#chuck it in the fuck it bucket

[hjbender]

Once again my art process is brought to a screaming, smoking halt by my coloring skills, which have not progressed in the past 12 years and may have in fact gotten worse.

[onelonelyghost0]

I constantly cycle between “I can’t let my illness make me ill, I should keep it from everyone and ensure that I act like a normal person even if it makes me push past my limits it’s ok bc I’m pretty and have good days so why should I let this define me?” And “I don’t give a flying fuck Debrah, I am ill, I’ll always be ill unless the chucklefucks running medical research finally get off their ass and find me a cure, and my illness is acting up, so therefore I’m going to stay in bed today bc moving makes my entire back hurt and if ANYTHING touches my stomach I’m going to throw up from pain. I’m over sharing so you leave me alone and I can do what I need to” on a consistent basis. Like it’s not even funny.

Anyway guess who had to reassure multiple people I didn’t need to go to the ER bc they can’t do jack shit other than give me stronger pain meds and I just need a day to stay in bed.

[phaedraismyusername]

Very tired of this constantly skint and mostly miserable shtick so decided to entirely rinse out my bank account to buy an all new skincare routine and a sale laptop *just* for writing so... yeah

[elephantbitterhead]

An additional downside of this rightly-berated-by-OP approach is that the popularity of this ugly brutality means that it becomes the only thing many non-gardening people recognize as landscaping. So if, like me, you have a lush, thriving wild garden, anyone who is not themselves invested in naturalistic planting will see your garden & just say 'Man, fuck this wasteland.' They will empty every kind of bin & bucket over your plants, they will trample them to death, they will stomp past them heedlessly snapping their beautiful, arching bodies, etc. When they're not actually killing your plants, they will be flinging trash around and destroying features like rock or wood piles. It doesn't matter how many 'cues to care' you include, it doesn't even matter if you're actually standing right there telling them to stop. Nothing I have tried thus far has convinced a single workman/contractor/etc. to give my garden a break. Even if they seem to feel bad when you point out what they're doing, they're right back at it as soon as you leave the scene. Guys! I've spent 10 years trying to make a neglected mess of nettle, dock, and coal ash look like an actual landscape and YOU ARE HARMING IT. OK, well, the plants are tough so you're probably not really harming it that much in the long term but my god you are standing on things I grew from seed and you are pissing me off so severely you have no idea.

I 100% guarantee they are not doing this in some dope's mulched-up sea of garden-center bedding plants. Because THAT'S what they see as a real garden. They may not be treating those plants with tender care, but they're not stomping all over them like they're not even there or just dumping their toxic slop bucket directly into an edged bed.

Imagine if baking bread was a skill any person living independently in their own house needed to have at least a passing familiarity with, so there were endless books, blogs and websites about how to bake bread, but none of them seemed to contain the most basic facts about how bread actually works.

You would go online and find questions like "Help, I put my bread in the oven, and it GOT BIGGER!" and instead of saying anything about bread naturally rises when you put yeast in it, the results would be advertising some kind of $970 device that punches the bread while it's baking so it doesn't rise.

Even the most reliable, factually grounded sources available would have only the barest scraps of information on the particularities of ingredients, such as how different types of flour differ and produce different results, or how yeast affects the flavor profile of bread. Rice flour, barley flour, potato flour and amaranth flour would be just as common as wheat flour, but finding sources that didn't treat them as functionally identical would be near impossible. At the same time, websites and books would list specific brands of flour in bread recipes, often without specifying anything else.

An unreasonable amount of people would be hellbent on doing something like baking a full-sized loaf of bread in under 3 minutes, and would regularly bake bread to charred cinders at 700 degrees in an attempt to accomplish this, but instead of gently telling people that their goal is not realistic, books claiming to be general resources would be framed entirely around the goal of baking bread as fast as possible, with entire chapters devoted to making the charred bread taste like it isn't charred.

Anyway, this is what landscaping is like.

[whimsysalesman]

listening to Anark's Modern Anarchism essays at work and boy howdy to i love giving so few shits about a job that i will blast anarchist theory out loud for anyone to hear if they walk in. what're they gonna do, fire me?

[chocobothis]

I’m at the point that Axe Woves now is a mix of human and Arkanian Offshoot. A little bit is because I want to diversify the Mandalorians from just humans. Mostly it’s because I spent too long developing him as Pre’s bff to scrap that now. 

Congrats bud. One of your parents was genetically engineered to live longer and age slower because the Arkanians created them for specialty work. Which honestly can explain part of the Axeness he’s got going on.

[sorcerous-caress]

I'm so jealous of Daniil. Having only played the Haruspex route so far in both game, each time I'm invited to the Bachelor's place I turn green with envy at how he resides at an actual proper house with a real room and a real bed.

A real bed with a whole bedframe. A pillow with an actual pillowcase!! His bed even has sheets!

He has WINDOWS. His house is in a nice neighbourhood, and his roommate is a very attractive woman. There is actual furniture in his room. Not one hint of fungus growing on the walls or rust!

Can you imagine living there as your lair? Spending the whole game knowing you have a real house with a real bed to go back to at the end of each night? Seeing Eva's face every day before leaving to do quests?

Meanwhile, Artemy is stuck in this dumpster room of an abandoned factory. Cuddling with rats on his makeshift bed, held by nothing but a wooden panel, some boxes and a dream.

A pillow so yellow it has its own ecosystem where bugs established real estate. Is that even a pillow or is it some random rock Artemy found and chucked in there? Is it a stale loaf of bread?? Why is it hard looking?

But no, you don't even get to keep the rock roach pillow because in P2, they take it away.

Fuck you Artemy, you had it good for too long. No pillow now because what are you gonna do about it?. Fold your mattress instead to have a resemblance of a faux sense of protection under your most vital organ during the long hours of death rehearsal that you call sleep.

Somehow, they made the bed even more unstable looking. As if that thin panel in the middle could hold Artemy's weight without caving in. Oh, and apparently, I ran out of boxes to use for furniture because the bed and the table have to share custody of the same box.

We have downgraded into barrels now, as you can see :) No, I don't know what they used to contain inside.

Waking up every day to Sticky's snotty face telling me not to spit in the wind and nagging me about cleaning up the week-old human organs thrown around that are stinking up the place.

THERE IS MOLD GROWING ON MY WALLS. RUST FLAKES FALL FROM THE EXPOSED METAL PIPES DOWN INTO MY CEREAL EACH BREAKFAST.

This single wall holds so much mold and fungus that they started crossbreeding and evolved into new, never seen before types of bacteria. Satan's asscrack is more hygienic than whatever biohazard plagues of Egypt this slab of concrete contains.

I live in the gutters. My only neighbours are an illegal gang of minors with a hatred for furries and another illegal gang but of adults this time who sell me bullets way above the market price. A dangerous neighbourhood where you can't have shit because SOMEONE STOLE MY BULL.

The basement I reside in has no windows, the smell is pungent and fucking vile down here. There isn't even a space for a bathroom.

This is my kitchenette/bathroomette/showerette/cupboardette/surgery tools disinfection stationette/sinkette/watercoolerette/toilette/fridge.

also my buckets yk.

One bucket for the makeshift bathroom, another for holding important organs and loose guts during surgery, a third one as a cooking pot for making tasty meat grub soup and the final one for murky water after sweeping the floor.

What do I use to tell them apart? Oh nothing :) I just mix em up every now and then, oppsie daisy.

Oh and the floors are CONSTANTLY wet for some reason. Yeah sticky slipped and almost broke his neck the other day so watch your steps.

There is also this eerie room with literal garbage and broken furniture right next to the entrance. Don't worry about it, sometimes I hear someone crying and screaming for help when I'm trying to go to sleep but it's just the factory being silly lol.

Now this? This is where the M A G I C happens. This is where Artemy the Menkhu makes his famous herbal remedies and natural mixtures. This is where the Panacea for the infamous sand plague gets made!

In a rusty empty food can.

Falling into a bucket with shit stains.

MEDICINE BABBYYY. GET YOUR WEAK SOFT BONED ASS BACK TO THE CAPITAL BITCH, THIS IS HOW REAL MEN MAKE REAALLL MEDICINE!! RAWRRRRR🦅🦅💥💥

Meanwhile, dickovsky has the view of the cathedral and polyhedron just around the corner from where he resides. He has a backyard with a lake, and all I have is a swamp behind my basement. I trudge through the mud each night, collecting weeds and herbs to mix and trade so I and the two orphans who adopted themselves into my life don't go starving.

Not to mention the gaggles of herb brides loitering outside and giving me a false bad reputation.

That dandy douchbag has a pharmacy, a grocery, and a tailor right next door. The closest establishment to my shrekcore place of resident is a dingy basement bar with shady drinks and no bouncer to check for ID, I saw two kids in there once.

Pov: a qt3.14 surgeon says his dad isn't home and invites you over.

[ravensmadreads]

TAYLOR - I-

Chapter 6 of Recovery Road

chapter rating: E (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 9305

chapter summary: a honeymoon of sorts.

chapter warnings/tags: relapse, depictions of drugs/alcohol/actions under the influence, dubcon because neither character is sober, lots and lots of smut

a/n: this chapter is particularly bittersweet for me. so begins the continues the downward spiral. highly recommend reading this on ao3 so you can see the proper formatting for the text!

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“Refill on your whiskey, sir?”

His fingers hover over the keyboard on his phone. Her question broke his concentration, if there had been any at all. He has rewritten that last line at least three times now. 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

The flight attendant smiles at him, a tall brunette with a bob down to her chin. If she recognizes him, she gives no indication.

“Your whiskey, sir. Would you like another? We still have an hour before we land.” 

He rattles the plastic cup that’s mostly ice water now and then throws the remnants back. He nods.

“Thanks.”

She takes the cup and puts it in the trash bin in her trolley. She unscrews the bottle of Buffalo’ Trace before preparing a new cup. 

This early, the plane is mostly empty. The lights are low, the air is warm, and most passengers are asleep. The flight attendant speaks softly as the plane rattles in the wind. 

“Is this your first time visiting New Orleans?”

He nods.

“On your honeymoon?” She nods to the woman asleep in the seat next to him, her head on his shoulder. He spins the gold ring on his finger with his thumb. 

“Something like that.” 

She wipes the bottom of the cup with a small napkin before giving it to him.

“Congratulations, then.” She smiles brightly. “As they say, laissez le bon temps rouler.”

The trolley squeaks as she rolls down the aisle, gently asking those still awake if they’d prefer coffee or anything stronger. Beneath the half-closed window blinds, a strong pink light peaks through. 

His glance returns to his phone. He still hasn’t sent the text he means to. It won’t go through this high up, but he doesn’t want to look at it once the plane lands. 

He looks at the woman next to him. His heart swells. He kisses her forehead. He goes back to his phone, types the first thing that comes to him, and taps send. 

It’s not his problem right now. It’s not going to be for the next two weeks. Two weeks and he has to be back in Los Angeles to start touring for the press junket. He intends to make the best of it. 

He clicks the phone to lock it, and he slides it back into his jacket pocket. And without much thought or hesitation or anxious overthinking, he slides off his wedding ring and pockets that too. 

He picks up the sleeping woman’s hand and kisses her knuckles. She stirs in her sleep and he smiles. 

Maybe it’s the second glass of whiskey he’s had in two years, but he feels good about this.

His last text sits, waiting for reception. 

 

“Dieter, you cannot be serious.” 

He slips his hand into yours and kisses your knuckles. He can do that here. “I am.”

You let yourself be dragged, mouth agape, as he guides you past a cobalt blue swimming blue, lined by red brick. Your baggage bumps and clatters as it knocks over the ridges. He leads you through a green door, where the French Colonial style homes have been refurbished into individual rentals. Black metal railings puff and curl on the upper balconies. Pastel green shudders line white windows. Flowering dogwood trees bend and wave in the breeze from their stations in the courtyard between doors. 

He leads you down to unit 162, gold and embossed on the front of a green door. Grinning over his shoulder, he unlocks it with a comically large brass key. 

“Hey, now, I’ve seen Skeleton Key,” you tease. The humidity in the air makes his curls extra tight, scooping up the back of his neck. “This isn’t going to end badly for me, is it?”

“Depends on how you define ‘badly’,” he shrugs and shoulders his way through the door. 

Inside is a gorgeous kitchen that manages to straddle the old and new. Modern appliances tuck up against the wall on the right, while on the other wall sits a beautiful square kitchen table, with fat knobs and white molding. Above the table, the entire wall is made of chalkboard.

You frown at the French written there in an elegant hand.

“What does that mean?”

He shuts the door behind him, smiling. “It’s an old Creole saying. It means, let the good times roll.”

You smirk at him, eyebrow raised. “Expecting a lot of good times here, Mr. Bravo?” 

His hand takes a big squeeze of your ass as he pulls you into his chest. You giggle as his sharp nose trails along your cheek. 

“It’s certainly on the itinerary.” 

He can almost smell the desire that flickers within you. You bend your head to catch his mouth, but he turns away at the last minute. He runs his finger underneath the strap of your white dress. It's currently in the running for his favorite of yours, tied only with those fucking denim shorts. 

“Go look upstairs. I’ll get our bags.”

Your cork heels clatter as you bounce up the white wooden stairs. He smiles to himself when you gasp. He takes your bag and his and follows you up.

The white shutter doors are flung open to tempt some bayou breeze, offering the beautiful view into the courtyard below. From this cottage, you can see over the private wall, down into the street on the other side. You smell sugar and molasses, and you sigh. Inside is a white bed with a brass frame. The tan walls are offset by a single wall of red brick, similar to the pathway outside. Above you, a fan spins, a much needed relief to the humid heat. 

You stand out on the porch, clearly enjoying listening to the music that can be faintly heard from Jackson Square, hands wrapped around the railing. The breeze blows your dress and any remaining anxiety around the phone in his pocket is gone. 

He hasn’t heard from Chloe.

He hasn’t heard from Heidi. 

He’s made a decision. It’s time to fucking commit. 

Finally allowed to, finally where no one could see, he joins you out on the porch and tangles his hand into your hair. He thumbs the curls there encouraged by the humidity and with a sigh, he presses his lips to your hairline at the back of your neck. You wait until he pulls back, to turn over your shoulder to him, his arms ensnaring your waist.

“This is beautiful, Dieter,” you murmur as you nose his jaw, your hand scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know how you found the most perfect place, but you did.” 

“I want to take care of you, baby.” You smell like lemons and lavender, as he runs his nose against the length of your neck. “I want to show you how much I care.”

You stiffen momentarily before folding into his open arms even more. 

The cottage block is quiet, discrete, and rather empty of prying eyes. He intends to take you out, to let you wander as any other normal couple in the Crescent City, but not just yet. His hands rub up your sides, thumbing your exposed skin on your shoulders where the shoulder straps are tied together. The sweet smell of powdered sugar in the humid wind and the curve of your neck is making his mouth water. 

“Besides, I’m making up for my other decisions. One regarding an office and a very sturdy desk,” he whispers in your ear, delighting in the way you shiver from just his words. Delicately, he slides up the hem of your dress and squeezes your thigh as a reward. His hand travels up, then in, and his finger brushes the line of your panties. 

“I’m suddenly very interested in your apology.” You turn in his arms, the bunched up fabric of your dress running against the front of his jeans and he has half-a-mind to take you on this goddamn balcony in the open air. Because he can. 

“Hmm, it’s going to be very long.” 

He eases your legs up and around his waist and your arms glide over his shoulders. Your breath smells like the gum and champagne you bought at the airport. He swears he can see your pulse point flicker on your throat.

“Oh? And?”

“Very complicated.” 

He carries you back into the room and folds you backwards onto the bed. Your cheeks are flushed from the warmth outside as you slide your feet out of your heels and he positions himself in between your legs. You drop onto your back, fingering his belt. 

You mock-frown. “Complicated? Oh, I dunno if I can follow along.”

The two whiskeys he’s had are thrumming in his veins, wants to taste that biting sweetness off your mouth again. He takes you by the heel and kisses your ankle, his other hand diving under your dress and back up to your panties. Your eyes flutter when he finds the spot he wants. He drops your ankle over his shoulder and steps forward, closer. You’re losing the ability to speak –  he can tell by the way your mouth parts as his thumb rubs your clit through your underwear. 

“You won’t be able to do much of anything, once I’m done with you.” 

“Dieter–,” you’re already getting impatient. 

“Oh, don’t ‘Dieter’ me. What’s the saying, good things come to those who wait?”

“I like the other one more. Especially the part about things rolling.”

You grab at his wrist and, as if to demonstrate, roll your hips against his fingers, trying to angle them where you want. He smirks as he twists his hand and grinds the heel of his palm into your clit, his fingers stroking you through the fabric. He nearly loses himself when he feels just how wet you are. The thin strip of underwear you so foolishly decided to wear is hardly anything more than damp twine now. 

You whine as he gathers your slick with his thumb and crowns your clit with it. “Dieter, c’mon.”

“I told you I was gonna go slow. Maybe I need to be reminded of what comes next. What do you need, baby?” 

“Your fingers,” you huff, eyes half-lidded as you watch his forearm flex, not being able to see but instead, feeling exactly what he’s doing to you. Do you always close your eyes when you come? He wonders. 

“You have them.” He steps closer, your ass against his thigh. 

“I want them inside of me.” 

Grinning like the bastard he is, he drags your underwear off one hip, then the other, then he rolls it up your thighs – you gasp when you see just how completely destroyed they are, slick making them sticky – and he tosses them by the luggage. 

Your eyes drop shut when his warm hands return near to where you need them most, but not quite exactly. He’s kneading your thighs, your ass, dragging his middle finger up through your slick and sucking on it. He hums, lips all the way down to his knuckle, and you drip more at the thought of sucking him off. 

“What do you want?”

You swallow, mouth dry. “F-fingers. I want your fingers. Inside of me,” you clarify, as you learn how to ask him properly. 

There should be an award for the amount of restraint he shows by not flipping up your dress and watching as he slowly presses his finger into your pussy. He wants to watch, but he also wants you a little bit angry with him, teased to the point of frustration, so he explores you with his finger. And then a second one. 

Your walls pinch his fingers and your back arches. “Oh, yes, Dieter, that’s it.” 

He brushes and strokes and fucks you with his fingers. Slowly. Methodically. He follows every line of your face, every twitch of skin, as you frown with pleasure. Your nails bite his wrist, your other land flat out next to you, fingers clenching the blanket. If there are stories of the Legendary Dieter Tongue, there had to be fucking songs about his fingers. 

He groans and drops your ankle from his shoulder, pushing your thigh to the side and exposing more of you. 

“Do you like this, baby? How you’re spread out for me?”

You nod, bottom lip chewed beyond recognition. He curls his fingers and you moan, the sound stifled and muted. He gently presses down on your lower abdomen to feel himself fuck up into you.

“I’ve already opened your legs. Do I need to open that mouth too?” He leans over you, somehow getting even deeper with his fingers, the sound lewd and squelching. He kisses you on the corner of your mouth because he wants to keep your lips parted. “You have to be loud for me, okay?”

You huff, skin pink, and nod. 

“Let me hear you say it.”

“Yes, Dieter. I’ll be loud for you.”

“Good girl.” And he adds a third finger. The stretch is exquisite and you let him know with a moan that digs into the ceiling. 

“Told you you’d like it if I took it slow.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, voice strained. “But I want it rough later. I need it, Dieter.”

That intensely satisfies him. He beckons you towards the edge just for that. He thumbs your clit in purposeful, deliberate circles as his fingers curl and twist inside of you. “We’ll stay here as long as you need it, alright, baby? For as many orgasms as you can give me. And speaking of, I’d like one now. Please.”

Maybe it’s the low gravel of his voice– laced with need and want – or the faint tease of his mustache and beard against your throat, or it’s the final relief after a thousand denials. For once in your life, you listen to him and the orgasm sparks out from your core and up through your spine. Your back, hips, shoulders arch off the bed as that wildfire sends you into orbit. 

He should make you clean yourself off him, but he wants that scent, wants his fingers coated in you. He watches you ride your orgasm and he licks his fingers. His pants are unavoidably uncomfortable right now. As you spiral back down from your high, he takes you by the waist and pulls you up near the head board, to give himself enough space to lie down. 

“Fuck, Dieter . . .” 

“I hope you do,” he grins as he bends your knees, planting your feet wide enough for him to get between your legs. You do your best impression of exasperation while still trying to remember which room you’re in. Your skin is glowing from sweat. 

He knows he’s sweating too, feeling it in the valley of his spine, and he doesn’t want to overheat this quickly. While you finally center, he takes off his shirt with one hand over his head. He unzips his pants and your eyes widen, hips arching up, so eager and willing to take him.

He kisses your knee. “Not yet, baby girl. This next one is for me.” 

He peels down the hem of your dress and his mouth floods with spit. 

Your cunt is pink, swollen from the pump of his fingers. It’s wet and your curls are wet and he knows that is the only thing in the world he needs to drink when he’s so parched. You ache to be filled again. 

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

He hums in appreciation and drops to his elbows between your legs. His bare shoulders up against the back of your thighs and his fingers pressing into the creases of your hip, he spares a glance at you. 

Your chest is flushed, breath hitching, and your hair has fallen down from its bun. You can feel his breath on your exposed cunt, the burn of his beard feeling as warm as though you held your hand out over an open flame. 

As an actress, you are confident, striking, and serious. 

Under him, you’re reduced to pathetic whines and humping the air. 

“Baby, please,” you huff, voice small as if truly uneasy. 

He licks one bold stripe up the length of your cunt, swallowing your slick like he would chase an errant drop of melting ice cream– and then he goes back for seconds. 

It’s not sweat-drenched whiskey. 

It’s better. 

“Oh, Dieter,” you sound on the verge of tears. He strokes as far as he can reach with his tongue, before sliding it back out to wrap warmly around your clit. He sucks once and your hands fly to his hair. He sucks again and your moan is strangled, coming deep from inside of you. 

He holds you to him, mouth and tongue wrecking every single sensitive part of you they can reach, his gaze on your face. He adds his fingers back in as reward for yanking so divinely on his hair. 

He doesn’t feel like he’s conquering, though he should. After all those fights, he finally managed to make you incoherent, but watching your face contort with pleasure, your moans making the heartbeat in his neck spike, he instead feels more possessive. This isn’t a stupid fuck for him. This might not even be to get back at Chloe. This doesn’t feel like backsliding. How he feels about you is entirely unique to any of the other fucked up shit in his life. This is different.

Mouth more attached to you than if he had fangs, he eats you whole. He grinds his hips into the mattress and the rough rub of the zipper on his hard cock makes him groan wet, damp air into your pussy. 

You vibrate against the sensation, as if you are overwhelmed. He drops his forearm across your hips like a steel bar. He’s not letting go until you rattle out a second orgasm. He tongues that one spot that made your breathing stop with his fingers inside of you. That white hot heat inside of you is blooming, the fires expanding every time you look down and make eye contact with him. He’s watching you with determination and focus as though you were an intricate puzzle he wanted to pick apart, its guts all exposed, and remake to hear it click. 

He’d rather be flung into the sun than take his mouth off you but he can’t talk to you the way he wants. He mouths the words in between licks.

You’re so fucking beautiful.

I can’t stand it when I’m not around you.

Your cunt is so pretty. 

I wanna fuck you on all fours but I know your legs won’t work after this. 

You’re not allowed to come for anyone else but me. 

He takes off his mouth for a moment, you hiss at the emptiness, and then he blows warm air all the way up your cunt before taking your clit into your mouth and sucking, adding his three fingers again.

Ecstasy makes black spots cover your vision as he carries you through another orgasm, pleasure sparking out from your core again, your muscles locked in sweet rapture. He swallows and laps up your release into his mouth, greedy and eager. Your hips jerk and he stays latched on, thumb rubbing what could be comforting smooth circles over the bunched up fabric of your dress – if his hand wasn’t so fire hot. 

He thinks you were close to squirting and he remembers that little spot on the left side for later. 

He leans back onto his heels, chin, cheeks and the end of his nose glistening, as you sink into the mattress, your legs and back muscles spasming slightly. 

In all your jerking and bucking, the strap on your shoulder became undone. The top of your dress is uneven. 

He finally lets himself picture what he only suspected earlier. You are absolutely not wearing a bra. He strains in his pants. He palms himself, knowing he’s not going to last but he needs to see those pretty tits of yours bounce. The last time he fucked you, he could only imagine. The time “before” that, they were bound with tape and he refused to look at them anyway. 

“Baby, can I?” 

You tear your eyes away from his swollen red cock, visible through his zipper. He’s fingering the other strap’s knot, waiting for permission. You nod, your irises swallowing the lovely color of your eyes. 

He plucks the strings loose and, pinching the fabric by your waist, he gently tugs your dress down. You arch as the hem drags across your sensitive nipples and he groans when your tits bubble up as the dress gets to your ribs. He continues pulling, his heart pounding in his ears, and then you’re naked for him. He takes in a breath and your cunt throbs at the sound of adoration. 

He feels it. His brain inhales this moment in a snapshot, a flash and a pop of smoke, before he’s ready. This moment will always be there. 

You’re scrambling to meet him as his fingers dig into your hips to pull you up. His arm digs around your back, pressing the back of your neck towards him as he kisses you desperately, wildly, as though some sort of apocalypse was minutes away from unleashing hell on earth. His forearm hooks around your low back as he pulls you into his lap, thighs tense. 

His nose and mouth run the length of your neck. He feels your pulse jump under his lips and there he finally uses teeth. He bites you and sucks just enough for your hips to jolt in his lap. Hickeys are not part of taking it slow but desire is rubbing itself up his spine, his cock so hard it was painful. He palms your breast, gathering the weight and flicking your exposed nipple. He ducks his head to taste the sweat as it runs from your throat down your under the swell of your breast. 

He slips his pants down and off, with your arms around his neck. The second he’s freed, you crowd him, hand dropping to his lap to squeeze him. 

“Don’t,” he hisses, “later. Need to be inside of you, now.” 

With shocking strength and dexterity, he picks you up by your thighs and hauls you to his chest. You reach back, finding him below you and slowly, slowly, slowly sink down. 

He was right. He took his time with you and now, with a single thrust of his hips, he’s inside you with barely any resistance. But –

“Fuck, Dee, the stretch,” you gasp into his ear, head tucked into his shoulder. He murmurs filthy secrets of desperation, mapping you from the flush of your ass, all the way up to the knot of your spine in his hands. He has you, you’re here. You want him. You want his cock. He tugs your knees around his hips, shifting him inside you. From collar bone to pelvis, you are skin to skin– your breasts pressed flat against his chest, your stomachs riding up against each other, you’re seated on him and he is fully inside of you. He grinds his teeth, his mouth pressed up to your shoulder, and then, his hips roll in and out of you, an inch at a time. 

Slow. Tense. Filthy. 

You whimper.

“That’s it. Take it, baby, take all of me.” 

It’s almost too much. You’re sensitive and sore from your other orgasms but just as the last one ebbs, another one is kindling, pleasure knotting again and again in your core. He fucks you almost like he’s bored– playing with a toy, a cock-sleeve, a place to rub one out. But it’s the drag, the controlled thrusts– he’s making sure you feel every slide and touch of his cock inside you. His pace is maddening. 

He pulls away from clutching you to him, pulls back to look you in the eyes. His hands slide and grip you by the hips, pushing you down so that his thrusts are that much deeper, almost painful. You tighten your grip around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, the sweat and the heat radiating from him like a solar flare. He knows you need it hot and fast but he doesn’t want it to end yet. He knows he’s being mean, too much teasing, overstimulation. 

He fucks you like he’s trying to break something. Or fix something. He squeezes his eyes shut, breath ragged and mouth parted. He cups the back of your head, the smell of your hair making his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Tha’s right, baby, hold on t’ me. Grip me. Let me do the work. I’ll get you there. I’ll do it.” 

“Dee, please, move faster,” you moan. “I’m almost there. Just give it to me.” 

He tightens his grip on you again, easing you against his chest – he’s trembling, control slipping– but he doesn’t change his pace. It’s steady, it’s constant. Your orgasm is staggering, lumbering towards you, so large and all consuming you almost fear the weight of it. 

“I can finally-finally fuck sweet baby’s pussy the way I want to.” He puts a hand to your cheek, your jaw, upturning your face to him to kiss you. He thrusts lazily and you feel like you’re going to drown. His back is damp. He’s so warm. “I’m gonn-nuh— make it last.”

“Fuck– please. Please. Dieter, I wanna come. Please.” Your voice is wet, like you might cry.

He can’t resist begging. Or praise.

“Gimme one more like this and I’ll fuck you like you want, alright?” 

You squeeze your thighs around his ribs, the only sign you can give him that yes, you’re listening, yes, he’s wrenching another orgasm out of you– thank you, Dieter, oh God, Dieter – 

Just as you crest the wave, he shifts up onto his knees in a particularly brutal stroke, holding your knees to his waist, his other hand wrapped tightly around the curve of your shoulder— and starts jackhammering into you. 

It’s like he’s rung a bell inside of you. 

“Oh, shit—,” 

You can feel your body ringing. 

Your next orgasm nearly knocks the wind out of you. You call his name – “I’m here, baby, tell me what you need,” – and his fingers dig deeper into your shoulders. There’s no comedown, you’re still coming, as he rams his hips into yours. 

“I’ll give you anything you want – just keep saying my name.”

You aren’t sure you’re actually saying anything over babbling words of praise, his name, and some blend of it all. 

The puffy pain around your cunt makes you dizzy and now there’s wetness all over his thighs. You arch in his arms as your orgasm steam-rolls you flat, eyes rolling in the back of your head. The steady buildup then his new pace hits you like a train as the detonation in your core sends you into orbit.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it, baby—,”

Three strokes later, he tumbles over the edge after you with a gut-deep groan. 

You’re marked in his fluids and he’s marked in yours. 

He’s shaking as he lowers you down and your limbs slip off him, every ounce of strength and control seeping from you and into the mattress below. You’re both sweat-streaked and panting, the humid air nearly drowning you. With a care you certainly couldn’t have performed, he crawls back, and one more aftershock leaves you trembling all over. 

Dieter is red faced. He’s got crescent-moon indents on his shoulders and neck. It smarts but he’d leave that pain for days if he could. Though a little-light headed and desperate for water, he slips his cock out of you, his hand on your knee. He pushes your knee to the side, just enough to watch his cum leak out of you. He scoops it with his thumb and pops it into his mouth. His eyes close as he sucks. 

“Jesus Christ, Dieter,” you moan, flopping your arm over your eyes as if another minute of watching him will send you into another tailspin. 

He chuckles weakly and moves your knee to crawl into the empty bed beside you. He tucks his arms up under the white pillow and tries to breathe, his perfect ass exposed to the air. Your last few pants are louder than the spin of the ceiling fan. It might be several minutes, if not hours before feeling returns to your limbs.

“So why New Orleans?” You ask, only a little breathlessly, your arm still over your forehead. 

“Are you kidding me?” He lifts his head, the hair at his temples darker than the rest of it. He’s only marginally offended. “Sex like that and that’s the first thing you say?” 

“Well, there were other things on my mind,” you shrug against the pillow beneath your head. “That was the only thing that was coherent enough to voice out loud.” 

“Damn fucking right.” He kisses your overturned wrist before rolling onto his back with a groan so deep, you’d think he was restarting. “And I, uh, don’t know. I’ve always wanted to go see Jackson Square and I think I’ve been kicked out of my own house, so now seemed like as good a time as any. I just need to be in a place with a lot of people right now.”

You lift your head as if expecting to see a full orgy at the foot of the bed.

“Well, you might be off track there. With the tons of people thing.” 

He smirks and adjusts to his side. He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb on the other side than his fingers. With an encroaching dark haze in his eyes, he lowers his hand around your throat. Not squeezing. Not even putting any pressure. But just a reminder. A thought. A promise.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” 

You press your chest up against his forearm, tilting your head back to give him more room. You’re not actually interested in more sex but it’s this game you play. Coin flip. See who can survive the longest. 

“You did promise to be rough with me next time.” Your fingers tighten around his wrist and at your hip, you can feel his cock twitch. 

His hand compresses once around your throat before he lets go and lets out a deep sigh. He pulls away, huffing, and collapses back onto the bed. 

“And people call me crazy.” 

You smirk, now completely satisfied. You stretch like a cat in sunlight. But then something he said earlier makes you frown. You roll up onto your elbows, looking down at him.

“I didn’t know you were kicked out of the house. Why did you say anything?” 

He takes the inside flesh of his cheek and worries it between his teeth. He’s not sorry, exactly, but this is not at all where he wanted this conversation to go. “Thought it was kinda obvious when I asked you to come with me to the airport at three in the morning.” 

You stare at him, something transfixed in your gaze, before you nod. You lean forward, a curtain of your hair closing off you and him from the rest of the world. His stomach flip-flops; rarely do you let anyone see this soft side of you.

“I’m glad you did,” you whisper as you kiss him, gently, patiently, sweetly. “It’s not like this with other people. For me.”

Beneath the curtain of your hair, it’s just the two of you. He strokes your cheek with his thumb, awe-struck that he finally has you. He feels it humming under his skin, his want for you, itching to dig his fingers in. It’s a high unlike he’s ever known. “You’re all I have, you know. Even when you don’t want me, I’ll still want you.”

“I always want you.” 

When you finally pull away, the light outside the window has gotten heavier, shadows forming in the corners. 

“Sun’s going down,” you say, the light of the (still) open shutter doors making the outline of your head glow. “Probably cool enough to wander the streets, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, in a little bit.” Looking up at you, he tucks your hair behind your ear. In the warm late afternoon light, you’re radiant and he is transfixed. Finally, all mine. “I think there was something about a promise in there.” 

Your eyes twinkle as he pulls you back down on top of him.

   It’s nearing ten o’clock when you’re finally seated at your table. The restaurant is dark, hidden away from the noise of Jackson Square and Bourbon Street. The only indication that anything existed inside of the low, squat building was a copper sign, a cut out in the shape of a Magnolia tree. But Dieter seemed to know where he was going, going on about having heard rumblings about the jazz music and grilled oysters. He simply walked into the unmarked building with all the confidence you’d expect from a man so boldly named Dieter Bravo.

The hostess seated you in the corner, each table designed with half walls, making them slightly enclosed like a carved out egg. The set of the man with the cello on stage in the front of the room ends and you clap softly, along with the rest of the room. Except for Dieter. He’s flipping through the bourbon offerings and has his hand on your thigh. A gentle hum grows in the room as its occupants return to hushed conversations before the next act arrives.

When he told you to bring a nice dress, he couldn’t have fathomed this is what you would bring in his wildest dreams. 

It’s long, gossamer, and so dark blue it looks black. The front is held up with a silver halter that connects around the back of your neck, exposing your sinful chest. But his favorite might be the back. Or rather, the lack thereof one. The material cups your chest, but drops like a chandelier down at the back of your ribs. It flows and pools at the base of your spine and the instant he saw you in it, he had you pressed up against the nearest wall to lick your shoulder blades. 

“Dieter, I will strangle you if you mess up my hair,” you huff breathlessly while at the same time digging into his own curls. 

“Why are we going out? Whose stupid fucking idea was this?” He rubbed the crotch of his dress pants up against the curve of your ass, as if he hadn’t actually had his cock in you from this angle less than an hour ago. After a bottle of champagne to celebrate, the shower to finally clean off hadn’t really gone as planned. 

“You made the reservations, dumbass,” you said before hissing as he sucked the soft spot below your earlobe.

He still can feel the bubble of the champagne under his skin, in his mouth. Still pouring over the bourbon selection, he mouths your shoulder, gently using teeth. He’s being overtly playful, the low lighting and single burning candle at the center of the table as the only nearby light source making him even more daring. But he knew he’d be admonished – it was too much in public and –

His breath catches in his chest when you lift your hand slowly from the edge of the menu and palm him over his pants. Like him before, your eyes don’t leave the menu, as if morbidly interested in the catch of the day from the Pontchartrain. 

“Don’t dish out what you can’t take, Bravo,” you say lowly, cupping the curve of his shaft before dragging your fingers back up to his crotch. 

“Th-that’s cheating,” he hisses, fighting the urge to roll his eyes back in his head. “I wasn’ even close to touching you anywhere n-ngh-near there.” 

“Well, that sounds–,”

“Is that fucking Dieter Bravo?” 

You retract your hand so fast, it bangs the table underneath, as you both look up to watch a young man with bright blonde hair, a blue suit, and an annoyingly punchable face approach the table.

He snags the chair from another table, twirls it around, and sinks into it like he owns the place. And judging by the Jaeger LeCoultre watch around his thin wrist, he very well might. 

Dieter blinks as his pale face solidifies in the half-dark. “Oliver? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Come now, dear boy, that’s no way to greet an old friend.” His posh accent speaks of boarding schools and yacht clubs. “Especially one you haven’t seen in ages.”

Those pale eyes slide to you and his lipless mouth drops open.

“Well, if I had someone half as stunning as you to keep me company, I too would fuck off and not look back. Oliver Hastings, madam.” He reaches out across the table and you take his hand, which he quickly presses to his lips. His blue eyes sparkle in a way that makes Dieter put an arm around you. You don’t look at him, but a small smile uncurls across your lips. 

“Pleasure to meet you. Where did you two meet?”

Oliver and Dieter exchange knowing glances. 

“A club in the Netherlands. My people knew his people,” Oliver says, simply. It was as close to the truth as time allowed.

“I never thought I’d see you in New Orleans,” Dieter says, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t figure this was your scene.”

“Oh, it’s not.” Oliver sniffs. “What are you drinking and can I have some?” 

He pokes a pinkie into each of your drinks, unimpressed.

“I’m here on business,” he continues and turns to wave down a waitress. 

“You don’t work, Oliver,” Dieter says, smirking. “You never have.”

“One of the pleasures of being distantly related to the Queen of England, I suppose,” he says when a waitress comes and asks for their drink orders. You gape up at Dieter while Oliver looks away. 

“That Queen of England?” You hiss at him and he grins.

“A bottle of your most expensive bourbons and three glasses. They do drink bourbon here, right? That’s a thing?”

Dieter nods, still grinning. For all his immediately off-putting mannerism, there was a charisma about Oliver that one could perhaps only buy. 

The waitress leaves to get their order and Oliver inches closer and wraps his arms over the back of the chair. 

“So, yes, on here for business, not that kind of business, but the other kind of business. The kind of business that the wealthy elites and ravers alike all fall over themselves to get.”

“I wonder if that sort of thing is hard to get through customs,” you smirk over the dredges of your red wine. 

Oliver stares at you as if seeing you for the first time all over again. And then he smiles wickedly.

“I’m sorry, I just cannot get over the fact how stunningly gorgeous you are. Did I already ask your name? You’ll have to forgive me if I’ve forgotten, I haven’t slept in three days.”

“I’m Natalie Lorraine. I’m Dieter’s co-star in an upcoming movie.”

“Ahh, well, that explains a lot of things, doesn’t it? American movie stars are rather quite fit, aren’t they? Much more than our old birds back home. Well, I can already guarantee that I’ll be first in queue to buy a ticket.” 

The waitress returns with the drink and glasses. “Thanks, love,” Oliver says and hands her a one hundred dollar bill. “I’ve got it from here.”

Shocked by the tip, the waitress nods and wanders off. 

Oliver uncorks the bottle and begins pouring out three fingers for everyone.

“Oli, you still haven’t told us what exactly you’re doing here in New Orleans,” Dieter teases. He runs his thumb nail lightly over your shoulder and in return you put a hand on his thigh. 

The British man smirks and caps the bottle. “I still haven’t told you what exactly I’m doing here in New Orleans. And I could. Or I could just show you.”

In a move that would have impressed the most skilled of card sharks, he coaxes out a small plastic bag from his sleeve with his middle finger. 

Inside are three gold dots on white cards. “They call it Stevie. Because it looks like gold dust when you rub it on your skin. Or put it in your drinks.” 

You sit forward and Dieter’s fingers nudge the knots of your spine. “What is it?”

“Bit like ecstasy, bit like Molly. None of the bad comedowns.”

Dieter snorts and chews on the leftover ice in his glass. “That’s what they all say.”

Oliver gasps softly and puts a hand over his white-collared chest. 

“Are you doubting my stock, Mr. Bravo?” 

Dieter rolls his eyes. “How long does it last?”

“Eight hours, twelve max.” 

You take the bag and hold it up in the low light. “And it’s new?”

“Originally started as a pain-killer that could be absorbed on the skin. FDA never approved it so the pharmacy that developed it went under. The blokes that made it tinkered to make it more of a party drug and here we are.”

You look over at Dieter, an excitement in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in weeks. He’d be offended if he didn’t feel the same sort of stirring. 

Oliver leans forward, his pale eyes looking up under pale lashes. By the upward tilt of his mouth, Dieter knows he knows he has you both. 

“C’mon, Dieter boyo, for old time’s sake. You should show lovely Natalie here how to have a good time.” 

He’s fine. He’s not hurting anyone. He’s having fun. He’s in control.

He can stop at any time.

You know he’s going to say yes before the words form in his mouth. You lunge forward and kiss him on the lips. 

“Alright-y then!” Oliver pops open the bag and on three fingers, he plucks up each of the gold dots. 

“To old friends,” he says as he dips a gold dot into each of their drinks, “and new.” 

Your eyes glitter as the three raise their glasses. 

“To friends.” 

And he drinks. The gold mist swirls.

   If the time he spent with you in New Mexico was slow, like molasses, dripping in sunlight, the rest of the trip in New Orleans is a blur. 

   He stands on the precipice of a mountain, the wind whipping through his hair and his cheeks. Lights unfocus and flash. There’s music and then there isn’t. There are sensations –

“Oh, God, Dieter, faster, harder, more – please, more,” 

Sweat flows down his neck, down his back, your nails digging into his shoulders. Your voice is high, breathless, as he drives himself deeper, deeper into you. You are warm and pliant beneath him and he thinks he’s going to choke on the taste of your neck under – 

– the paint is cool underneath his palms. He wipes streaks of yellow and red and green and blue up the side of the wall. He can smell the chlorine from the pool outside and the birds are singing and he thinks he can taste the yellow in the back of his teeth. The morning air is fresh and curls itself up in his bare chest and –

– he wants pastries, sweets, his mouth is tangy with the taste of your cunt –

– giants on stilts wander over his head, their pants gold and green and purple, you curl up next to him giggling and it's the most perfect sound he’s ever heard in the world. The crowd around you pushes you closer to him and he’s struck by you, by everything you are. He stops you in the middle of the street, the dark night sky arching above the streets, his hand up by your cheek, your beautiful eyes black and wide and tripping –

No, wait, I have to go back. Go back to her.

– The mural in the kitchen grows. It expands up into the ceiling, down onto the floor. The kitchen table and the chairs are thrown out into the brick courtyard. He paints and he paints. But he doesn’t know what it is yet – 

– the bed is a mess, blue paint everywhere. Your beautiful thighs are smeared with blue. His eyelashes feel heavy with paint but he can’t tell what color. His chest is cold and sticky. You’ve got one hand pressed up against the headboard, your thighs spread around him as he finds the missing warmth in the clutch in your cunt. Your tits, stained with purple, bounce and sway with the forces of his thrusts. The shutter door is open, fluttering in the wind, and it’s raining beyond the balcony. It’s pouring and he’s pouring out blue. He stains your cunt with orange, his thumb pressing up into your clit and you shriek. He can feel the white in him burst out and coat your chest and throat in his own paint –

– it’s quiet. You lay on the grass next to him in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. You’re pointing out constellations in the sky, a white powder near the corner of your mouth and the sweet scent of out-of-reach beignets hovers near your lips. As you talk, he reaches over and swipes the powder from your lips. You giggle because he’s only made it worse. There’s powder all over his hands –

You’re an artist. It rages in your blood.

No, it’s paint – 

– he wakes up and it’s quiet. 

The racing has stopped. The universe has settled. He lifts his head, barely able to comprehend where he is, but beyond grateful for all of it to end. He’s back in the cottages, on that white billow-y bed. It’s morning. The world is still quiet. He drops his head back against the fluffy pillow and sighs deeply.

But that smell is . . . it’s familiar. That sweet smell and . . . something else.

Girlsex. 

He glances down, suddenly recognizing a weight on his chest. 

Your back curves down his side. You’re covered in paint and powder and his own cum, but you rest soundly with your arm across his chest, the rise and fall of your breathing slow and deep. His cock actually aches from overuse. He picks up your hair and twirls it in his fingers, marveling at the way the light catches it. The way it smells like him. 

“Dieter Bravo,” you mutter into his clavicle. He smiles, his right leg hanging off the mattress. He skims his toes along the warm wood. “That’s not even your real name, is it?”

He can feel you grin against his chest and the drowsy, unused thing in his heart stretches. 

“Just as much as Natalie Lorraine is yours.” 

You both laugh quietly, too spent to really do anything else. You lift your head and purple is smeared by your cheek. He wants to lick it into his mouth. He feels like you are peeling him down to his bare essentials and he doesn’t know what you’re going to find. You’ll have to tell him when you do.

You kiss him, gently, as much as your aching body will allow. He hums. If he never comes again and can only kiss you like this, he’ll be satisfied. 

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” you whisper against his lips. There’s only gold light separating you from him. 

“Okay,” he says, thumbing the apple of your cheek. There’s nothing he ever wants to hide from you. “Dieter Bravo is a stage name. My real name is–,”

– he wakes up again, just as your tongue slips a thin, square paper into his mouth. The air is moist and his jacket is too hot but the thumping beat of the music curls into the base of his spine. The building behind you shakes with noise and you’re next in line to enter the club. The crowd of people behind you vibrates with excitement. It smells like piss and vomit. 

“See you on the other side, baby,” you murmur into his throat.

   Music. Music music music. 

It’s in him, it’s grinding up in his teeth, he swears he feels it behind his eyelids. It’s coming out of him, leaking out of his pores and thrumming in his pulse. His heart — it slipped out of its natural rhythm and attached itself to the new beat, this new pulse — and he is everywhere and nowhere. He exists only in this sea of pumping, sweating bodies and never existed anywhere else. 

The only thing centering him, the only thing real, his living heart outside of his body, is you. Your sweat-streaked hair is in his face, the damp back of your neck is inches from his mouth, flooding his senses with the taste of your sweat, your scent. For a moment, he thinks he can see the electric blue synapsis of your brain firing in pace with the music, with the LSD in your body, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He wants to feel the threads with his fingers. 

He wants to bite through your neck and slurp your synapses up like noodles. 

“Baby,” you murmur below him, barely audible above the thunder of the music, “you’re squeezing too tight.” 

He blinks and the image is gone. He sinks his jaw over your shoulder, loosening his grip on your elbows and sliding his hands over your forearms. He tries to focus on dancing, swaying with you between his thighs.

“Sorry, darling, sorry.” He holds you to him, oozing back into that blackness with you as a warm light. 

Your ass, in that black leather skirt he bought you, moves out of sync with the beat, with the swaying you had both fallen into, and rubs him through his jeans. The light travels to his crotch. 

It’s like someone dripped honey all over his brain. 

“Fuck, baby.” He noses your ear and takes your earlobe into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. You moan and, with his hands over yours, he pushes the heel of your hand over your clit. His grip moves around your waist, to the bare skin between your skirt and your high-cut top. He can’t see in the purple haze of the twitching lights and thick, fluorescent fog but he can feel you. You are dripping with sweat, almost feverish. He thinks about the blue in your brain and his dick jumps. He laves the knot of your neck with his tongue. 

“I want you. I want you right now.” 

You lean back into his damp chest and clutch the back of his head in your hand. You draw his other hand to your thigh. Your breath reminds him of flowers, flowers pressed into a book, pressed until they aerosolized. He can’t find your eyes in the dark, in the haze, and in the pulsating light, your face looks blurred. “Then don’t wait. Fuck me here, baby. Right now.” 

In the beat, the cleft of your ass rubs his cock and he thinks he can see the blue in him. Glowing blue in his gut. He nods, frantically, hand leaving your thigh to undo his belt, then the buttons of his jeans. 

He rucks your skirt up, the leather sticking to your damp skin, and he adjusts his hips. You moan, feeling his cock hard at your back. He’s sure his dick is glowing in the dark. 

“Are you ready? I can’t get you wet like you need it–,”

“Baby, I am wet. Just need you. Need you rough.” 

He thinks he might puke blue but the blunt head of his cock rubs in between your sweaty, warm thighs and the pressure in his stomach collapses. If he doesn’t fuck you right now, he’s going to break apart. 

Your skirt clutched in his hands, he swipes your underwear to the side and slides up into you in one stroke – now you’re both blue, from the tips of your heads down to your toes. He doesn’t even move, it feels so good – he says this outloud. You whine loud in his ears, the music distant and far away. You’re closer than you were before, even if it didn't seem possible at the time. 

He grinds his hips and you throw back your head against his shoulder, gasping, nails digging into the backs of his hands at your hips. He throws his forearm around your waist, before grinding his hips back and forth – never leaving you. He wants to be this close to you forever. He can’t imagine ever pulling out of your sweet, hot cunt. He thinks of his cum leaking down your thighs and he groans low in your ear. He wonders if his cum will glow and everyone will see who you belong to. 

He wants his cum all over you. His hips jerk back an inch before slamming them up again. 

“Tha’s it, baby,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly. “Keep going.”

He does. At some point, he hears the blood in his cock thump to the beat of the music, and he wants you to know.  

“Can you feel that, baby?” He slurs in your ear. He pushes your wet hair over your shoulder and presses his teeth into your skin. “You’re takin’ me. All of me. Wanna paint you blue.” 

His hand slides over your thigh again, his thumb diving in towards your center, then up. He hopes to find your clit but your entire cunt is hotter than a furnace and he’s afraid of rubbing up against metal. His hand ghosts over your clit and you cry out. 

“Fuck me harder, baby. Leave a bruise. I need you.” 

There’s a memory of being surrounded by people, but it’s not here. It’s not now. It’s ages ago. A lifetime ago. The only thing that ever existed was your cunt squeezing his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you up,” he hisses. There’s a chemical smell in the air and he thinks it’s from the lights or it might be from inside him. No, there’s only music inside him. Music he wants to share with you. Gift to you. Fall to his knees and lick up inside you.

You both only exist in blackness and there’s nothing to press you up against, but he tries. He adjusts his hips, his grip, and he fucks you deep.

Pretty thing.

Pretty girl.

Pretty cunt. 

Blue. Blue in your hair. Your eyes. Gonna paint you in blue. 

He wants to split your skull and live in your brain. 

Your moans are higher, airless, gasping, begging. The pressure behind his gut is a black-hole and he wants to fall, wants to drift. 

He braves metal burn and presses down on your clit with his middle finger. 

You are gushing blue. 

He fills you up a moment later, hips stuttering, thighs quaking. And that makes you come again. 

It’s never ending. It’s a cycle. It’s infinite. You’re infinite. If you ever leave him, he’ll die. Broken blue. 

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear in a voice so soft he purposefully won’t remember it the next morning. He drags you into his chest, to feel his heart burning for you. Only when he gets like this again, which is soon after, does he remember. When he’s sober, it’s only a feeling. When he’s out of his mind, higher than God, he has to say it. 

“I love you. I fucking love you. So much.”

When he’s this high, he doesn’t remember if you say it back. 

[prodbymaui]

I Loved You (Dangerously)

drunk off that love, fuck my head up

PAIRING: lee jeno x reader

GENRE: infidelity

WORD COUNT: 1.8k+ words

WARNINGS: bulging kink, choking kink, strength kink (?)

SYNOPSIS: You're in a lovingly, domestic relationship with your boyfriend. Or so everyone thought.

A/N: first jeno fic, happy reading! please do leave your thoughts if you can! <3

Lively chatters, car honking, vendors selling. The sun has exchanged positions with the moon yet it is not the end of a day for the people of Myeongdong. The chilly breeze bites through your flesh, but you suppose you are to blame for not dawning a puffer jacket.

Steps quickening, your keys jingling in your hands as you head back to your apartment. Your phone pings and catches your attention, it displays an email from your co-worker but it's not what you looked at though. Eyes settling on the time, you glance where the picture of your lovely boyfriend smiling innocently and widely lies. A quarter after 8PM, he should be in his own apartment now.

Upon arriving, your doorknob twists easily, as though it wasn't locked. Did you forget to? You were certain you did before leaving. Carefully, you hold the door open, heart beating rapidly as fear creeps up on your spine. Am I about to die? Hopefully not. You have a lot of things on your bucket list and dying young isn't one of them.

The lights are on, and music fills the entire flat. That song is too familiar for you. Closing the door behind you, your eyes roam around, observing. Not even a minute and as if on cue, a man who wears the face of your boyfriend walks into your vision, seemingly fresh out of the shower. He then meets your eyes with no surprise.

''Great. You're home.''

You roll your eyes. Raking your eyes up and down on his body, heat burns your cheeks as you turn away, pursing your lips at the sight of water droplets dripping along his bare chest. You chuck your shoes off and head to the kitchen. ''Why are you here?''

You heard a scoff. Footsteps following your trace. ''Why not? I'm more comfortable here than at my own apartment.''

''Cut the chase, Jeno.'' You face him. ''What are you doing here?'' And when you only receive a grin from the man who's leaning on the wall, you sigh. ''Did you got fired again?''

''Ah.. you know me too well.''

Irritated, you shake your head and proceed to walk out of the kitchen but before you could, Jeno's already catching your wrist– preventing you from getting away. Tugging you closer, he offers a smile.

''Don't walk out on me now, babe.''

You click your tongue. ''Shut up.''

Chuckling, Jeno wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his nose on the crook of your neck. ''So feisty.''

Jeno runs his palms on your side up and down as he plants sweet sweet pecks on the vastness of your neck. His kisses then eventually travels upwards where he connects your lips with his. What a lighthearted kiss turns into somewhat a desperate one, swiftly licking each other's lips before sucking on them.

''Fuck, I missed you–'' Grabbing the back of your thighs, Jeno carries you with ease as he transfers both of you to your bedroom, his body leading him despite the lack of vision. It's like telling him 'Worry no more about tripping, you've been here enough that I've memorized every single thing.'

Jeno is lying if he says it doesn't fuel the smugness in him.

He slowly settles you on the bed, hovering over you, gripping your hips as your legs circle his waist. Pushing his tongue in, Jeno licks every wall, every part that he can reach. A drool escapes the end of your lips as you share the messy kiss with Jeno, groaning when his boner rubs against your clothed core, putting pressure on your clit.

A string of saliva that connects your lips is the thing you see before your top gets taken off of you and your bra flies somewhere in the room, the only thing your mind could fully register is Jeno's tongue flicking over your nipple as he keeps his fingers entertained with the other. The air thickens, and suckles echoes in your bedroom.

Pleasure shoots up your spine as Jeno grinds, angle perfectly aligned for the head of his cock to nudge your clit. You whimper. ''Jeno, fuck...''

But Jeno's ears are shut the moment he takes your nubs in his mouth, eyes closed as he savors the delish before him. Tightening your legs, you move to press your core onto him harder, hands squeezing his biceps. ''Jeno, please..''

Jeno snaps out of his daze at the vulnerability. A music to his ears, his eyes darken, once again he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. You squeak, body jostling as your pants and underwear get ripped off of you, thrown carelessly.

His fingers trace the line between your pussy cheeks, dipping a little before bringing it to his mouth, licking your wetness– tasting you. Jeno moans, head cloudy. Jeno takes in the sight of you after opening his eyes that he doesn't even know had closed. 

''Please, Jeno..'' Breathing heavily, legs wide open for him, already looking so fucked out when he haven't even done anything yet. Jeno growls at the urge to eat you up, make you his.

Cupping one ankle, Jeno peppers kisses along your calves, eyes not leaving your figure. ''Tell me what you want. What exactly are you saying please to, baby?''

At this point, all your sanity had left you. Embarrassment? It was a thing of yesterday. Reaching up to Jeno, your next words snaps his patience. ''W-want your cock.. I want your cock in me.''

Smirking, Jeno pecks you again before going down on you, making out with your pussy as if it's your lips. His tongue wiggles, pulling out lewd moans from you, gripping the sheets in an attempt to prevent yourself from pulling his hair instead. Jeno flicks his tongue over your puffed clit.

''Fuck, Jeno–!''

A finger slides past your entrance, your walls engulfing the digit with warmth and velvetines. You're so fucking wet, there's little to no resistance. Another follows suit, Jeno scissors you properly all the while he enjoys himself in getting drunk from your essence and the music that is your explicit sounds.

Pulling his face away, his skin covered by your slick glistens under the bedroom lights. Jeno chuckles as your walls clamp around his fingers. He then curls them in an angle that prods at your spot sweetly, your back arches off the bed. Latching on your perky nipples, Jeno tugs his towel and gives himself pumps to tend his hard cock.

''Put it in..'' Jeno mumbles profanities seeing the desperation in your eyes as you stare at his angry leaking tip.

Before you could whine about the loss of his fingers in your, Jeno replaces it with his girthy cock, slipping inside as you moan in unison. Burying the rest of his cock, he presses your knees on your chest and starts a brutal pace that jostles your body to the headboard repeatedly.

''Jeno! F-fuck! So big.. it feels so good–!''

Jeno grips the top of the headboard as he madly drives his cock in and out of you, his eyes glinting with lust and something you couldn't decipher.

''When's the last time I had you like this?You're so fucking tight– you're suffocating my fucking cock. Look at that, baby. Look how your pussy stretches widely and sucks my cock inside. It feels good, huh?'' Jeno nudges your legs to a wide V, planting his foot on the bed as he gives it to you faster, harder, and deeper. 

Looking down, he notices a bump that continuously appears and disappears in sync with his thrusts, growling in realization that it's his fucking cock that cause the bump in your belly. Gripping your waist, Jeno slams your pliant body to meet the snap of his hips, your breast jiggles and Jeno will be damned if he resists the urge to feast on them. God, he's fucking crazy for them.

''Oooh shit! You're so big and so hard inside me– ah ah ah– fuck! More! More, please–''

Jeno hums against your ear. ''More? Does my girl want more?''

Drunk in pleasure, you nod absentmindedly, nails raking down Jeno's back, creating red lines all over his skin. He slams a couple more times before taking a pity on the headboard that hits the wall due to your vigorous fucking. Jeno groans, scooping you in his arms, and pins you to the wall before hammering his cock inside you. Biting the junction of your neck, Jeno laps the red beads that seeps past your skin. The graze of teeth on your skin itches in pain yet you crave for more.

Wet skin slapping bounce in the room, wanton moans escapes you as Jeno snaps his hips fiercely.

''Oh, god!''

''Yeah?'' Jeno licks your tears. ''You like that? You love getting stuffed full of my big, fat cock, huh?''

Pulling you away from the wall, your eyes roll to the back as Jeno's length digs deeper inside you, so deep that you could feel it at the back of your throat. You cling to Jeno, drools dribbling down your chin as carnal ecstasy takes over the entirety of your body and mind. ''I'm coming..''

Grabbing your ass, Jeno bounces you to meet his thrusts, parting your cheeks to slide even deeper. ''Come on my cock, baby.''

Strained moan leaves your lips as Jeno sucks the pathway of your drool, feeling himself get closer to climax as your walls clenches continuously around him, painting his cock white. Jeno pistons his hips violently, eyes shut close. And when your hand encloses on his neck and tightens just the way it sends him an irreversible euphoria, Jeno holds on to his strength as he shoots strings of white, filling you up to the brim.

Breathing heavily, Jeno brings you back to the bed, fetching the towel to wipe down your mess before laying beside you, hugging you from the back. His loving kiss on your shoulder is the last thing that registers in your mind before drifting to a slumber.

As Jeno combs his fingers through your hair, a smile unknowingly appears on his face. You look so beautiful like this. So peaceful. Sure, you can certainly protect yourself but it still makes him want to gatekeep you from the harsh world so that you're out of harm's reach. 

Though, Jeno knows it is impossible. The constant pings from your phone is a reminder.

JIHO: Hi, baby. I just got home! 

JIHO: Mom asked for help to look for Jeno because she received a call from his work telling to pay for the damages or sorts.

JIHO: Sooo sorry I didn't send you a text!

JIHO: Are you gonna sleep now?

But as long as you don't stop him from having you, Jeno supposes he can ignore the fact. 

The fact that you will never be his. And the fact that you're in this loving, domestic relationship with his twin brother.

[serxinns]

Ok sorry if I'm taking up some time but something related to a picture I saw has literally been on my mind and I need some sorta short fanfic about it 😭

So basically, Yandere Fantasy AU Bakusquad where they are all dragons (Except Bakugou being a Barbarian) and a traveler reader who is incredibly hurt so is under the care of them all.

I mainly want this because I recently broke my wrist (which is now healed up) and idk 😭🙏

The Lost Traveler

Yandere! fantasy Bakusquad x gn! reader

A/n: I kinda went off on this onw hehe but I hope it was worth the wait! I hope you enjoy!

Tw!⚠️: injuries, reader getting hurt, weapons, drowning, possessive and obsessive behavior, stripping off clothes (in a non sexual way ofc) nudity (if you count reader being in their undergarments, yandere behavior, and more don't read if you can't handle it

"After them!" You heard a man yell out to his group as they chased you, but you didn't look back you didn't want to look back your main priority was safety you looked around the woods to see if there was any hiding spot but to no avail, the men kept shooting their arrows towards you as you barely dodged them. You held on to your bag tightly you didn't know how you had come to this conclusion you just went into town trying to grab some things and these men tried to rob your mother's spellbook so you kicked one of them in the groin he released you from his grasp and you continued to run

"I got this" one of the men grabbed their bow and arrow, your eyes widened in horror as he aimed for your leg and you were getting ready to dodge untill a sharp pain hit you in your upper leg you screamed in agony and dropped to the floor clutching your foot the bandits all surrounded you chucking you grabbed the book tightly not wanting those monsters getting it

"Now, now, brat, why don't you be smart and give us the book, and we'll let you go"gt.he man had a devious grin on his facfaceu spat at him, "fuck you, you'll have to kill me 1st!" The bandits snicker and laughed "Very well then.." one of the men got a weapon and held itches towards your neck your eyes widen trying to squirm off from his grasp but he pinned you against the tree hard with a final attempt you kicked him in the groin with ur shoe his grasp became loose as he howled in pain now clutching his area kneeling, "you little shit..." the crew all held their swords at you you the began crawling backward with the book praying they'll be someone to protect you

You then began to slip on something; you quickly looked behind you to see a waterfall right behind you, you gasped, wanting to crawl back, but the bandits were in front. You were at a dead end "Nowhere, the run, little shit, just give us the book!" He sneered, you had to act fast for you and the book, you look at the waterfall again hesitant you began crawling closer and closer waterfall until you felt the cliff and the loud crashing water beneath you, one of the bandits snicker th t up to what you were about to do "don't do anything stupid ya hear just give us the damn book!" He shouted you looked at him with one last glare and let your whole body go holding the book tight while you fall

You closed your eyes ready for the impact and pain, you landed in the roaring water you desperately tried gasping for air using your good arm to swim back up for air but it'd currents were too strong you tried grabbing some sort of branch or rock but kept crashing into them hard your body began to feel tired and ur eyes droopy from all the pain and energy "is this how I die.." you thought as you slowly close your eyes surrendering to the wrath of the water as they took you

...

"Aha! Gotcha!" The dragon yelled as she caught a fish with her claws she examined the fish making sure it was big enough for her friends and place it in the bucket her stomach growled in hunger she looked down and then looked at the fish, "..one fish wouldn't hurt" mina looked both ways and all around when the coast was clear she grabbed a small fish and was about toneat until a voice called her "Pink scales you better not be eating our dinner like shitty scales!" The Man said angrily, "Ughh bakugo, it was just gonna be one!" Mina whined as she reluctantly dropped the fish

"One less of our dinner!" He scolded, taking the bucket and carrying it with him. "Plus, it looked like you already had some!" He looked at her with a hard glare as she smiled sheepishly the barbarian was about to yell at her until he spotted something floating in the water he shoved the dragon away to view it closer he realized that it was a human being floating around in the river katsuki quickly went in the river not caring about hid clothes getting dragging the human out of the water "it's that a human?! Are they breathing?" She shrieked looking worriedly and concerned

Katsuki then felt the human skin it was cold..katsuki then led his head toward its chest the heart was still beating but it was barely breathing.."Mina take the human to our cottage.." he ordered Mina nodded and quickly placed you on her back and transformed into her dragon form katsuki then hopped on her back and signaled her to fly, she then carefully launched into the air making sure nobody falls then soared through the sky

As they were soaring, Katsuki took the time to examine you; it seemed like you were not from here but maybe from another region judging by your clothes, and he didn't mention it, but there was a book in the human's hands. He observed it closely. It seemed like it was from a powerful being..but he didn't know where it was from, until then he may have to keep it for a while just in case for safety

Mina roared making Katsuki snap out of his thoughts when he looked up he realized that they were home he grabbed you and jumped off Mina while steam came out of her turning her back into her human form they carried the human to the house and placing them on the couch "Mina take off through clothes and check for bruises" Mina nodded she carefully took off your closes leaving you with only your undergarments on she blushed a but reminded herself to focus, the poor human was covered in red and purple bruises and had a broken wrist Mina gaze soften feeling pity for then poor human

"The human has a bunch of bruises and a broken wrist" Bakugo scoffed "that probably gonna take half of my healing power so I'm only gonna heal them on certain areas and patch up the others letting them heal themselves" bakugo then let Mina carry the unconscious human to give them a warm bath, bathing off the dirt and gunk in their hair and gently handling them with the best of her abilities the most she saw the bruises the more angrier she seems how dare someone could do this to a precious little thing when she was done she quickly wrapped them up in a towel and carry them in the bedroom where there were already a set of warm clothes for them to wear..

....

You were panicking all you could see was black you couldn't move your body it was like you were wrapped in something, it was suffocating, you tried to scream but you couldn't hear your own voice nor you couldn't hear anything just emptyness and eerie silence, you wanted to get out of here you wanted to see if you have that spellbook you wanted to survive, are you even alive anymore?! You were breathing rapidly wondering what did you do you be in this hell

Then a soft humming rang in your ear it sounded...familiar like something your mother would do to comfort you when you were feeling ill or had a very bad day, the humming made you calm..peaceful even, your panicking began to die down as well as your breathing you squirm around trying to break free from whoever or whatever is trapping you but to no avail, then saw some light in your vision it became bigger and lighter...

You slowly opened your eyes, all you could see was a blurry red figure hovering over you humming the same tune you heard back there you blinked a couple of times to get your vision more clear, and there standing above you was a boy with red scales forming on his shoulders and large pointy like horns with red eyes staring the back at you, with a yelped you tried squirming away but her strong hands were keeping you still "Please don't struggle your weak at the moment" he said petting your hair softly trying to calm you down

"Where am i.." the red hair chuckled as if that was a silly question to ask "your home can't you tell?" He answered softly as he continued to hum confused you were about to ask what did he mean by that untill another voice could be heard "did the human wake up yet" there revealed a another dragon with blonde hair and a black lighting strike on he turned his attention towards you and his eyes brighten "they're so small!" He has as he poked your cheeks curiously wanting to feel what a human skin felt like "they're also soft as well!" He giggled happily the red haired dragon quickly swat his friends hand away as the dragon whined

"They're still healing Kaminari be gentle!" Kiri scolded him The yellow dragon softly glared at him jealous from the red dragon hogging you "would you stop fighting infront them? the poor thing is barely gaining conscious" there appeared a dragon with black hair scolding at the 2 dragons "now come on the foods almost ready" he said as he gaze at you with a soft smile the headed back to the kitchen ok now you were confused who were these people? Why are they're saying this is your new home? Are you going crazy or what

Your thoughts were then interrupted again with Kirishima picking you up and carrying you to the kitchen and plop you down to your chair you awkwardly thanked him as he happily sat down at his spot, that's when smell of the food hit your nostrils it smelled so good you even drooled a bit which you quickly wiped off with your arm embrassed hoping nobody noticed that "heh someone's hungry" the dragon away you assumed to be Sero said smirking at you as your face lit up in embrassament you looked away

"Well I haven't eaten in a few days of course I'm gonna be hungry" you protested as the black dragon chuckled "whatever you say sweets" he shrugged laying against the chair patiently waiting for the meal "dinners ready!" A loud booming voice was heard a blonde male with orange eye "Guess the little shit is awake" he grumbled "Katsuki language! Don't call the human that!" Kirishima scolded katsuki scoffed

"Don't fucking tell me what to do shitty hair you ain't the boss of me!" He said yelled the two started bickering back and forth while Kirishima wrapped his Strong arm around you protectively you tried pushing it off but it seems like he was too busy to noticed or he didn't care "boys stop arguing when our human is awake!" "Yea I bet they're starving right about now!" A purple dark then came in along with a bubbly pink dragon skipping in the kitchen the 2 boys shut themselves up and they then fix yourself and themselves a meal

it was cooked fish with a side of veggies the aroma was addictive making you go wild, fish wasn't always your favorite meal but those last few days of living off of eating berries and small animals this was a actual proper meal for you you devoured the food in seconds not noticing how the others were cooing and just adoring how cute you were, after the meal you were about to head yourself out grabbing your spellbook and thanking the kind people for the care untill a hand grabbed you by the shoulder

"And where the fuck are you going?" Bakugo said with a stern tone "Uh I'm going out I need to get back home" "in this condition? Your still hurt pumpkin no way we're gonna let you go out exposing yourself to the dangers" you didn't noticed jirou infront of the door now everyone else gathered around you looking weirdly at you...

"Why don't you stay for a few nights atleast untill your injuries healed!" Kirishima suggested you thought about it for a moment the trip back home would take rather long considering that you barely even know your way back they then carried you off to their bed all cuddling next to you

You were their human now you were a gift for them and them only those monsters are gonna pay for what they done to their little darling~

[dear-ao3]

I can't even begin to tell you how many assignments I half-assed in college (namely for classes like English or History that are important but not vital to my degree), and I still did fine. Good, even. College is not worth your mental health, and I support your decision to chuck it in the "fuck it" bucket and eat popcorn instead. I would have been a healthier person if I did that more often.

well due to a series of events im not actually going to finish this degree at all. im just kind of trying to make it through the semester

but for what its worth, i did very have this attitude in undergrad and it was wonderful. why am i busting my ass for a stupidly high gpa when i can still do well and not hate myself? a win

[miveras]

Drabble: Silent Treatment | JJK

Pairing: jungkook x reader Genre: established relationship, angst, fluff Word count: 1.6k Warnings: none

masterlist

---

“You’re so fucking lazy,” you scream, “Do you ever just look around and think to clean up after yourself once in a while?”

You pick up his worn, mahogany sweater off the floor and into the bucket you struggle to carry with only one hand. You resist the urge to chuck it at him, ignoring you with a scoff. 

You weren’t this angry to begin with, but you couldn’t help it after seeing his reaction to you. This was the second fight you’d had, and this has been the worst so far. He wasn’t listening to you at all, and you didn’t know what would make him finally cooperate. 

Though you shouldn’t fuel the flame, you keep nagging at him to get up and pointing out every one of his wrongdoings in the past few weeks. 

“Just give me a few days. You know I always clean on weekends since I don’t have time on weekdays,” Jungkook replies with a serious tone. You can see it in his eyes, his anger building up by the second.

“Well if you don’t have time, then why are you on your phone? Why aren’t you doing anything then?” you rambled.

He groans in response, obviously annoyed that you keep going back and forth with harsh blows.

After you guys dated for a year, you thought it’d be a good idea to start discussing the living situations. When he told you that his landlord was raising their prices, it posed the perfect scenario for you to invite him in.

Jungkook moved in just past a month, and sure, he was fine the first two weeks. He cooked for you, cleaned after himself, and tried his best not to make a mess. But recently, you’ve caught him being such a horrible roommate that now, you couldn’t stop the hurtful words coming out of your mouth. 

“Shut up…” he mutters in a quiet voice, avoiding your confrontation. He wished you hadn’t heard it but when he hears your feet dragging against the floor, he knew you did. 

But you didn’t choose to answer him and instead, you gave him the silent treatment. 

He enjoyed the short while that you left and came back with a vacuum. For the rest of the week, you guys cut off contact with each other, living in the same house but not saying anything. You even went as far as to eat at a different time than usual, just to avoid him. You weren’t giving this up easily– you wanted him to care, needed him to. You wished he found this just as important as you did.

Over the past week, all you focused on was your job. At work, all you thought about was him– it got so bad to the point where your work friends started questioning you about your sanity. You were constantly zoning out and the lack of sleep didn’t help at all. 

You asked for help from one of your friends: Ara. While writing a paper about the company’s statistical reports, you had a welcome visitor come in– just who you were looking for.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in a bit,” she whines, “I literally missed you so much.” She almost leaps into your arms as soon as she sees you. At least someone was happy to see you. She hugs you so tight you had to push her away for a bit, trying not to pass out from the lack of air.

“Ara, I missed you…” you pout. She notices the sadness behind your eyes, knowing that you’re not usually this affectionate unless you need it. Ara immediately knew something was wrong from the way you were reacting to her presence– though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

You fess up to her about everything, including the words you and Jungkook exchanged. It was pretty harsh, to say the least. Ara understood you, more than anyone else could (except Jungkook of course). 

Her advice to you was to communicate, but it was way harder than it sounded. You couldn’t do it, not now at least.

You tried your best to avoid him by doing literally anything else: going out to work, cleaning, anything. It was pathetic to anyone who wasn't either of you– everyone knew how much both of you guys loved each other, and everyone knows you guys belong to each other. 

You were too stubborn to admit defeat so you waited for Jungkook– who was probably the only person just as stubborn as you, to apologize first. Predictably, it’s been an ongoing problem for more than just a few days.

Whenever it was time to sleep, your heart raced faster than normal beside him. You had already promised yourself not to lean over and kiss him, admire him, or do anything with him as a form of his punishment. But now, it started to feel like your’s. 

Did he even care about you? Did he even miss you?

You hated the way your body couldn’t relax, feeling every nerve pulse throughout your body. You swallow, wondering how long it’ll take you to fall asleep considering your inability to when you’re not embracing something. 

You shifted slightly, missing the way he looked over to you with a worried expression but not having enough courage to do something about it. 

He sighs, turning the other way as well. He decided not to do anything– he was way too exhausted and stubborn to even face you. He wouldn’t know what to say.

---

The next morning, you wake up with the house all tidy– clothes in their right place, no food in sight, all the dishes clean, but you can’t seem to find the one who did it. He must’ve gone to school already.

The following days were all the same. He goes to school, then you, then avoids each other all day, then comes home just to sleep facing opposite each other. I was tired, no doubt. 

He’s stubborn and you’re stubborn. You’d think you were a perfect match until something like this comes along. It’s funny, you think. 

At some point, all you wanted to do was be in his embrace. To feel his warmth all over you. Oh, how you wanted to just kiss him all over and play with his hair until he falls asleep.

As you think about how much you miss him, you wonder how much or if he even missed you at all. You look beside you– suddenly feeling an overwhelming amount of sadness. You almost forgot how much you missed him. 

Unintentionally, your shoulders shake as you try your best to keep in your weeps quiet and breaths steady. Streaks of tears drop to your cheeks, entangling with your hair. You struggle to stop your sobs from coming out, covering your mouth and wiping your eyes to make sure Jungkook doesn’t wake up because of you.

It was truly your last straw. You couldn’t handle being away from him anymore. 

“Y/N…” he whispers, concern written all over his face. You freeze, not being able to comprehend anything at that moment. 

Still feeling groggy and dazed from his sleep, he rubs his eyes to see you clearer. Once his eyes set on you, a small rush of panic goes through his veins, worriedness taking over his body. He parts his lips in shock and slowly wraps his arms around you– not quite sure what to do. 

You feel his arms snake to your waist, kissing your head and muttering soft phrases to calm you down. You wallow in his embrace, slightly embarrassed about your outburst that had him waking up late at night. In a way, you felt ashamed of yourself and your feelings, suddenly feeling more insecure about yourself as Jungkook continues to hold you in silence. 

He felt wrong reaching for you when it was obvious he was who you were upset about. He had a clue on what was happening to you– what you were worried about, but he decided to stay quiet and bring it up later when you don’t look as hurt. 

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I love you so much..,” his voice trails off as he starts peppering kisses all over your face. You can tell that he felt extremely guilty just by his voice, and his expression sends confirmation of that. 

At this point, you had already stopped crying out of embarrassment, shame, and even comfort from Jungkook.

“I-I’m sorry too,” you sniffle, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.” 

“I didn’t get the chance to apologize sooner. I..I was just scared that you’d stay mad at me– then I wouldn’t know what to do” he explains nervously. Rubbing your arm comfortingly, he asks you to stay with him. “I’ll listen to you from now on.”

“Jungkook, I love you too. I hate fighting with you,” you confess. He only smiles in response, though you can’t see his face when yours is buried in his chest. You hug him back in return– both of you exchanging loving glances at each other. 

Jungkook kisses you in the temple one last time before closing his eyes and relaxing his body.

In a few minutes, you both fall asleep in each other’s comfort. You missed him so much even though you’ve barely been apart and he feels the same exact way. That definitely wasn’t the last argument you’d have, but it’d be the last one where he’d make you cry. 

Ara was right– all it took was a bit of communication.

[moutainrusing]

fairytale

608 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”

When the mirror displayed the face of her son, Sirius, Walburga slashed it to pieces with her nails.

“Execute him,” she ordered.

- - -

“Go,” James pushed Sirius towards the forest. “I won’t let the executioner kill you.”

“But,” Sirius pleaded. “James, come with—”

“No,” James shook his head resolutely, turning towards the castle gates.

- - -

“Everything is cool,” Sirius hummed, snapping twigs despite his attempts at silence.

“AHHH, SPIDER!”

- - -

Sirius wiped his forehead, sighing in relief as he leant back on a tree trunk, closing his eyes after his exhausting escape from a spider.

When he opened them, there was a knife to his throat.

“Hey, princess,” the huntsman growled.

“Oh,” Sirius mumbled shakily. “Hey, Remus.”

- - -

There was a long silence between them before Remus sighed, “So, are you gonna try to defend yourself? I can’t really kill someone who—”

Sirius kneed him in the nuts.

“Ow!” Remus hopped away.

Sirius smirked, and kicked him again. Remus’s knife flashed dangerously as he turned it on Sirius, and then…

Sirius ran away.

“HELP! HELP ME!”

- - -

“Fucking princess,” Remus smiled despite himself.

He chased after Sirius, and promptly tripped over.

“Ha,” Sirius grinned, picking up the knife he’d just dropped. “So,” Sirius twirled it. “I can’t really kill someone who’s not defending themselves.”

Remus glared. Sirius sat down next to him, knife gripped in hand.

- - -

“How much did my mother pay you to kill me?” Sirius asked casually.

Remus looked away guiltily. “My… my family’s struggling a lot. We have… nothing. She gave me a thousand.”

“Damn,” Sirius whistled. “I’ve never felt so precious before.”

“You… you are precious,” Remus mumbled.

“Says my killer,” Sirius pointed carelessly. But he cared. He cared so much.

Remus shrugged helplessly. He looked at Sirius, then away, then at Sirius, then, “She’s captured James for protecting you. They’re torturing him.”

Sirius got up immediately. “Well, then. We have to save him.”

“We?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and hauled Remus off the ground.

- - -

“Townspeople!” Sirius hollered. “We all know Queen Walburga’s a conniving bitch—”

He smirked triumphantly at Remus when the entire town went up in cheers.

“To kill the Queen!” Sirius raised.

- - -

“James! Love of my life, I have freed you!” Sirius pulled him into a hug.

Remus shuffled awkwardly behind them, letting out a sound of surprise when he was tugged into the hug too.

“Okay,” Remus patted their backs. “That’s enough hugging, damsels. We need to kill the Queen.”

- - -

Remus spun his knife in one hand, parrying the guards with the other. Around him, townspeople were dropping buckets of dirty water onto guards’ heads, tripping them up with washing lines, knocking them out with metal pokers.

He grinned, manoeuvring himself to the Queen’s quarters.

- - -

Sirius screamed, kicking as the guards dragged him to the Queen’s quarters.

“Well,” she snarled. “If no one else can kill you, I guess it’s up to me.”

Sirius’s eyes widened as an apple materialised in the air. He felt drawn to it, a halo around it, he needed to taste it, the sweet, ripe flesh…

- - -

Remus drove his sword through the door, hacking it open furiously. He twisted back, flinging it open.

“SIRIUS!” Remus yelled, grasping the apple in both hands, feeling the urge to press it to his lips…

But then he tore his eyes away, fixating on Sirius. He would rather press Sirius to his lips.

Remus chucked the apple away, and it landed in Walburga’s gaping mouth. A crunch. She collapsed on the floor.

Seizing his arm, Sirius tugged Remus into a hug, face buried into his shoulder as he let himself finally break down.

[vaggietheangel]

Niffty doing one of her roach puppet shows, holding a Niffty bug:Damien! How could you cheat on me with your secretary?!

Angel Dust:Oh shit. She's gonna chop his balls off.

Vaggie:Bastard!

Niffty holding Damian bug:She just makes me feel a certain type of way! When I'm with her, all I can feel is passion. I get all hot and bothered.

Husk:Are we ignoring the fact that she's playing with dead cockroaches?

Niffty holding bug Niffty:If you like feeling hot so much, I'll make sure that's the last thing you ever feel! *uses lighter to set Damien roach on fire.*

Vaggie:Woah, wait to go Niffty!

Charlie:Niffty this plot is awful violent. How about bug Niffty divorces him, and takes the house? That will teach him not to mess with her. There's no need to take his life.

Niffty:That wouldn't be historically accurate Charlie hehehehhehehe.

Charlie:Wait- is this based on your life?! I thought all your shows were just made up!

Niffty:

Vaggie:Fair enough Niffty, he was disloyal.

Alastor:Indeed, I found Damian to be quite a slimey character.

Angel:Well he's gone now, now point worrying Cuck. You just gotta chuck it in the fuck it bucket and move on.

Charlie:But-

Angel:Damian had it coming the asshole.

Niffty:Act two will cover roach Niffty's new found hobby, spoiler warning its fire!

Husk:You terrify me.

[sketch-guardian]

Both Angel and RAD classmates learning very early on that Mc saying “fuck it” or some variation of “fuck it” as in “fuck it we ball” “chucked/chucking it into the fuck it bucket” means something horrible is gonna happen not to them but some poor asshole of a demon they hear it and just slowly turn there heads to Mc before all hell breaks loose and Mc has a demon in a choke hold cussing them,their mother,their grandmother,their sister their great grandma etc basically Mc being a menace and not giving a single f if the demon or whoever is several heads taller and bigger they will win

I like how your MC wakes up every morning and chooses violence😂but considering what they're forced to endure every day, I'd say it's the least that can happen🙈I'll do my best to write good headcanons, sorry for the delay by the way😥:

"RAD CLASSMATES+NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MC WHO IS A MENACE"

DEMYA

Demya is quite the troublemaker and unlikely to back down from a challenge, so if she ever got into a fight, she would more than willingly fight tooth and nail, with adrenaline pumping through her veins, someone would just have to check she doesn't give a few too many bites. Being probably as much of a menace as MC, Demya would immediately understand from their words, almost as if they were a signal/warning, that a mess was about to break out and would rush to cheer for MC, finding their fighting style quite attractive, after all in her culture, flirting was mainly about showing off strength to prove oneself worthy as a mate. Demya would only intervene aggressively if MC was in trouble, even growling, but otherwise, she would congratulate them on their victory, exchanging a few hugs and kisses, especially on any bruises or scars. Furthermore, it's likely that they would escape before suffering any consequences, giggling like crazy

DOMNRA/MOBIM

Domnra isn't considered a delinquent without a reason, he sometimes gets into trouble and beatings with other annoying demons wouldn't necessarily be new, although he tries to be careful and avoid fighting with Mobim nearby, as the little curse would not approve and get scared. Domnra would immediately sense from MC's exclamations that a fight would break out soon and for once, both for fun and to release tension, Domnra would decide with a pointed smile to join MC in the fight, coordinating like a team, as partners in crime, while Mobim, safely on the sidelines, would cover its eye, clearly in distress, not wanting anyone to get hurt. It's likely that Domnra and MC would then end up in detention, together with Mobim, who would need lots of comfort, but it would be worth it in the end

AZUL

Azul is a chatterbox more than anything, an extrovert who loves attention and entertainment, although he has his quiet days due to his mood swings, so he wouldn't be a problematic student per se, apart from stupid jokes or moments of carelessness. If someone were to provoke MC, usually Azul, in order to avoid involving them and getting them into trouble, would roll up his sleeves, saying something like "I'm sorry dear, but I have to go and make a scene-" before publicly humiliating the other demon, making them lose the will to be seen around Devildom. At MC's first warning and swears, Azul would be slightly confused, thinking it was just their way of expressing themselves, but as soon as the fight broke out, he would let out a whistle and grimace at the sight of some blows, obviously rooting for MC. In the end, Azul would say that he found their attitude badass and that he wouldn't mind witnessing it again, as long as it doesn't bother their health too much. Azul would put some cute band-aids on MC's wounds as well

ZURI

Zuri is a reserved and diligent student in class, she doesn't speak often so conflicts are quite rare, however when they do happen, they are mostly resolved either through words or hypnotic powers in particularly tedious cases. MC would give Zuri a huge headache, not only due to their bad language, but also because of their tendency to get into physical fights with other demons. Not only MC would risk getting hurt, but also ruin their clothes and pay the consequences of their actions. If the situation degenerated greatly, Zuri would intervene with her hypnotic ability to ward off the offending demon and then, despite herself, she would try to put in a good word with the teachers for MC, to prevent them from getting into further trouble. Once home Zuri would criticize MC's recklessness while tending to their wounds, she would even raise an eyebrow, asking in exasperation if it was all part of a plan to impress her. Although it might result quite repetitive, Zuri would point out to MC that she won't always be able to be there to defend them if needed, so they should try to manage such outbursts better during lessons. Zuri would let out a soft praise if she noticed MC actually wanting her approval that badly

ODON

Odon technically, given their age, shouldn't even be in RAD, however there is always time to learn new things, it is also a strategy to try to meet more people and make new friends. The swears shouted by MC to another demon that they apparently are about to beat up would leave Odon slightly astonished, but they would not necessarily intervene, especially because a single glare from the eldritch abomination would be enough for the demon to back down. Odon would smile in a innocent way, but in the eyes of others they would still look like a murderer due to their big grin, making the demon in question regret all their life choices and beg MC for mercy. It wouldn't happen very often for MC to get involved in combat, considering Odon's reputation, but either way, they would show care in treating any wounds and wouldn't meddle too much in MC's affairs if they don't feel like talking, Odon would find MC's menacing nature by the way pretty endearing, except for the foul language almost used as a summoning circle

REMIEL

Remiel is a curious, innocent angel, such vocabulary does not belong to her and if not required for the sake of balance then she tries to avoid violence, usually resorting to words and deeds, furthermore seeing an upset angel of death would be both rare and disturbing, so many demons wouldn't be willing to risk it, despite her tender and somber appearance. Remiel wouldn't know many swear words, so at the beginning she wouldn't understand that MC is predicting the arrival of a disaster, over time she would learn to make the association between exclamations and facts, then she would gently try to dissuade MC from fighting, especially if the demon was sincere about their will to redeem themselves. MC's would also slightly remind Remiel of her uncle, Strife, due to their quirky personality

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel is extremely calm and docile, so much so that he is often mistaken for a statue, otherwise he's pretty chill and would let out a soft tired sigh at MC's swears, already expecting the worst from them. At the start of the fight, Nathaniel would watch the scene shrugging his shoulders and whistling as if nothing had happened if someone asked him to intervene, being an angel, in case MC had the worst, only in that case would Nathaniel get involved in the fight, blocking those directly involved from beating each other, even offering alternative solutions to the conflict, like a teacher or monk passing on his life lessons. Nathaniel's tested patience would be unnerving to see

URIEL

If you think Uriel would intervenes by seeing MC beating a demon senseless with the intent of stopping them, then you are very wrong. Uriel sometimes still feels resentment/prejudice towards demons, so she would be proud to see MC in action fighting one with their bare hands, a clear sign of their abilities, however she would not approve of such profanities expressed before the mess, finding them blasphemous, unnecessary and an offense against the doctrine of the Celestial Realm. Uriel would probably justify MC's actions and think about improving their technique or catchphrase. If the situation got out of hand, Uriel would obviously intervene with her sword to defend MC

[v-a-l]

Can we talk about how Sirius’ flaws alone get exacerbated by fandom whilst pretty much everyone else gets a free pass?

1. James was a bully? Sirius’ fault.

2. Snape was a bully? Also Sirius’ fault.

3. Regulus was a death eater? Sirius’ fault.

4. Remus did fuck all for Harry those thirteen years? Sirius’ fault for having the audacity to get betrayed and chucked into the torture chamber of doom. Remus continues to do nothing for Harry after they reunite? Sirius’ fault for kicking the bucket.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but Sirius didn’t make James hex people in hallways or make Regulus a fanatic groupie to a fascist.

I’m so Tired of fandom disproportionately holding Sirius liable for things whilst pretty much everyone else gets a free pass. I’m so tired of Sirius’ best traits being given away to other characters only for them to rip and claw at him until there’s nothing left.

And no, I’m not trying to claim he was flawless. He wouldn’t be so wonderful if he were, but: Sirius was top of his class and emotionally stunted, Sirius had ridiculously high principles and morality and was as capable of throwing it all away in a fit of temper, Sirius was as beautiful as he was cruel, as wild as he was gentle, as forgiving as he was vengeful.

He was both. He was always both.