didn’t really notice that the massive rock behind the car has moved, or that it was never a rock to begin with.

A wide row of razor teeth engulfs your official tour guide, and the enormous mandible closes with a loud snap. The upper half of the man detaches in a surreal, surgical cleanliness. You stare, mouth agape. It takes you a second to process the execution you’ve just witnessed, but the ear-shattering screech swiftly wakes you out of your trance.

Escaping from an entire pack of ancient predators feels rather futile, but that doesn't stop you from crawling up the steep hill, hoping the damned creatures can't follow. Had you known your comfortable car ride required survival skills, you would've worn a different pair of pants.

What's even more ridiculous is the nature of your perpetrator. Of course, you tell yourself, you had to trust a company that can't differentiate between the Cretaceous and the Jurassic. What's one or two million years? What's one or two dead humans in the grand statistics of their park?

You finally reach the top of the hill, and trip over some overgrown roots. Your collapse is cushioned by the scarce bushes patching the ground. Suddenly, you feel the branches vibrating against your burnt cheeks. Dear Lord, futile indeed. The heavy, bulky legs of the Carnotaurus approach you in a chaotic trample, nonchalantly stepping over your last bits of hope.

Knees scraping against the rocks, you close your eyes and shield your face, bent over like some beggar awaiting punishment. You're petrified. Did the guide feel anything when his innards stretched and tore under the unforgiving mouth?

The rough, scaly skin of the monster brushes against the back of your thighs. There it is! Flesh coming undone, bones giving in to the...wait. What are they doing, exactly? You subtly tilt your head, trying to catch a glimpse of the strange event.

It seems that your resigned position has given them different ideas. The horned beasts investigate your scent with peculiar interest. A brief altercation ensues, in which they lock their horns together and their tails swing around threateningly, nearly crushing you in their blind aggression. You cry out and try to distance yourself from the thundering scene, but a clawed foot pins you back into the ground.

You suspect your present captor is the winner of the conflict, standing above you triumphantly as the others wait aside. Is this the part where you become a grand meal? Its enormous teeth graze your clothing, and the threads come undone.

In a most unexpected turn of events, it's you who ends up stuffed. You don't know what pain to focus on: your back hurts from the rhythmic swaying, bare skin grating against the parched earth; your privacy is burning from the sudden, invasive stretch, as the creature buries itself deeper with each hungry pound.

Eventually, a familiar knot begins to form in the pit of your stomach. The thrusts become smoother, your legs weaker. Shameless moans begin to roll out of your drooling mouth, and you hold onto the Carnotaurus' rugged hips. Its mouth is slightly open, panting and groaning, blowing hot air against your already feverish body.

Your own high is interrupted by a thick, hot wave of fluid abruptly crashing against your inner walls. The beast detaches itself from you, leaving you heaving, dripping and sighing in disappointment. The least you could've gotten from this erotic absurdity was a decent orgasm.

Your naked body is suddenly shrouded in shadow. You look up to see a different member of the pack positioning itself between your legs. Glancing at the others, a horrifying, perverted thought occurs to you: they're taking turns, fucking you relentlessly.

Perhaps you will get your chance, after all. Or multiple.

#monster imagine #monster x reader #monster x human #carnotaurus x reader #monster romance #monster smut #terato #teratophillia #monster fucker

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ichorai · 11 months ago

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thread ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

words ; 6.6k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, coryo's paranoia, he isn't exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus came late to class. He rushed in, uniform only slightly askew, and hair messier than usual. You moved your bag aside so he could take a seat beside you. With a nod, he slipped into the row and began laying out his books.

You wondered how Tigris reacted once he got back home. Probably worried sick for her cousin and her friend. Your father, of course, was furious with you once he learned about your tryst with Coriolanus in the Capitol Zoo, but there was little he could do when he was off working in the districts. During dinner with your mother, Lucretius Flickerman, and his wife, the tributes and the games were practically all the three could talk about. Lucky was going to be the first ever host, apparently.

How fun.

To neither of your surprise, Highbottom eyed the two of you with disdain. When you had strode into the hall, he remained silent. Coriolanus’ arrival seemed to tip him right over the edge.

“Both of your little excursions were in violation of about five different academy rules,” he grumbled. “Chiefly amongst them—endangering a Capitol student. Yourselves.”

“There were peacekeepers crawling all over the place,” Coriolanus retorted.

The dean’s nose twitched angrily. Then, he fixed you with a harsh look over his spectacles, and drawled out your name. “Since you are the academy’s brightest, and your records have been… untarnished until now, I will let you off with a warning.” There was a pause, before the dean continued. “Mr. Snow, I’m moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you as mentor, effective immediately.”

“What?” the two of you exclaimed at once.

“You said we had to get them to perform, not stay away!” Coriolanus just about spat.

“I’ll add insubordination, as well,” Highbottom replied, tone venomous.

Raising your hand and ignoring the dean’s irritated exhale, you haughtily said, “It was me who went into the tribute’s truck. Coriolanus only followed. We didn’t know that we’d end up in a zoo enclosure.”

Arachne tittered with condescending laughter. “Yeah, and then you held hands with them. Made it seem like we’re the same as those animals.”

From your other side, Sejanus was quick to defend the two of you. “Coriolanus and Y/N didn’t show those people anything they didn’t already know.”

Stiffening, Coryo scowled and said, “I don’t need your help, Sejanus.”

He ignored him and continued on, “That the tributes are human beings, just like us. That’s why nobody wants to watch the games—because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn’t justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!”

“Dean Highbottom,” you called, not bothering to raise your hand this time. “How is it fair that Coriolanus gets disqualified while I’m not? We did what you told us to do! We were just trying to get to know our tributes.”

“Would you like to be disqualified as well? I can surely arrange for that to happen,” he deadpanned. “But poor little Wovey would be left all on her own.”

Nausea coiled within your abdomen. You drew yourself up to your full height. “Well, that would be entirely unnecessary—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the lecture theater swung open once more, and Dr. Volumnia Gaul crept in, footsteps completely silent. How she managed that, you weren’t at all sure.

With everyone’s eyes on her, she fixed her stare on the two of you. Her hair was wrangled back into a high up-do, tall and grey on her head.

“Quite a show you two put on. You’re good players,” she said, voice booming throughout the theater. “The hunger games needs good players. Maybe one day you’ll be gamemakers, like me.”

The thought sent chills up your spine. Coriolanus kept his expression stoic.

“If the games continue at all,” said Highbottom.

Singular blue eye flashing, Dr. Gaul grinned in an unnerving manner. “Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Snow and L/N in that zoo? The people would never stop wanting for more.” She drew closer to the rows of seats, gloved hand trailing over a few of the desks. “I came here to ask the star mentors a question… what are the hunger games for?”

You and Coriolanus exchanged a quick glance.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, as if it were obvious. “To commemorate the end of the war.”

Volumnia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, in a similar fashion to a snake.

“And what would you say, Y/N?”

It was hard to maintain eye contact with her, especially because it felt like she could peer into your very soul and dissect you apart from inside out—but you managed. With your father being such an avid supporter of the hunger games, you wondered if your answer would be what she was looking for. “I don’t agree with the games. But I know it’s because—fear is power. Keep the districts afraid for themselves, for their children, and you’ll always have the upper hand.”

She smiled, wide and eerie. “You’re right. Fear is power. But punishment and fear can take many forms. They can come from bomb droppings, the cancelling of food shipments, stage executions. The question is, why games?”

Defensive, Sejanus spoke up, “Shouldn’t we be asking whether or not it’s right in the first place?”

“You have a problem with my games?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended! The oldest of them were only eight!” he exclaimed. “The Capitol is supposed to be everyone’s government now. It is supposed to protect all of us. I don’t see how making children fight each other to the death is protecting anyone.”

With a sneer, Dr. Gaul told him, “That sort of sympathy might be interfering with your mentoring assignment, Mr. Plinth.”

Finally, Highbottom said to his colleague, “Perhaps Capitol students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the games’ time has passed.”

Yes, you thought. It’s time to let it go.

To your surprise, Coriolanus abruptly stood up from his seat. “Dean Highbottom is wrong,” he asserted. “My classmates, too. Maybe Sejanus is onto something here. We should be viewing those tributes as human beings. You saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Gray. If we need people to watch, we should let them get closer to the tributes before the games. Make the stakes personal.”

“Who would watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes?” Dr. Gaul asked, as if the notion of caring about district folk was ludicrous.

“Everyone,” replied Coriolanus. “Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. People need someone to root for and someone to root against! And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even have them place bets.”

You felt sick as you looked up at Coriolanus with a mildly disturbed expression. If he noticed, he didn’t give you any indication.

“I know Lucy Gray may not win in the arena,” he continued. “But if you give her a chance—I would bet the Plinth prize that she could win people’s attention.”

Dr. Gaul was effectively intrigued.

“I would like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow,” she said.

Clemensia, strong-headed as ever, stood up and said that she should be working with Coriolanus, as his class partner.

With an amused snicker, Volumnia bowed her head and made her way back to the door. “It’ll be an interesting test,” she ominously said before turning on her heel and exiting, her dark cloak billowing out behind her.

During lunch, you sat down across from Coriolanus in the cafeteria, noticing that he had three sandwiches stacked on his plate, along with half a dozen cookies on another. It was a rare thing, seeing him with so much food. Usually he opted for just starving himself to save some money, despite your urges to get him to eat.

“Hungry?” you asked with an arched brow, but he shook his head.

“It’s for Lucy Gray,” he replied, staring down at the food. Then, he pulled out a red handkerchief and started wrapping the food up. “I’m going back.”

With a soft sigh, you started digging into your own lunch. “Hopefully not inside this time.”

He spared you half a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you coming? Everyone else is. I heard Arachne tell Felix she’s going to use food to get her tribute to do tricks for her.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you glanced over at her several tables down. “Sounds like something she’d say.” You took a bite of your food and chewed thoughtfully.

“They’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

“Of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “We showed them there’s no sharks in the water. Obviously they’re going to jump in.”

He tied the handkerchief together so the sandwiches and cookies would stay put. “They’re all sheep. No original thought whatsoever.”

There it was again, your wind-chime laugh. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, now empty save for a few bread crumbs.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Coryo. Besides, I’m glad most of the class is going. The tributes must be starving in there,” you told him. “I’ll come and bring some food for Wovey.”

A voice from your right jutted into your conversation, Sejanus’ angry face coming into view as he slammed down his lunch tray in the empty spot beside you. “You guys going to fatten up your tributes so you can finally start taking bets?” he just about snarled.

“Do you think they’ll give those kids a scrap if we don’t give them a reason to do it?” Coriolanus responded defensively, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “How do you think your tribute will have a chance if he can’t eat?”

“We can’t send them back to their homes,” you told Sejanus in a juxtaposingly calm tone. “The best we can do for them now is help them out here.”

The curly-haired man slumped forward, his shoulder stooping like an old wildflower. “He was my classmate,” he muttered. “Back in two.”

Though you gave Sejanus a sympathetic look, Coryo regarded Sejanus as if he was confused. He wondered why Sejanus even bothered to care this much when he was no longer a part of the districts.

“It’s not your fault that—” Coriolanus began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so blameless I’m choking on it!” he gritted out. Then, he let out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. “My father bought him for me, you know. At the reaping. Just so he could show me that I could never go back to two.”

A frown marred your features. “He bribed Highbottom?”

“Something like that,” Sejanus told you, using the prongs of his fork to poke and prod at his food. “Morphling costs a pretty penny.”

Silence stretched over the three of you for a few seconds. Coriolanus looked annoyed, but Sejanus didn’t seem to notice.

“Being in the Capitol is going to kill me,” he sighed.

This made Coryo scowl. “So do something about it.”

Sejanus’ dark eyes flitted over to the bundle of food in Coriolanus’ hands. “You’re quite the rebel.”

Coriolanus retorted, “Oh, yeah. I’m bad news.”

When he said that, he’d expected you to laugh again, but you kept quiet, staring down at your now-unappetizing lunch.

There was a considerably larger crowd around the enclosure that evening. You had a small basket clutched in one hand, consisting of juice boxes (still grape, since you now knew it was a safe option), soft bread rolls, and wrapped leftovers from your dinner with Lucky. You hoped Wovey wasn’t allergic to anything—you’d forgotten to ask in the heat of it all.

Coriolanus still only had the few sandwiches he saved from lunch, but you assured him that you were more than happy to share with Lucy Gray if need be.

She looked much more haggard tonight, most of her makeup smeared off, her lips chapped and bleeding at the center from what you assumed was anxious biting, and her hair was more unruly. Though her eyes still held the same fire, the same passion, lighting up when she noticed the two of you approaching. She asked if the food was for them with slight surprise—you often forget that they hadn’t much to eat in the districts, anyway—and took what was offered, before handing off a good portion of it to her district partner, Jessup. The larger man declined the food at first, claiming he wasn’t hungry, but eventually caved and took the sandwiches.

When he turned to walk off, Coriolanus asked about the nasty wound on his neck. It was just behind his ear and oozing with blood and pus. A bat bite on the train, Lucy Gray told the two of you, looking awfully guilty on behalf of her friend.

Crooning from a little way’s away drew your attention to Arachne and her tribute. She was dangling a cold bottle of water just inches from the tribute’s reach, urging her to beg.

Lucy Gray’s brows cinched. “One thing I learned in twelve is that hunger is a weapon. Your friend over there sure knows it.”

The two of you scoffed at the same time.

“She is not my friend,” Coriolanus told her. “She is poison with perfect teeth.”

“How such a vile tongue hides behind those pearly whites, I wouldn’t ever know,” you remarked, earning you a snicker from Coriolanus. Finally, you peered around for Wovey, eager to finally get her something to eat. However, curse your damned softening heart, your eyes grew gentle upon seeing her curled up by the very same tree stump, head resting on Bobbin’s shoulder, fast asleep.

Lucy Gray casted a glimpse over her shoulder to see what you were looking at.

“Could you give this to her?” you asked, slotting the small basket between the enclosure’s metal bars. “When she wakes up, that is. She must be famished. Feel free to take anything in there, but just… leave some for her.”

The girl nodded, taking the basket from you and handing it over to Jessup, who cradled it as if it were more precious than gold. You watched him carefully—not because you were worried he was going to keep all the food to himself, but because you were curious as to why he hadn’t reached in to take anything for himself yet, even after several minutes passed by.

Coriolanus leaned forward, wrapping a hand around one of the bars as he lowered his voice. “Are you going to share everything with Jessup?”

Lucy Gray’s expression faltered. “Why? You think I oughta build up my strength to strangle him in the arena? Not exactly my forte.”

“I might have a chance to help you,” he told her, watching her keenly. “To make some suggestions to the gamemakers. I might even be able to get the audience to send you gifts in the arena. Food, and water, to keep you going. You just have to try singing again.”

Firmly, Lucy Gray said, “I don’t sing when I’m told, I sing when I have something to say.”

“And you have nothing to say?” you asked her, head tilting. “The whole world is watching, Lucy Gray. Now’s your chance.”

A myriad of emotions crossed over her face. “It doesn’t matter much now, does it? I’ve seen the arena—there’s nowhere to hide. What’s the point?” Her gaze traveled from you to Coriolanus. “The guards say you get money if you get more people to watch and you say you want to help me. Which is it?”

“Both?” he offered.

It didn’t satisfy her, but it was enough, for now.

Then, she grabbed a sandwich from the red handkerchief and took a large bite, a muffled noise of appreciation falling from her lips.

“Bread’s soft,” she said around a mouthful. “Softer than in twelve.”

Then, she offered a cookie to Coriolanus. He began to protest, but she insisted he take it.

“I saw you staring,” she said. “I always thought there was plenty of food in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus laughed, a coarse and unrefined sound. “One time during the war, I ate a whole jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach.”

A match of pity struck within the confines of your chest, but you remained quiet. Coriolanus told you stories of his times during the war often—usually after the two of you laid together, sweaty and naked, bearing your souls to one another. Pillow talk made him quite emotional, you found.

“And how was it?” Lucy Gray queried, eyes round.

Coriolanus took a bite of the cookie, humming in though. Then, he shrugged. “Pasty,” he said.

Lucy Gray laughed. She looked back to you, appreciative. “Thank you, for the food. I’m sure the little one’s going to be happy.” Your eyes flickered back to Wovey. She stirred a bit on Bobbin’s shoulder, but remained asleep. “She’s so sweet. So young. Something about her reminds me of my cousin, Maude Ivory. I can’t stand to think of them without me like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Coriolanus whispered.

You nodded in agreement. “They’re waiting for you, I’m sure. You’ll see them again.”

Lucy Gray smiled sadly. “I won’t hold you to that.” Then, after she took another bite, she blew out a gentle sigh. “You two seem like… genuine folk. It sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”

Coriolanus leaned his head against the enclosure’s bars. “One of your shows, maybe.”

Somehow, her smile grew impossibly wider, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve liked that.” With a light sniffle, she asked the two of you, “You two keen on dancing?”

You thought back to all the dance lessons you were forced to take as a young child. It was never your strong suit. “Not really, no. Coriolanus is much better than I am.”

“Not your fancy Capitol dancing,” she told you, waving a hand in the air. “Dancing like you’re free. Dancing with no rules. Just the music, to guide you.”

Both you and Coriolanus exchanged glances. “Can’t say I’ve tried,” you replied. “But it sounds fun.”

Lucy Gray nodded, showing more enthusiasm than you’d ever seen in her before. “You’d have the time of your life. If you ever visit… I’d love for you to come. Both of you—we’d have a drink. Share a dance or two. We’d have all the time in the world. People always say our music shows are the best places for romantic dates. It’d be perfect for you two.”

It was a pleasant fantasy to entertain. But that’s all it was—a fantasy. When you looked at Coriolanus, his expression was simultaneously strained and distant, as if he were far away, thinking of other things. You reached out to place your hand on his shoulder.

But before you could, screams erupted from around the enclosure, followed closely by shattering glass. You whipped your head away from Lucy Gray, seeing Arachne’s tribute jabbing the broken glass bottle straight into her jugular. Coriolanus yelled something—you weren’t entirely sure what, but he jumped up to grab Arachne, applying pressure to the wound.

It wasn’t enough.

Blood, dark and viscous and filling the air with the smell of copper, began to pool around her neck, down her shoulders, filling the crevices of her collarbones. She was blubbering something, gargling through blood, but you couldn’t quite hear with the loud static buzzing in your ears.

You glanced to the side, catching sight of peacekeepers lining up their guns to shoot. You rushed forward to get to Coriolanus, yanking him down just as several shots rang out. He was whimpering, telling Arachne to hold on for him, but when you frantically reached down to feel for her pale wrist’s pulse—it wasn’t there.

Arachne was dead.

You clambered off of Coriolanus, away from the dead girl, backing away. You only barely registered Sejanus calling out your name in concern, but you didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, you turned your eyes to the tributes, all ducking and cowering behind trees and tires. To your relief, Wovey was now awake, eyes wide as she crouched behind the tree stump with Bobbin.

The relief was short-lived, however, because peacekeepers began urging everybody away from the enclosure. You reached out for Coriolanus, taking his arm. He was shaking, eyes as large as saucers and visibly distraught.

The two of you walked to his estate in tense silence.

Once there, Grandma’am and Tigris fawned over the two of you, though in far different ways. Grandma’am dove into a lecture about rebels and how lucky the two of you were that your tributes hadn’t done the very same. Tigris wrapped a warm shawl over you and a patched blanket over her cousin, telling Grandma’am that Lucy Gray and Wovey weren’t rebels, just innocent girls.

“Trust me, that one hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” Grandma’am bitterly retorted. “Outside this Capitol, they’re savages, however they may smile. She will use you, Coriolanus. You must use her or you’ll end up dead in the trees, like your father.”

Coriolanus stiffened.

An hour later, he tugged you into his room and kissed you hard and desperate, as if he wanted to distract himself from his own thoughts. You were the one to pull away, even if everything inside you was screaming to stay. You almost caved, almost, when his head dipped forward in an attempt to capture your lips again, but you placed the tips of your fingers over his mouth with a soft, sympathetic smile. You hugged him tight until he stopped trembling, and reluctantly drew yourself away from him. After embracing Tigris goodnight, you walked home alone with your thoughts, wondering if the games were going to continue in lieu of the evening’s events.

There was an assembly held at the academy for Arachne’s death, followed promptly by a proper funeral. Though, it didn’t quite feel proper with all the cameras and reporters hovering around. You wondered if people were expecting to see you cry. You were incredibly shaken, sure, but were you sad?

It’d be a lie if you said yes.

They made sure to zoom in on you and Coriolanus when you kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand just before he was appointed to go on stage and sing the national anthem. Why he was the one to do so, the two of you had no idea. It’s not like Arachne was friends with him, despite what the reporters wanted to think. It was a ridiculous waste of breath, he thought, singing for a girl he barely knew.

After Coriolanus’ performance, President Ravinstill gave a rather monotonous speech about courage and bravery. How Arachne was going to be sorely missed. Right—of course she was.

And the very next day, life moved on. As if Arachne’s death had never happened.

Soon after, they had all the mentors and tributes gathered into one of the academy halls— with the tributes shackled to tables, of course. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for them to run. You’d seen all the peacekeepers lining the hallways outside.

“In spite of yesterday’s tragic events,” Highbottom said, not a shred of sincerity to be found in his tone, “our President has decided that the games must go on. Show everyone that the Capitol is unafraid of such acts of terror. To which end Dr. Gaul wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special, televised presentation of each tribute to our audience so they could… get to know them.”

A glorified show-and-tell, you dryly thought. How wonderful.

You and Coriolanus looked at each other for a brief moment—he’d ask Lucy Gray to sing again, you were certain. Then, you turned back forward, where Wovey was fiddling with her thumbs, sniffling a few times.

“You’ll have an hour to discuss strategy,” said the dean, before whisking himself off to the shadows of the room to down another vial of morphling.

You sat down in front of your tribute, trying your best to offer her a warm smile.

“Did you like the food I brought? Was it okay?” you whispered, making sure to lower your voice.

A nod, a scuffle of feet. Her bottom lip trembled.

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you moved on to the pressing matter at hand. “Okay, Wovey. I need… I need to know what you’re good at. Are you a fast runner?”

She thought for a moment, but then shook her head.

“I know you can climb?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “I used to climb in my mama’s factory all the time. Trees, too.”

“Good. That’s good,” you murmured, pulling out a notepad so you could jot some things down. “Are you good at hiding? Staying still?”

“I think so,” she said, looking awfully uncomfortable. “Will I go back home if I win?”

A sharp pang hit you square in the chest. You tore your gaze away from your notes on the paper to look at her.

“Yes,” you hesitantly replied. “They’ll take you home.”

This seemed to satisfy her for the time being. Gave her hope that you perhaps shouldn’t have instilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “So—for your televised presentation. We need to win the audience over so they send in donations—I’d be able to send you things. What do you want to do?”

After quite a bit of back and forth, you managed to get Wovey to agree to talk about her family on stage. How much she missed them. It wasn’t much, but perhaps the youngest tribute sympathy card would push the odds in your favor.

Halfway through the hour, however, Coriolanus and Clemensia were called away by Highbottom—most likely to discuss the proposal Coryo had written up once you left the estate. You made a mental note to ask him how it goes once you saw him again. You felt bad, seeing Lucy Gray sitting all alone, bound hands lightly rapping against the table’s wood.

By the stroke of four in the afternoon, they gathered all the mentors and tributes in front of the arena. Coriolanus came bounding up to the group just seconds away from the gates opening, appearing breathless and mildly frazzled.

“You okay? Where’s Clemmie?” you asked, resting a hand on his elbow, brows kinking with confusion.

“She’s… not going to make it.” He winced, appearing distinctly torn. “I’ll tell you later.”

There was a brief silence where you scrutinized him, eyes wide. Something bad happened when he was with Dr. Gaul, and you weren’t too keen on finding out.

You walked alongside Coriolanus into the arena, with your two tributes in front of you. Lucy Gray was saying something comforting to Wovey in that sweet voice of hers, and for that you were grateful. The last thing you needed was Wovey to break down in an anxious mess.

The arena itself was spacious but incredibly rundown, crumbling under the weight of its neglected upkeep. The glass roof was stained and dusty, rusty slants creaking as they parted to filter sunlight into the dome.

“Welcome to the arena of the 10th annual hunger games,” a distorted voice echoed through the arena’s shoddy speaker system. “Tributes, mentors, you have fifteen minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy.”

With one final squeeze on Coriolanus’ shoulder, you parted ways with him, stepping beside Wovey to urge her into a lap around the arena. Staggered rows of dusty seats lined the edges high above the ground—Wovey was a good climber, wasn’t she?

You tried your best to give her advice. “Hiding in the seats is your best option. Climbing over the rows whenever someone comes to attack you should buy you time. You’re small, too—I think you’d be able to crawl beneath the seats to get away. As for weapons… maybe grab something small from the center. A knife or a dagger. But only if you have time, and only if you know you can make it. If not, just make a break for the seats, as fast as you can. Got that, sweetheart?”

Wovey stayed silent. But she nodded. Nodded and nodded until you worried her head was going to pop right off.

You bent down at the waist slightly so that you were eye-level with her. “I’ll be watching you the whole time. I’m there if you need m—”

Sudden explosions rang out about the arena. Plumes of dust flew everywhere, blinding you almost instantaneously. With your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the ground shake and split and rumble until another closer explosion flung you a good few feet off the ground. You landed on your side with a strangled scream, though the pain only registered a few seconds later. Cracking your aching eyes open and squinting through the haze of dust, you caught sight of shattered glass thundering around you like crystalized rain, nicking your skin with sharp pin pricks.

Your right side buzzed with warmth. Something damp. You dazedly looked down.

Oh.

It seemed you’d landed right on a broken metal pipe, sticking right out of your abdomen. Blood was pooling down your academy uniform, soaking the fabric a far more sinister shade of red. You choked out something akin to a dry sob, before screaming out for help. You heard dozens of similar cries echo back to you.

With a grunt, you pushed yourself up,

“CORYO?!” you screamed as loud as you could. Faintly, you could hear his strained voice echo your name back—somewhere across the arena, you’d wager.

The pain was starting to grow worse. Searing, almost, as if you were being laid over an open fire. You staggered through the rubble, pressing a hand to your side in a terrible attempt to staunch the bleeding, careful not to jostle the pipe. It was probably the only thing keeping you from bleeding out right then and there.

As you kept moving, you caught sight of a large, gaping hole at the opposite end of the arena. There were tributes running out. Peacekeepers shooting them. The explosions had been so loud that your ears were ringing with terrible white noise—you couldn’t even hear the sound of the rifles blasting.

You glanced around wildly.

You spotted the small little girl near the edge of the arena. Running with Dill, you realized, mind still lagging a second too late from shock. Another explosion rattled through the arena—this time, crumbling the roof away completely.

With a mangled noise, you began limping as quickly as you could.

Another call of your name, echoing and rattling about your skull, and Coriolanus materialized right beside you out of seemingly nowhere. There were two of him, you realized. He appeared fuzzy.

You reached out for him, but he suddenly pulled you forward, yelling something. Something you couldn’t hear. A flash of rainbow by his left, and you saw Lucy Gray just barely escape being crushed by a large stone support column.

More crumbling ceiling. Coriolanus’ hands were cold when he urgently shoved you forward. So hard that you went tumbling down, screaming with the sudden painful jolts the metal pipe sent shooting up your spine. A second later, you blearily looked around for Coriolanus—realizing that he’d pushed you into the clear when you found him pinned down under heavy foundational slants—and they’d caught on fire.

Numb panic shot through your mind. You barely registered your own voice croaking out his name. You tried to crawl towards him, but he only seemed to get farther away.

The last thing you saw before your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you went careening backwards was the rainbow dress, and wild, dark hair.

The hospital bed was far from comfortable, but you’d been so tired you were knocked out for half of the day. Though, Tigris told you that you did sort of wake up at some point in the night, mumbling Coriolanus’ name with half-cracked eyes, before falling right back asleep.

He’d startled awake before you—rushing to your bed (right beside his) and taking your limp hand in his cold, clammy one. Brushed the hair away from your forehead and muttered apologies and please don’t die like they were a mantra.

When you finally stirred, you nearly burst into tears upon seeing Coriolanus.

“I thought you died,” you dry-sobbed. Your side ached considerably with the effort. “I thought I was going to die.”

He drew you into a loose hug, careful to avoid your bandaged midriff. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I love you—I’m not going anywhere, okay? Lucy Gray saved you. Saved us.”

“She did?” you croaked, voice soft. Yes, you sort of remembered. It was all a blur.

“She caught you before you could crack your head open on the ground,” said another voice. You turned your stiff neck to see Sejanus at the foot of the other side of your bed, next to Tigris, who was running her hand up and down your arm in a comforting manner.

You blew out a shaky sigh. Your head pulsed, and you suddenly felt nauseous. “What… what happened?”

They took turns explaining. Rebel bombing. The dead tributes. The president’s son, Felix, in critical condition. Sejanus’ tribute missing. How the games were still commencing regardless. The pipe that had been lodged in your abdomen missing any vital organs. How you were lucky to be alive.

“Wovey?” you whispered. “Is she okay?”

Coriolanus smoothed a hand over your head. “She’s okay. Not one of the ones that died.”

“Lucy Gray?” you whispered.

“Alive. She could have run. She stayed back to help you and me,” he said as his hand traveled down to gently cup your face. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I owe her now. She saved the love of my life.”

“Oh, Coryo—are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your gaze roamed all over his form, clad in an identical hospital gown.

“A few burns and bruises. Nothing compared to you.”

You drew in a staggered breath. Every muscle and tendon in your body screamed with even the slightest movements.

Tigris squeezed your hand. “We were so worried for you. Coriolanus couldn’t sleep all night. Your mother came by earlier but she had to leave—a spill in the lab, or something. And your father sends his love from district two. Your mother said he was furious. Military is doubling down.”

“Typical,” you whispered, supplying the three with half a weary smile, glad that they were there for you. “I can’t believe they’re going on with the games tomorrow. This is absurd.”

“They don’t want to seem weak,” Sejanus bitterly replied. “But you woke up just in time. The televised presentations are starting soon.”

Nearly an hour later, Sejanus switched on the television set hanging in front of the beds. Tribute after tribute went by, most of them appearing gaunt and exhausted. True to what the two of you had discussed, Wovey got on stage and talked about her family back in district eight, despite looking rather shaken. The audience crooned and sighed with pity. Donations were sparse, but still more than you had expected, to your bittersweet relief. You watched from the hospital bed, curled up with Tigris at the head of it, your head on her shoulder, whilst Sejanus and Coriolanus were standing far closer to the curved screen.

Lucy Gray was the last to go on. She had a guitar with her. And she sang a beautiful song—one about a boy back from home, she said. The audience cheered and sniffled. Even the nurses stopped their bustling to watch, some of them discreetly wiping away tears.

Once visiting hours were over and Tigris and Sejanus were shooed out of the hospital, Coriolanus sat beside you and slung an arm over your shoulder. He slotted his fingers beneath your chin and kissed you deeply. It was a slow embrace, with not a hint of sexual intentions—he just wanted to hold you. Remind himself that you were still alive, still here, still his.

Your nose nudged his when he laid his forehead over yours. The two of you breathed in each other’s comforting presence. Just the two of you. It reminded you of when times were so… uncomplicated. Before all the mentoring came along, the only things you had to worry about were grades and Coriolanus’ refusals to eat properly.

Then, he told you about Clemensia. How she was probably somewhere in this very building. How she screamed when she was bitten by the snake muttation. Your mind raced with questions, but you yawned instead and leaned against his chest.

“I love you, too, Coryo,” you whispered into his hospital gown, realizing you hadn’t said it back earlier.

A few minutes later, you were back asleep. Coriolanus was careful not to wake you when he laid you back down. Tucked the blanket up to your chin. He kissed your hairline once more, regarding you with a fond expression, before straightening, trying his best to ignore the aches blossoming over his back and legs.

And then he left the ward, assuring the doctors that he was fine and he could be discharged. They reluctantly agreed after a brief check-up, and had him sign off for himself. Once he was out, he immediately set off for the arena, trying to search for something, anything to keep his tribute alive.

Tunnels. The ground had collapsed into them, giving Lucy Gray a perfect place to run and hide. He went back home, making sure Grandma’am and Tigris were asleep—before pouring a copious amount of powdered rat poison into his late mother’s compact.

It was cheating. But you and Sejanus had both said it before—he was a rebel by nature. Bad news.

He visited the zoo enclosure and gave it to her then, informing her of the tunnels. Wiped her tears with a handkerchief, then told her he owed her his life and more. That you were okay, and it was all thanks to her. Lucy Gray looked overwhelmed for a moment. She did what any decent person would, she thought. He promised her that she’d get out. Return home to the Covey. False hope whispered unrealistic dreams into her ears and she let herself listen.

“We all do things we’re not proud of to survive,” he whispered when Lucy Gray attempted to protest, not wanting to poison anyone. He pushed the compact firmly into her hands. “Do it for your family.”

Conflict warred across her features. She nodded once, then twice.

Coriolanus' expression set with determination. “We are going to win this, Lucy Gray. We’re going to win this together. I’m going to get you home.”

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst

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mohammedatallah · 26 days ago

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Supporters, please support us to save lives, family and children, and to have an operation on my hand, which was shot with an explosive bullet and I need a bone graft, please.💔🍉🦋🍓

https://gofund.me/8b2ac999

Hello everyone, I hope you are all well. There are no words to express how grateful I and my family are to all of you. We are a family of 13, including my young children Malak, Ameer, Retaj, Rahaf, Saja, Alaa, Amani, Iman, Sobhi, Alaa, Ahmed, my husband and my injured brother Mohammed. When we launched this fundraising campaign, I never imagined that it would receive so much love, generosity and compassion. I honestly began to lose hope and wondered if our innocent children would ever find safety again; I was preparing for the worst. Your unwavering support has made me and my family feel hopeful again.

My one and greatest wish is that by the time the Rafah crossing reopens, I will have raised the necessary funds to evacuate my family. Individuals are paying huge sums ranging from $5,000 to $10,000 per person for evacuation, but every small donation can make a big difference. We send our sincere gratitude once again to everyone who donated, shared our story, or both, or even prayed for us. Thanks to you, we reached €20,000 out of €82,000 in a matter of days. Your contributions have made a huge difference, but we still have a long way to go before we reach our goal.

Please continue to support us and share our story so that our children and grandchildren can survive this brutal and relentless massacre of our people and not just be numbers on your phone screens. I know that donations are not easy in these times, but I believe that every contribution has the power to change someone’s life. That is why I am participating in this campaign with all my faith, not only to save them, but also to protect their dreams and help them get out of Gaza.

Before this war, I was a business administration student in my last semester of university in Gaza. I was looking forward to graduating and using my new degree to help my husband with his work. But I lost my home and my university. I also lost my uncle who was killed. He had young children like me. My family has lost all their livelihoods because of this war, and we are still clinging to life. We are currently living in miserable conditions - my two young children, Amir and Malak (whose picture I shared here) are crying because of the lack of basic food. Mohammed is waiting for evacuation and surgery, and my father is also in need of medical treatment. We are constantly trying to make ends meet while hunger and thirst try to kill us. Every day the scene continues to be filled with depression, sadness, fear and terror, the siege imposed on us and the genocide that pursues us and all kinds of torment and suffering and the spread of diseases, all this and more kills life in Gaza and kills our existence, and our lives have turned into a never-ending nightmare amidst hopes hanging by a thin thread, we are suffering now and do not know what tomorrow holds for us, and we do not know when this war will end because we have lost everything beautiful and we are about to lose more, we face harsh conditions and a dark future for our lives, displacement, poverty and pain, but there is a glimmer of hope,

We will not forget how you stood by us in the darkest times of our lives, thanks to each one of you, safety is no longer a distant dream, things will never return to the way they were, but knowing that there are brave souls there who will always stand by our side is what prevents us from completely surrendering to despair. With your help and generous donations, we can leave Gaza and build a new life and rise from the rubble.

Thank you,

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trueebeauty · 6 months ago

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- the kings + their problems

𝖩𝖨𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦 𝖪𝖶𝖠𝖪 - ᴘᴀʀᴀɴᴏɪᴀ

The dimly lit apartment casted an eerie shadow over Jichang's tense features as he paced back and forth, his fingers twitching.

Gitae Kim was definitely something… and it had left him on edge, his mind plagued with thoughts of potential danger lurking around every corner, worsened by the fresh bandage on his neck – a reminder of what he had barely escaped.

A soft knock at the door made Jichang freeze, his eyes widening ever so slightly as his gaze darted toward the sound. With a slight tremble in his hands, he approached the door cautiously, peering through the peephole with bated breath.

Relief washed over him when he spotted your familiar face on the other side. Quickly, he unlocked the door, ushering you inside with a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey," you greeted, concern etched on your features as you took in his tense demeanor and the bandage peeking out from beneath his collar. "How are you holding up?"

Jichang forced a nonchalant shrug, but his eyes betrayed him, "Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, his voice wavering ever so slightly. "Just been a long day, you know?"

You stepped closer, gently brushing your fingers against the bandage on his neck. Jichang flinched at the sudden contact, his muscles taut, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he seemed to melt into your touch, craving the comfort and security you provided.

"Jichang," you murmured, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on the tense muscles of his neck. "You don't have to put up a brave front with me. Talk to me."

A tremor ran through Jichang's body as he exhaled a shaky breath, his walls slowly crumbling under your tender gaze. "I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ever since the run-in, I've been constantly on edge, waiting for something else to happen."

You pulled him into a warm embrace, your fingers combing through his hair in a calming motion while your other hand continued to soothe the tension in his neck. "I'm here now," you whispered, your lips brushing against his cheek. "You're safe here, Jichang. We won't let anything happen to you."

Jichang leaned into your embrace, his rigid posture gradually relaxing as he allowed himself to bask in your presence. His trembling subsided, and his racing heartbeat slowed to a steady rhythm, lulled by your gentle voice and the caress of your touch.

𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖩𝖨 𝖸𝖴𝖪 - ᴜɴᴡᴏʀᴛʜɪɴᴇꜱꜱ

The sweet aroma of simmering sugar filled the air as Seongji and you worked side by side, carefully threading sugar on top of the strawberries.

A playful grin tugged at your lips as you nudged Seongji's shoulder, earning you a mock-offended gasp from him.

"Hey, watch it! You're going to make me mess up," Seongji chided.

"Oh, please, like yours could ever be anything less than perfect," you teased.

Seongji rolled his eyes, but the faint blush dusting his cheeks betrayed his pleasure at your compliment. As you reached for another skewer, your movements slowed, his gaze fixating on your hand – your perfectly normal, five-fingered hand.

A pang of insecurity flickered in his chest, and he quickly averted his eyes, turning his attention back to the simmering pot of sugar. But as he stirred, his mind wandered, dwelling on the differences between the two of you.

You were the complete opposite of him.

You were kind, loving, compassionate, open, and definitely more social.

He was cold, distrusting, introverted, he hated people (minus the children that you call **your nickname for them**).

"Who could ever love someone like me?" he thought, his brow furrowing as self-doubt crept in.

So lost in his troubled musings, Seongji failed to notice the splattering of hot sugar until a droplet landed on your hand, eliciting a hiss of pain from you.

"Ouch! Seongji, the pot!" you exclaimed, quickly grabbing a towel and wiping the sugar from your hand.

Seongji's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he realized the sugar had begun to burn and without thinking, he reached for the pot.

"Seongji, wait!" you cried out, but it was too late. He grasped the handle of the hot pot, and a pained hiss escaped his lips as the searing heat made contact with his hand.

Quickly, you grabbed your towel and wrapped it around your hand before carefully removing the pot from the heat and setting it aside. Your heart raced with concern as you rushed back to Seongji's side, gently cradling his injured hand in yours.

"Oh, Seongji," you murmured, your voice laced with worry as you examined the angry red burn marring his skin.

Seongji remained silent, his body tense as he watched you tenderly care for his wound. He couldn't comprehend why you were fussing over him, why you weren't repulsed.

"How can you stand to look at me, let alone touch me?" he whispered, his voice thick with self-loathing.

Your heart ached at the pain lacing his words, and you gently took his hand in yours, cradling it with the utmost tenderness. "Seongji, you are not a monster," you said firmly, your thumb caressing the extra digits with awe. "This is a part of you, and it's beautiful."

Seongji's eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief flickering across his features. "But—"

You shook your head vehemently, not letting him finish his sentence, leaning forward to press a featherlight kiss to each of his fingertips, cherishing every inch of his being. "You are perfect, just as you are."

Tears welled up in Seongji's eyes, but for the first time in a long while, they weren't born of anguish. Instead, they were tears of relief and acceptance.

"How did I get so lucky?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he gazed at you with adoration.

You smiled warmly, intertwining your fingers with his uninjured hand. "I'm the lucky one. And I'll spend every day reminding you of how truly special and loved you are if that's what it takes."

Seongji's lips curved into a genuine smile, gently, he raised your hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the exact spot where the sugar had burned you earlier.

"Thank you," he murmured, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. "For seeing me, for loving me, for everything."

𝖳𝖠𝖤𝖲𝖮𝖮 𝖬𝖠 - ᴠɪɴᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ

Taesoo Ma's muscles ached with fatigue as he unleashed a flurry of punches against the sturdy trunk of a pine tree. His knuckles stung with each impact, but the physical pain was a mere distraction from the burning rage that consumed him.

"That bastard," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with venom as he punched away at the stubborn tree. "I'll make you pay for everything you've done."

Taesoo had bought this secluded mountain property for hunting purposes, but it just turned into a place to train and hone his skills until he was ready for his rematch.

But as the days turned into weeks, his thirst for vengeance had morphed into an all-consuming obsession, driving him to push himself to the brink of exhaustion.

The sound of a tent flap unzipping behind him barely registered in Taesoo's mind, consumed as he was by his relentless assault on the tree. It wasn't until a familiar voice called out to him that he finally paused, chest heaving with exertion.

"Taesoo? Have you been out here all night?" you asked, concern lacing your tone as you took in his disheveled appearance.

Taesoo wiped the sweat from his brow, offering you a tired smile. "I lost track of time."

You frowned, crossing the clearing to stand closer to him. "You're going to run yourself into the ground at this rate," you chided gently, reaching out to cradle his bruised knuckles in your hands, your gaze lingering on the eye patch covering his missing eye.

Taesoo tensed, his good eye narrowing as he turned his head away, shielding himself from your view. He braced himself for the inevitable look of pity or disgust, but it never came.

Instead, you gently cupped his cheek, turning his face back towards you with a tender touch. "Hey," you murmured, your voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to hide from me."

Before Taesoo could protest, you pulled him into a warm embrace, your arms wrapping around him as you rested your cheek against his chest. "I'm here, Taesoo. All of you. The scars, the pain, the anger – I'll carry it all with you."

"I have to get stronger," he murmured, his voice laced with determination. "I can't let him get away with what he did to me, to the others."

Your heart ached at the pain etched into his features, and you gently guided him towards a nearby fallen log, coaxing him to sit down beside you.

"Taesoo, you're already one of the strongest people I know," you said earnestly, your thumb tracing soothing circles over his calloused knuckles. "But strength alone won't be enough to defeat someone like James Lee."

Taesoo's brow furrowed, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. "Then what else is there?"

You offered him a soft smile, "You need to take care of yourself, too," you murmured. "Pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion won't do you any good in the long run."

Taesoo let out a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them. "I just... I can't let him win. Not after what he's taken from me."

"And he won't," you assured him, your fingers gently carding through his hair. "But you need to trust that you'll be ready when the time comes. For now, focus on your own well-being. Let me take care of you."

A flicker of vulnerability flickered across Taesoo's face, but he didn't shy away from your tender touch. Instead, he leaned into your embrace, "I don't know what I did to deserve you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You pressed a featherlight kiss to his temple, your arms wrapping around him in a comforting embrace. "You deserve the world, Taesoo. And I'll be right here, every step of the way, reminding you of that."

𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖦𝖸𝖤𝖮𝖭 𝖭𝖠 - ᴍᴀᴛᴇʀɪᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ

The roar of a powerful engine echoed through the bustling streets as Jaegyeon Na pulled up in yet another sleek, high-end sports car. His face was alight with childlike glee as he stepped out of the driver's seat, running his hands along the pristine exterior with joy.

"Isn't she a beauty?" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with uncontrolled enthusiasm.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you approached him, a small frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Jaegyeon, didn't you just buy a new car last month?"

Jaegyeon's grin faltered slightly at your scolding tone, but he quickly recovered, waving a dismissive hand. "Ah, that old thing? It was starting to feel a bit dated, you know how it is."

You arched an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "No, Jaegyeon, I don't know how it is. You can't keep going through cars like this. It's a colossal waste of money."

Jaegyeon's pout deepened, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated display of grumpiness. "But, I take good care of my cars! It's not my fault that they get... a little scratched up now and then."

You fixed him with a pointed look, recalling the numerous instances of Jaegyeon's "minor scratches" turning into full-blown dents and shattered windshields. "Jaegyeon, you need to stop damaging your cars. This habit of yours is getting out of hand."

Jaegyeon's shoulders slumped, and he kicked at an imaginary pebble on the ground, his expression almost comically dejected. "It's not like I mean to wreck them," he mumbled, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Your heart softened at the genuine sadness in his tone, and you stepped closer, gently cupping his cheek in your hand. "I know, Jaegyeon. But you have to drive carefully, especially ones as expensive as these cars."

Jaegyeon leaned into your touch, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I do, I just get so caught up in the thrill of driving, you know? And besides half the time, someone else breaks it."

You couldn't help but smile, even as you shook your head in exasperated fondness. "I know, but that's no excuse for recklessness. Promise me you'll take better care of this one?"

A slow grin spread across Jaegyeon's face, and he nodded eagerly. "I promise. No more scratches, dents, or shattered windshields. Scout's honor!"

You chuckled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Somehow, I doubt you were ever a scout, but I'll take your word for it."

Jaegyeon beamed, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "You know, you're the best."

You rolled your eyes playfully but returned his embrace with equal warmth anyways.

𝖦𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖡 𝖩𝖨 - ɪᴍᴘᴜʟꜱɪᴠᴇ

Gongseob Ji let out a triumphant whoop as his opponent crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold. He puffed out his chest, reveling in his victory, when a sudden urge struck him – an impulsive desire to assert his dominance even further.

Hands immediately unzipping his zipper, just as he was about to act on that ill-advised impulse, a familiar voice cut through the haze of adrenaline.

"Gongseob Ji, don't you dare!" you exclaimed, rushing towards him with a look of sheer disgust engraved on your face.

Gongseob froze, his eyes widening as you grabbed him by the ear, tugging him away from the unconscious figure on the ground.

"Ow, ow, ow! [Your Name], what gives?" he protested, wincing at the firm grip you had on his ear.

You fixed him with a stern look, your free hand reaching to his zipper, pulling it up. "You know exactly what gives, Gongseob. Don't even try to play innocent with me."

Gongseob pouted, his bravado deflating under your disapproving gaze. "But I won fair and square! I was just going to celebrate a little."

You arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his justification. "By peeing on your opponent? Yeah, that's not happening."

Gongseob's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and he averted his gaze, mumbling under his breath. "Well, when you put it like that..."

Your expression softened, and you released his ear, opting instead to gently cup his face in your hands. "Gongseob, you're an amazing fighter, but you can't just do that. It's disrespectful and frankly, a bit gross."

Gongseob's shoulders slumped, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes full of remorse. "You're right, I got carried away again, didn't I?"

You smiled softly, brushing his braid to the back. "It's okay, Just remember, true strength isn't about showing off or humiliating others. It's about having the discipline and self-control to use your abilities responsibly."

Gongseob nodded, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. "You always know just what to say, don't you?"

You chuckled, linking your arm through his as you guided him away from the scene. "Someone has to keep that impulsive streak of yours in check, Mr. Hotshot Fighter."

#lookism headcanons #lookism x male reader #taesoo ma #kwak jichang #jaegyeon na #gongseob ji #seongji yuk #lookism x reader #lookism #lookism manhwa

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