#grill the elderly

[alwayslewis]

grandpa is always confused in these videos

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[kittlyns]

I had yet another long, strenuous day yesterday and didn't finish work until super late and then I couldn't fall asleep until well past 2am cuz I was in so much pain from standing literally all day

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I love a good florist Steve, but what I love even more is a good but naturally bitchy florist Steve.

He'd have his own flower shop and years of dating experience behind his belt. He is not just a good boyfriend, he is THE good boyfriend. Going to his shop isn't just to buy a bouquet of flowers, oh no. It's a whole relationship coaching thing, he teaches husbands to do better, gives courage to teenagers asking their crushes out, gives advice regarding flower language to elderly ladies who just want to be slightly passive-aggressive...you know, the normal thing.

He has a catalogue with flower pictures to help people who have no idea what the flowers are called, they just know they were orange and didn't easily wilt.

He shows a local teenager the cheaper but still fancy options and throws in a bunch of free flowers that aren't really up to his standards. "Okay, you say she likes pink flowers. Does she like things to be a bit more decorated or does she prefer simplicity? You don't know? Okay, can you describe what she normally wears? No, I'm not being creepy, but you can sometimes tell the person's preferences from their clothes. Now answer or leave dateless."

He chats with the elderly ladies of Hawkins when they ask for a flower to gift to their fellow church ladies when they host their meetings. He cackles when he hears some of their orders. "Oh wow, Ethel, a yellow hyacinth? Would you like a gift card with that, something like sorry you're such a jealous hag? No? Of course I know the meaning, it's my job."

"Are you expeting her to say yes to the date with that atrocity on your face? Yes, I know it's a moustache. But it's also an atrocity. Shave it and thank me later. Now, would you like a ribbon for that bouquet?"

And most of all, he grills the unlucky conservative men in Hawkins who come to him for flowers for their wives without any idea what they like. "I see, so you want something pretty. What does your wife like? Flowers? Well, that's not specific. What kind of dresses does she wear? Expensive? Can you tell me anything about your wife's personality? ...nagging. No, I can't just mix something together, unlike you, I take pride in gift giving. Okay. I don't think this is a shop for you. Yes, that's what I'm saying, I won't play a part in your wife's disappointment. Oh sure, go take your money elsewhere, but I can give you this advice for free - you married a unique human being, so treat her like one. And if you really want a happy marriage - maybe come back when you learn something about her as a person. No need for that language, have a good day, sir."

For those that are more receptive, he goes through their partners' personalities and hobbies, suggesting date options and absolutely roasting the bad ones. "A football match. When your girlfriend hates sports. I don't care if it's your boys playing, you can try telling her that this is important to you and you'll take her out another time, but if you try to pass this as a date, you'll be single before you say "sorry". A date is for you as a pair, not for you only."

But the best thing his shop brings him is Eddie Munson, who sneaks in, absolutely ready to be roasted, and asks for a bouquet of bright colorful flowers for his best friend Chrissy. "She just got divorced from her asshole husband and I want to show her that she can have nice things. Platonically. But she deserves so much more. Uh...she really loves warm colors, so maybe yellows and oranges? What are they called...gerberas! She likes gerberas! And she likes things to be a bit messy and imperfect, so maybe some leaves there as well? A green ribbon would be nice."

And Steve just beams at him as he gets to work and says "Oh wow. Whoever your partner is, they are so lucky if you remember all of these things even for your friends. Makes a guy jealous."

Eddie just wiggles his eyebrows at Steve and mutters, "that position's sadly open. Has been for a while. Interested?" and he almost faints against the counter when Steve turns around.

Eddie is ready to run.

But Steve just fluffs his hair, reapplies his lipgloss and asks: "Where do I apply?"

[mohammedzatr]

This post has been translated with help from a friend.

My name is Mahmoud Zaatar. Before the violence escalated in Gaza, I used to run a grilled meat restaurant and study at university. Unfortunately, my restaurant was bombed. I have been unable to work or study ever since.

Thankfully, my wife was able to leave Gaza. She gave birth to our daughter outside of Gaza. I have not met my daughter yet. This is something that causes me pain every day.

I am raising funds to support two families: myself; my wife and child; my elderly parents and my brother’s household. My brother, Mohammed Zatr, was badly injured by shrapnel and is unable to financially support his family. My brother’s wife is pregnant and due to give birth in the next few months. Our situation is desperate.

The cost of food is high in Gaza, with a single bag of flour costing $600. We have been living in an unliveable tent for over a year. We are not seeking luxuries – we are simply aiming to meet our basic needs and live with dignity. We have already lost so many family members. We do not want to lose any more.

I had an active campaign previously but it unexpectedly closed. This created a lot of hardship for my family. All praise be to God: I have been able to start a new campaign. However, we are starting from the very beginning and we need support more than ever.

Any donation will go towards making an enormous difference to me and my family. Please support us.

Current progress: €212 / €1,000 (short-term target)

[things-of-fire]

SilkWing metamorphosis takes a huge toll on the body. A dragonet has to grow an entire set of wings in only six days—how do they do it? Unlike caterpillars, SilkWings’ bodies don’t change enough to warrant turning into soup. Instead, the body enters a trance state, slowing down most metabolic processes except those needed to grow a pair of wings. Said wings are delicate, supported mostly by cartilage rather than bone. This makes them extra light and agile. A SilkWing’s cocoon regulates the humidity around them, creating an ideal environment for the growing and healing process. It also protects them from temperature fluctuations, lessening strain on the body.

Growing wings also takes energy. LOTS of energy. Prior to Wasp’s reign, SilkWing diets were well studied and pre-metamorphosis “bulking” was common practice. In the month or two leading up to metamorphosis, a SilkWing’s appetite increases tenfold. Communities would host small feasts and “foraging parties” for their dragonets to ensure a healthy transition. Candied nuts, grilled grubs, and pollen cakes were especially popular for their nutritional density. Unfortunately, contemporary medicine was dominated by HiveWings for decades, resulting in the erasure of this knowledge. Hungry SilkWing dragonets were brushed off as “needy” and metamorphosis recovery times increased. Without the energy stores, their bodies broke down essential tissues for energy, leaving many dragonets malnourished and sick after metamorphosing.

With the establishment of the LeafSilk kingdom, things have changed for the better. Cricket and Malachite have organized hundreds of dragons to search the wreckage of the Hives for books, documents, anything that tells the true history of Pantala. The elderly Flamesilks, now free, tell Blue stories from before the tree wars and fret over him like a grandchild. He always returns home well-fed. Mandrake pours over old field guides and maps, working with Sundew to restore the food sources Pantala thrived on all those years ago.

And when Dusky’s wingbuds start to grow, the Flamesilks put every dragon to work gathering food for a grand feast, the first of the Leafsilk kingdom.

[formulaonedirection]

please stop grilling him ❌ he is elderly

[msriri030]

The Taste of Chaos

Hyugo x reader

cw: light murder

You woke up early in the morning, the soft cooing of doves outside your window easing you into the day. The sunlight trickled gently through the thin curtains as you fixed your bed, listening to the morning sounds of the world waking up.

Slipping into your worn-out clothes—familiar and threadbare—you slid open your room door, stepping out into the garden compound. A small smile tugged at your lips as you took in the sight before you. The garden stretched wide, bursting with life: vibrant flowers in every color imaginable and lush plants swayed gently in the breeze. At the center of it all stood a majestic wisteria tree, its lavender blossoms cascading gracefully, bathing the garden in a dreamlike hue.

You sighed softly, lingering for a moment before making your way to the kitchen. Breakfast had to be prepared, and your daily chores awaited.

As the firstborn child of your father, the head of the Shindou clan, one might have assumed you led a life of privilege. But reality has never been kind to you. Born of an affair, you were a stain on the family’s reputation—an unwanted reminder of a mistake. You’d grown up in the compound as more of a servant than a child, treated with disgust and disregard by the clan members who sneered at your very existence. Your father and his wife had done little to stop it, content to let you fade into the background.

The clothes on your back were never new—hand-me-downs from older cousins, given to you out of pity rather than kindness. Yet, despite the bitterness of it all, you found solace in the small corners of your life, where genuine warmth still flickered.

Entering the kitchen, you were greeted by the familiar hum of activity and the smiling faces of the staff. These were the people who had raised you, cared for you when no one else did. To you, they were family.

“Good morning, Mr. Aikawa,” you said warmly, the head chef returning your greeting with a smile as he worked on preparing the day’s dishes.

The smell of grilled salmon—shiozake—lingered in the air, and your stomach quietly grumbled in anticipation. Mr. Aikawa, an elderly man who had always looked after you, glanced over his shoulder and nodded toward the corner of the counter.

“(Y/N), I made you some breakfast,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, as always. “Eat first, then come help me with the miso soup.”

Confused, you followed his gesture and froze when you saw it—a neatly prepared egg omelet waiting for you. Across the surface, carefully written in sauce, were the words: Good luck.

For a moment, your chest tightened. Your vision blurred slightly as emotion welled up, but you blinked it back, unwilling to let the tears fall. Instead, you smiled, warmth spreading through you like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Aikawa,” you said softly, your voice filled with quiet gratitude.

He waved a hand dismissively, though his smile told you he was pleased. “Now, eat up. We’ve got a long day ahead.”

You nodded, sitting down to savor the meal, the rare, joyous smile on your face lighting up the room. For just that fleeting moment, you felt seen—like you mattered.

Across the kitchen, Mr. Aikawa glanced at you with a softened expression, though his smile carried a quiet sadness. He quickly turned back to his work, the creases on his face deepening as though weighed down by unspoken thoughts.

Finishing your meal, you stood and began preparing the miso soup, the small warmth in your chest lingering. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked, the tune a melody from your childhood—one the kitchen staff used to sing to calm you when you were younger.

You filled a large pot with water, carefully sprinkling in the dashi granules. As the liquid began to heat, the savory aroma of the stock wafted through the kitchen, mingling with the faint smokiness of the grilled salmon.

While the water simmered, you cut the tofu into neat, bite-sized cubes with precision and care, then sliced the green onions into thin rings. You moved effortlessly around the kitchen, hands steady and confident as you whisked in the miso paste—a homemade blend you’d crafted days before. Its rich, earthy scent lingered in the air as the paste dissolved into the broth, blending smoothly.

Finally, you stirred in the tofu cubes, letting them bob gently in the fragrant soup as they cooked. You tasted it quickly, adjusting the flavors with the practiced touch of someone who’d perfected this dish countless times. Satisfied, you ladled the miso soup into bowls, their surfaces steaming gently, and arranged them carefully on a tray.

The soft shuffle of footsteps approached as servants entered the kitchen to begin setting up for the day. You handed off the tray with a small, polite smile, and they offered quiet thanks in return.

As you wiped your hands on a clean cloth, you glanced back at Mr. Aikawa. He was watching you again—his gaze thoughtful, almost wistful—before he turned away to focus on preparing the main dishes.

“Good work,” he muttered, his voice gruff yet kind.

You smiled faintly to yourself, feeling the familiar rhythm of the kitchen settle your heart. No matter what the world outside held, here, amidst the simmering pots and the soft clinking of utensils, you found peace.

Once the main dishes were ready, the sounds of laughter echoed through the compound. The patter of small feet and the hum of conversation filled the air, vibrant and full of life. You lingered by the doorway, watching as clan members gathered around the long dining tables, their faces alight with joy.

It was a sight you had watched countless times since childhood—first from behind the backs of the kitchen staff, and later from this very spot. Back then, they used to shoo you away, shielding you from the sting of what you could never have: the warmth of a family’s love.

Now, you stood there quietly, the ache in your chest as familiar as breathing. Your eyes followed your younger step-siblings as they received affectionate head pats and playful nudges. The way your father’s wife beamed at them, her laughter genuine and soft, made you feel like an outsider in a home that was supposed to be yours, too.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, and then another, as you watched them. Why couldn’t it be me? you thought. The bitterness of longing mingled with the quiet ache of acceptance, but still, you couldn’t look away.

Then, out of habit—out of hope—you let your gaze drift to your father. He sat at the head of the table, his usual stoic face calm as he brought the steaming miso soup to his lips. You held your breath.

Something shifted. His brow lifted slightly as if in surprise, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes found yours across the room. He smiled.

It wasn’t much—just a small, fleeting curve of his lips—but it was enough to leave you frozen. That smile, that tiny acknowledgment, was so rare it felt like a treasure. The air caught in your throat. Had he noticed you—really noticed you—this time?

“Come on, child.”

A soft, familiar voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt a gentle tug on your arm. Mr. Aikawa stood beside you, his expression kind yet firm as he pulled you away from the doorway.

“We’ve still got work to do. Lunch will be here before you know it, and you know how specific they are with their orders.”

You let him lead you back to the kitchen, your heart a strange mix of longing and warmth. For all the love you had never been given, there were still moments like this—moments when someone cared enough to remind you where you were needed.

As you picked up a rag to clean the counters, your mind lingered on that smile. It was small, but it was something.

And for now, something would have to be enough

After cleaning up the dishes from breakfast, Mr. Aikawa announced he’d be heading to the market to gather ingredients for lunch preparations. Left alone in the kitchen, you decided to experiment with some dessert recipes, finding solace in the quiet hum of the room.

Taiyaki, fresh and golden, cooled on the table behind you as you carefully prepared a strawberry filling. Humming softly to yourself, you scooped the homemade jam into a piping bag, the sweet aroma lingering in the air. It was moments like these—calm and uninterrupted—where you felt a fleeting sense of joy.

As you turned around, a pair of wide, baby-blue eyes stared back at you, sparkling with mischief and delight. You froze in place, your heart lurching as the unexpected figure—a young man about your age—stood there, grinning like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar.

He held one of your taiyaki in his hands, already mid-bite, and his expression was unabashedly pleased.

“Hey,” he said, his voice muffled by the pastry he was still chewing. “I’m Hyugo—”

WHACK.

The sound of impact echoed through the kitchen as your instincts took over. Without thinking, you swung the piping bag in your hand, the soft splat of strawberry jam spilling through the air. It splattered onto the floor, onto you, and all over him.

Hyugo blinked, stunned into silence, his face now smeared with streaks of bright red. He coughed awkwardly, his messy hair sticking to the sticky jam.

“Well, uh… that’s one way to say hello,” he muttered, looking both sheepish and amused.

You stared at him, your lips parting as anger flared. “What are you doing here? Who even are you?!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, bits of jam still dripping from his fingers. “Relax! I’m not a thief—I swear! I’m a guest here, just… got a little lost and followed the smell of something amazing.”

You glared at him, barely processing his words as you grabbed a rag to wipe the sticky jam from your clothes. “Lost? In this part of the house? You shouldn’t even be here!”

Hyugo only grinned, his baby-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, if it makes you feel better, the taiyaki was delicious. Totally worth getting attacked.”

You clenched the rag in your hand, cheeks burning as you pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t touch my food again, or next time it won’t just be jam you’re wearing!”

He chuckled softly, unbothered by your threat. “Fair enough, fair enough. But hey, for someone who’s scary with a piping bag, you’re a great cook. I’ll be back for more.”

And with that, Hyugo turned on his heels, strolling out of the kitchen as though nothing had happened—still covered in jam and leaving faint sticky footprints behind him.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Who is that guy?”

The only answer was faint laughter echoing down the hall. Curious, you peeked out of the kitchen to see another figure leaning casually against the doorway. He had bluish-purple hair, his sharp features softened by an amused smile as he watched the teal-haired Hyugo’s predicament unfold.

“Hyugo, what the hell?” the newcomer chuckled, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “I feel bad for your fiancée already.”

The words struck like a pin, and Hyugo’s playful pout deepened into something more subdued. He shot a glare at the other man, clearly unimpressed.

“Shut up, Geo,” Hyugo grumbled, his shoulders slumping slightly as he rubbed at the sticky mess on his shirt. You noticed the way his bright expression dimmed, and a pang of guilt twisted in your chest. He didn’t seem as insufferable now—just a little lost, perhaps.

Geo tilted his head, his smirk widening as he crossed his arms. “You were supposed to be making a good first impression, not raiding the kitchen like a starving raccoon.”

Hyugo opened his mouth to retort, but you stepped forward before the banter escalated any further. “Hey.”

Both men looked at you, surprised by your sudden interruption. Without thinking, you gently grabbed Hyugo’s arm, tugging him away from his brother’s teasing.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, your voice firm. “I said to clean up the kitchen.”

Hyugo blinked in confusion, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You never said—”

“Shut up,” you cut him off, refusing to let him argue. “I’ll call for a servant to prepare the bath and bring you clean clothes. You, however, are helping me clean up this mess.”

For a second, Hyugo just stared at you, mouth slightly agape, as if trying to figure out how he’d ended up in this situation. A faint blush crept across his face, but he didn’t resist as you pulled him along back into the kitchen.

Behind you, Geo’s soft laughter echoed again. “Oh, this is fun. I’ll have to tell Father about your new skills, Hyugo—looks like you’re a natural at following orders.”

Hyugo groaned loudly but followed your lead, muttering under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

You couldn’t help but shake your head as you ushered Hyugo inside, resisting the urge to smile at Geo’s parting smirk.

“Here, I’ll give you an easy job.” You placed a mop and a bucket filled with cold water and cleaner in front of him. “You just have to mop the floor while I wipe down the counters and whatever else the jam got on.”

Hyugo stared at the mop as if it had personally offended him. “I’m not a servant, you know,” he grumbled quietly, though his eyes lingered on you. He leaned lazily against the table, refusing to touch the bucket just yet.

You walked over, with mop in hand, and gently nudged him with the handle. “Too bad,” you teased, your lips curling into a small, gentle smile. “I was going to make you some dessert—maybe taiyaki or a fruit tart—as a reward for helping.”

“Fruit tart?” Hyugo’s head shot up, his teal eyes sparkling with sudden enthusiasm. Within seconds, he was gripping the mop and getting to work like an eager puppy.

You couldn’t hold back your laugh, a sound so light and infectious that it made Hyugo pause mid-motion. His gaze drifted toward you, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow. The way the sunlight kissed your face as it poured through the kitchen window, the brightness of your laughter, the warmth of your smile—Hyugo felt his heart stumble in his chest.

She’s beautiful.

The realization hit him like a wave, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks and ears burning red. His chest felt tight, conflicted. You can’t do this, he thought bitterly. You have a fiancée. But no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, his heart wouldn’t listen.

As time passed, the kitchen slowly returned to order. The floor gleamed under Hyugo’s careful work, and the counters shone thanks to your diligence. Somewhere along the way, the two of you began joking and teasing one another, an easy rhythm forming between you. Hyugo couldn’t help but edge closer as you worked, finding excuses to talk, to laugh, to linger in your space.

By the time Mr. Aikawa returned, the older man stopped in his tracks, stunned. The kitchen looked spotless—immaculate, even—but both you and Hyugo were still wearing evidence of the earlier chaos. Jam streaked your sleeves and dotted Hyugo’s cheek, a comical reminder of the messy ordeal.

Mr. Aikawa blinked, his gaze flicking between the two of you. “What… happened here?”

You turned sheepishly from the sink where you were finishing up the dishes. “Ah, we had a little accident earlier,” you said with a nervous laugh, shooting Hyugo a playful glance.

Hyugo, leaning against the counter with crossed arms, smirked back at you. “It’s called teamwork, Mr. Aikawa. You should be proud.”

Mr. Aikawa gave him a long, suspicious look before shaking his head with a huff. “Clean up yourselves next,” he muttered, though his expression softened as he turned to you.  A servant came in, “The bath is ready for the young lord.”

Hyugo straightened up, sighing dramatically. “Finally. I thought I’d be stuck here forever.”

You rolled your eyes, handing him a towel to clean the stray jam off his face. “Don’t act like you didn’t have fun.”

He froze for a split second as your fingers brushed his hand, his expression faltering. “…Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, softer than you expected. Then, with a final glance at you, he turned to leave, his steps a little slower this time.

As he walked out of the kitchen, Hyugo couldn’t shake the fluttering warmth in his chest—or the way your laughter still echoed in his mind like a sweet melody he never wanted to forget. 

“Sadly, I’m afraid you can only change your clothes, (Y/N),” Mr. Aikawa said softly, his expression tinged with regret.

You nodded without complaint, wiping the last streak of jam off your cheek before quickly retreating to your room. Once there, you changed into a clean set of clothes—another well-worn outfit, but at least free of sticky mishaps.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, the atmosphere had shifted. The hum of lunchtime preparations filled the space, comforting and familiar. Mr. Aikawa, ever the master of his craft, worked diligently over a large pot, the savory scent of homemade shoyu ramen filling the air.

“You’re just in time,” he said, glancing at you with a small, approving smile. “Make sure the ramen toppings are ready, and don’t forget your promise.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeves. While Mr. Aikawa tended to the broth, you focused on the final touches of the small fruit tarts. Carefully, you piped cream into the golden pastry shells, placing sliced strawberries and vibrant blueberries on top. The sight of the delicate tarts brought a rare flicker of pride to your heart—they were simple, but lovely.

Hyugo’s earlier excitement echoed in your mind, and you found yourself smiling faintly. You hoped the dessert would live up to his expectations.

As you placed the tarts neatly on a tray, the comforting aroma of ramen and the gentle clatter of utensils reminded you of why you loved this space. No matter what chaos the day brought, the kitchen was your sanctuary—a place where you could create something meaningful, even if the world outside often overlooked you.

“Everything ready?” Mr. Aikawa called over his shoulder, stirring the pot one last time.

“Yes,” you replied softly, setting the tray of fruit tarts down beside the steaming bowls of ramen.

“Good,” Mr. Aikawa said with a nod, looking over the final spread. “Let’s serve them while it’s hot.”

As the lunch hour began and the clan members filed in, you busied yourself with serving. The sound of laughter and conversation rang through the air—a sound you were used to observing from a distance. Still, when you noticed one bowl of ramen and a tart missing, a flicker of curiosity stirred within you.

It wasn’t long before you turned to find Hyugo lingering by the kitchen door, holding the tart in one hand and a pair of chopsticks in the other.

He grinned at you, boyish and shameless. “Told you I was waiting for this.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Hyugo.”

He gave you a mock salute with his chopsticks, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Don’t worry, I will.”

You giggled, tilting your head playfully. “So~ did you get a chance to meet your fiancée? You know, the one your brother mentioned?”

Hyugo visibly stiffened, his grin faltering as he choked on a mouthful of food. You gasped, quickly grabbing a cup of water and handing it to him. “Here, drink this!”

He gulped it down, coughing lightly before panting, “You—you can’t just drop that on me while I’m eating!”

You raised a brow, suppressing a laugh. “I was just curious. Everyone’s here today. I wonder who she is…”

Hyugo tapped the edge of his chopsticks against the bowl absentmindedly, avoiding your gaze. His face, unusually quiet now, wore a hint of tension. “My father said I’ll meet her at dinner. Apparently, she’s getting ready or something.”

“Oh,” you hummed softly, offering a small smile. “Well, I hope she’s nice.”

Hyugo glanced at you, his expression softening as you turned away to clean a stray dish. There was something about the way you worked—how you smiled so effortlessly, even when life gave you so little—that tugged at him.

His thoughts spiraled as he looked down at his bowl. Why couldn’t it just be you? The idea sank into his chest like a stone. The sound of his brother’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Hyugo,” Geo’s voice rang from the hall, tinged with teasing irritation. “Are you going to sit down, or are you just going to keep bothering the servant girl?”

Hyugo looked up with a start, finding Geo standing behind him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

Hyugo stood quickly, cheeks faintly flushed. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he muttered, shooting Geo a glare.

Before leaving, he glanced at you one last time. “Thanks for the fruit tart. It’s… perfect.”

You blinked in surprise, watching him leave with a small, puzzled smile. “You’re welcome…?”

Geo snickered, giving you a smirk before following his brother. “Try not to break his heart, will you?”

You stared after them, feeling your cheeks warm. “What on earth was that about?” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head before turning back to your chores.

As the buzz of lunchtime settled, Hyugo’s lingering gaze and unspoken words tugged at something deep inside you—something you couldn’t quite name.

You were preparing to start the dinner preparations when Mr. Aikawa appeared, standing solemnly at the entrance of the kitchen. His familiar, gentle demeanor now seemed weighed down, his expression unreadable as he blocked your path.

“Mr. Aikawa?” you asked softly, tilting your head in confusion. “Why are you—?”

You stepped to the side, trying to move past him, but he shifted, gently pressing you away from the door. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, though his face remained composed.

“Sorry, Mistress,” he said quietly, the word strange and foreign as it slipped from his lips. “You know clan members aren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

You froze, your chest tightening as though the air had been sucked from the room. “Mistress?” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “Mr. Aikawa, what are you talking about? What is this?”

This kitchen—this space where you spent nearly every day, where laughter and purpose soothed the ache of your existence—was being ripped away from you. The reality settled like a stone in your stomach.

Mr. Aikawa turned his gaze away, his own eyes glistening with sorrow. “Your father ordered me not to allow you in the kitchen anymore,” he said in a voice that was both stern and broken. “You should… head to the bathhouse to prepare for dinner.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head as the guards appeared behind him. Panic seized your chest, and before you realized it, your trembling hands were clutching at his shirt. “Please, Mr. Aikawa, don’t send me away. I want to stay—I want to cook with you—”

You stopped mid-sentence as Mr. Aikawa cupped your face with his weathered hands, his eyes brimming with tears he fought to keep from falling. For the first time, you saw the depth of his pain reflected back at you.

“You aren’t mine, child,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Therefore, I have no way to stop this.” He paused, his thumbs brushing gently over your tear-streaked cheeks. “Forgive me.”

Before you could reply, the guards stepped forward and wrenched you away from him. Your body went limp as they dragged you toward the hall, the weight of shock silencing your protests. You glanced back over your shoulder to see Mr. Aikawa still standing there, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed—defeated.

The warmth of the kitchen, the comforting sounds of simmering pots, and the feeling of being seen and loved vanished behind you, leaving nothing but a hollow silence.

Servants guided you to the bathhouse, their hands firm but impersonal. You sat still as they worked, bathing you in rich, expensive shampoos and fragrant body washes. The scents—lavender, jasmine, and vanilla—lingered in the air, suffocating rather than soothing. Each scrub, each touch against your skin, felt like an intrusion, a stripping away of something sacred.

Your identity—the quiet comfort of your simple life—was being peeled away layer by layer.

Your old, worn clothes, soft with years of familiarity, were cast aside like refuse, discarded into a corner without thought. In their place came the finest fabrics: silken robes dyed with deep, vibrant hues, shimmering under the light. They draped you in them as if dressing a doll, silent and compliant.

You stared blankly at the mirror as they fussed over your hair, slicing away the simplicity that had once defined you. It fell in glossy strands to the floor, replaced by a fashionable cut you didn’t recognize. When the makeup brush swept across your cheeks and lips, it painted over the last remnants of the person you had been.

By the time they were done, you didn’t recognize the girl staring back at you. The reflection in the mirror was elegant, poised, and perfect—everything the Shindou clan expected of you. Yet, as you looked into those carefully shadowed eyes, you felt empty.

It wasn’t you.

It was someone they wanted you to be.

The sharp sound of your father’s voice brought you back to the present. His presence in the room was as cold as ever, but this time, there was something unsettling about it. He placed a hand on your shoulder, the pressure possessive, as if claiming you as something that belonged to him. "You look so beautiful, (Y/N), just like your mother. I’m sorry for neglecting you all these years. I want to surprise you by arranging a match to—"

"Liar," you interrupted, your voice steady, though the storm inside you raged. You didn't look at him, instead meeting your reflection in the mirror, allowing the bitterness to bleed into your words. You knew better than to fight back directly, but you could still sting him with the venom of truth.

The hand on your shoulder tightened, and your breath hitched in response. “You know better than to speak to me like that,” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “Show some respect. Remember your place.”

You bit back the words you wanted to scream. The pain of the past, of everything he had put you through, bubbled beneath your skin. But it didn’t matter now. He would never see you. Not truly. Not until it suited him.

"Anyway," he continued, his tone sharp as he adjusted his stance, "you will be on your best behavior tonight. A rat like you needs to understand that there’s no room for mistakes. I'll call for you."

And with that, he left, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving you standing in the silence, a chill creeping into your bones where his warmth had once been.

You couldn’t help but stare at your reflection again, the fragile version of yourself that was being sculpted by the hands of others. You hated how the mirror now reflected someone else.

A perfect daughter. A perfect match. And yet, not perfect enough to be loved.

Meanwhile, Hyugo sat at the grand dinner table, his restless eyes darting toward the kitchen doorway. The ornate room buzzed softly with conversation—the polite laughter of clan members, the occasional clink of utensils against porcelain plates—but none of it reached him. His focus remained fixed on that door, waiting. Hoping.

Where were you?

He leaned back slightly, pretending to pay attention as his brother, Geo,corrected him about his slouched posture. Hyugo ignored him, his ears catching faint murmurs from the staff near the far corner of the room. The kitchen staff, normally silent and disciplined during formal meals, seemed unusually chatty. Low whispers carried just far enough for him to sense… something had changed.

Hyugo frowned, his fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of the table. His mind wandered back to the kitchen earlier that day—to your laughter, your kindness, the way the sunlight had caught in your eyes. A warmth he hadn’t realized he craved until it was gone. And now, that same kitchen doorway felt like a wall, keeping you out of sight.

Geo noticed his brother’s distraction, leaning over with a frown. “What’s wrong with you? Waiting for someone?”

“Shut up,” Hyugo muttered, though he could feel the heat rising to his ears.

Geo glares knowingly. “You’re staring at the kitchen like a lovesick fool. What, did you fall in love with the tart instead of eating it?”

Hyugo scowled, though he didn’t answer. He couldn’t admit how much he wanted to see you again, even if just for a moment. The quiet sense of unease from earlier gnawed at him as he studied the staff’s worried expressions and quick glances exchanged across the room. Something was off.

Then, as if on cue, his father’s voice boomed from the head of the table, cutting through the low hum of conversation. “The lady of the hour will join us shortly.”

Hyugo’s heart sank. He didn’t know why, but a sudden weight pressed against his chest, suffocating the small hope he’d held onto all evening. He watched as the room grew silent, the servants moving quickly to prepare for someone’s entrance.

And in that moment, he realized—he didn’t want to meet his fiancée. Not if it meant losing the girl in the kitchen—the one who smiled so brightly and laughed like the very embodiment of warmth.

Just as Hyugo shifted in his seat, ready to slip away and search for you, the sliding door opened with a soft, deliberate thud. The room fell deathly silent, the quiet stretching taut like a thread about to snap.

His breath caught in his throat.

You stepped into the room.

The jeweled hair pins adorning your hair glimmered under the golden light, casting tiny reflections like stars in the night sky. The fine silk of your garments draped elegantly over your form, a vision of poise and grace. For a fleeting moment, Hyugo was struck dumb, awestruck by the beauty before him.

But then—he saw your eyes.

The spark that once made them shine, that made you unmistakably you, was gone. They were hollow now, empty and distant, as though someone had extinguished the fire in your soul and replaced it with nothing but shadows.

Hyugo’s awe turned to anguish.

His heart sank like a stone, a dull ache spreading through his chest. What have they done to you?

The room buzzed with low whispers and speculative glances, gossip swirling like smoke in the air. All eyes were on you as you moved, every step poised and graceful, yet every moment unnatural—controlled.

You took your seat next to Hyugo, your gaze lingering on the kitchen door for just a breath before turning toward him. The faint, practiced smile on your lips didn’t quite reach your empty eyes.

“Surprise,” you murmured softly, your voice quiet, unfamiliar even to yourself. “It’s me. (Y/N) Shindou. Nice to meet you.”

Hyugo’s father nudged him with a sly smirk, clearly pleased, but Hyugo couldn’t bring himself to share in the pride or excitement. He couldn’t smile back.

Instead, he turned to you, searching for the girl he had met in the kitchen earlier—the one who joked and laughed, the one who hummed as she worked, the one who was real. That version of you seemed a world away now, trapped behind the layers of expectation and artifice.

With a resolute look, he reached out, his warm fingers gently curling around your hand. Lifting it to his lips, he pressed a tender kiss against your knuckles. It wasn’t just an act of formality—it was something more.

The room fell silent again as he looked up, his expression serious, his voice carrying a weight that demanded attention and respect.

“Don’t pretend,” Hyugo said firmly, his gaze holding yours. “I don’t want my future wife to hide her true feelings. It’s okay. If you can’t be yourself here, I’ll take you from here tonight.”

A collective murmur rippled through the room, stunned by his words, but Hyugo didn’t care. His focus was solely on you, his grip steady, offering something you hadn’t been given in years: a choice, and a sliver of hope.

For the first time that evening, your hollow expression cracked. The faintest flicker of light returned to your eyes—a spark—as though his words had reached a part of you you thought was long buried.

Your breath hitched as you tried to hold it all back, but the dam broke the moment your gaze met Mr. Aikawa’s from across the room. He stood silently in the shadows, his wrinkled face soft with an unspoken sorrow and pride. It was as though his presence alone reminded you of who you were.

A trembling sniff escaped you, and tears welled up, slipping silently down your cheeks as you turned back to Hyugo. He smiled faintly, as if to say, It’s okay. You don’t have to hold it in. You tried to hide your face, leaning closer to him for a brief moment, shielding yourself from the prying stares of the room.

But then your father moved. His stern, imposing figure cut through the murmuring crowd, his glare like ice. He reached for you with a tense smile, the kind meant only for show, his voice clipped and falsely apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Hyugo,” your father said smoothly, though the edge in his tone was unmistakable. “I will have a quick word with my daughter. Just a moment.”

Without waiting for Hyugo’s response, your father’s hand closed around your arm like a vice. The warmth and safety you had just begun to feel slipped away, replaced by cold dread as he yanked you from your seat, pulling you toward the hallway beyond.

But before he could take another step, a sharp sound cut through the tense silence—the scrape of Hyugo’s chair against the polished floor.

In an instant, Hyugo was behind him, his movements swift and deliberate. The room froze.

Your father barely had time to turn before the glint of Hyugo’s blade flashed under the dim light. A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd as Hyugo pinned the blade at your father’s collar, his voice low and deadly.

“You don’t touch her,” Hyugo growled, his anger simmering beneath the surface like molten fire. With a quick, clean motion, he slid the blade across your father’s throat.

Chaos erupted. Screams filled the air, chairs scraped, and the once-stately room was thrown into disarray. Hyugo’s father, seated at the head of the table, exhaled a heavy sigh as though this was the last outcome he had hoped for—but not entirely unexpected.

“Hyugo…” his father muttered, signaling as Hyugo’s family rushed to kill the remaining Shindou clan members as precautions against them wanting revenge.

You stumbled back in shock, trembling as Hyugo turned to you, blood splattered on his pristine formalwear. But his eyes, fierce yet soft, locked onto yours.

“You’re free now,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious truth in the world. His hand reached for yours, steady amidst the chaos. “Come with me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at him—this man who had shattered your gilded prison in a single moment. And for the first time, you truly believed that freedom might be possible. You reached for his hand.

You blinked at the sudden shift, the vivid remnants of your dream still clinging to your thoughts as you sat up slowly, pressing a hand to your aching temple. The haunting image of Hyugo’s outstretched hand lingered before dissolving into reality—the cozy warmth of MC’s living room wrapped around you now, safe and familiar.

“(Y/n)?” MC’s cheerful voice rang through the space, their giggle lighthearted as they plopped down beside you, shaking their head. “You passed out halfway through the movie. Don’t worry, it was adorable.”

You groaned softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the lingering grogginess began to fade. “Ugh… Sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your movie night. Hyugo kept me up late last night.” You managed a small, tired smile, though the dream still lingered at the edges of your mind like a fog.

MC grinned knowingly and handed you a glass of water, nudging it into your hand. “I bet he did.” They shot you a teasing look before settling in beside you. “Don’t sweat it. You needed a nap. Sol and Hyugo should be back soon anyway. They just went out to grab a few things.”

As if on cue, two solid knocks echoed at the front door.

“That’ll be them,” MC chirped, jumping up to answer. You could hear the faint sound of voices and the shuffle of footsteps as they opened the door.

You stayed on the couch, sipping your water as you stared blankly at the TV screen.

“Yo, sleepyhead,” Hyugo’s familiar voice called out, pulling you from your daze. You looked up to find him stepping inside, holding a bag in one hand and smirking at you. Sol followed close behind, shaking his head at Hyugo’s antics.

“You really passed out during movie night?” Hyugo teased, leaning against the back of the couch. His bright eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something else there too—something softer that lingered for just a moment as he looked at you.

“Shut up,” you grumbled playfully, tossing a pillow at him. “Maybe if you didn’t keep me up so late—”

“That’s your fault for always wanting dessert at midnight,” he interrupted with a grin, easily catching the pillow mid-air.

MC laughed, watching the two of you with a knowing look before heading into the kitchen with Sol. “You two are impossible.”

You rolled your eyes, but when you looked back at Hyugo, his teasing smile softened. He held out the bag in his hand.

“Here,” he said, more quietly this time. “I saw this and thought you’d like it.”

Hyugo’s brows furrowed slightly as his thumb lingered just below your cheek, the tenderness in his touch sending your heart fluttering. His usual teasing demeanor had vanished, replaced by something deeper—something unspoken.

“You dreamed about it?” he asked softly, searching your eyes.

You nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile, though your voice came out quieter than you intended. “Yeah… about the kitchen, the mess we made… when you stole my taiyaki.” You chuckled faintly, trying to lighten the mood. “I guess I was crying because… it felt so real. Like I was reliving it all.”

Hyugo’s gaze softened, but his seriousness didn’t fade. He leaned back slightly, his hand falling away, though the warmth of his presence remained. “I remember that day too, you know,” he admitted, his voice low. “You were so mad at me—and cute, too—hitting me with that jam bag.” A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips before his expression turned thoughtful. “But when I looked at you… when you smiled… I think I knew. That’s when it started.”

Your breath caught slightly as his words settled over you, carrying more weight than you expected. You tilted your head, studying him. “When what started?”

Hyugo hesitated for only a second, then his eyes met yours, unwavering. “When I started wanting to see that smile every day. Even if it meant getting hit with a hundred jam bags.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The room felt smaller, quieter—just the two of you and the memories that lingered between you.

You smiled shyly, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks. “You’re such an idiot, Hyugo…”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he teased, the playful lilt returning to his voice, though his eyes stayed warm, sincere. He reached for the box of takoyaki, holding it up like a peace offering. “Here—no jam this time. Just a guy trying to make you smile.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for one of the warm pastries. “You’re lucky you’re good at this.”

Hyugo leaned back, arms crossed with a smug grin. “Lucky? Nah, I’m just determined. You’re worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips when Hyugo kissed you happily. Somehow, it felt like fate had brought you full circle—back to where it all started, back to where you started. And this time, there was no emptiness in your eyes, no hollow shell. Just you… and him.

And for now, that was enough.

[here-comes-the-moose]

More Of My Random Bad Batch Headcanons (Modern AU)

Echo is the absolute KING of finding good shit for good prices on eBay, Facebook Marketplace, or Poshmark. He’s found Omega American Girl dolls in basically new condition for super cheap.

Batcher sleeps in Crosshair’s bed with him.

Hunter decided to let them keep Batcher because he realized he hadn’t seen Crosshair smile like he does when she’s around in a very long time.

Crosshair has some degree of anxiety and is an intense perfectionist.

On that note, he has an extremely nervous stomach. He’s just like me fr

Omega likes to bake and usually does so with Echo and Wrecker not only to bond with them but because they’re both good at it and eager to teach her.

Wrecker cries at movies.

Crosshair also cries at movies but pretends he doesn’t.

Echo has an INSANE network of mom friends. His siblings don’t know the full extent of his network, but what they do know is they can’t go anywhere without bumping into at least one mom who knows Echo.

Crosshair and Tech live in constant fear of Echo dragging them along with him to run errands for this reason. They don’t want to socialize with Sharon for three hours in the sensory hell that is a crowded suburban Target on a Saturday they just want to grab their Oreos and go home.

Hunter has a tendency to baby Crosshair if he isn’t feeling well.

Crosshair pretends to hate it but secretly he loves it because it makes him feel loved and cared for.

Omega seeks out all five of her brothers for bedtime stories depending on what she’s feeling that day. She feels like they are all good storytellers in their own ways but for different types of stories.

Their front lawn is the envy of every dad in the neighborhood courtesy of Hunter.

Speaking of Hunter, all the single moms and college-aged daughters home from school in the neighborhood “just so happen” to be in the area when he’s doing work on the lawn. Especially if it’s in the middle of summer so he’s all glistening… (I’m going to stop right here before it turns into a romance novel scene).

Omega hates this and finds it cringe.

Wrecker and Crosshair go more crazy over Echo buying Capri Suns than Omega does.

Crosshair collects shot glasses from wherever they travel to. Wrecker collects snow globes.

All the neighborhood dads go CRAZY (and also get lowkey jealous) when Wrecker shows up to the neighborhood cookout because he is an absolute MASTER on the grill. He’s telling them about all the meats he’s smoked and they’re SHAKING with excitement.

Their elderly neighbors who knew 99 and remembers when they were kids still refer to Echo and the original members of the Batch as “99’s boys”. They lowkey still view them as kids/teenage boys so will give them candy on Halloween even though they’re grown-ass men.

Their house is always very decorated for holidays since at least one of them is very intense about a specific holiday (Crosshair takes Halloween very seriously but pretends he’s just doing it for Omega).

[wejustvibing]

grill the elderly

[radioisntdead]

I need to see it immediately.

Where is Susan, our grandmother, and we are her grandson/granddaughter

Give this woman love!!! 💗💗

What sweet nonsense is where the reader spends time with his grandmother

Good evening my dear! I am SO GLAD Y'ALL WANT SUSAN CONTENT LIKE I DO, I ADORE Susan, I think this counts as a drabble? Anyways I added a sprinkle of angst, definitely differs from my Susan & child/nibling reader headcanons but we're not gonna talk about that, anyways I hope you enjoy!

Grandma Susan

Warnings!

Cannibalism, and Susan

Down in Cannibal town lived a pair of a cranky old lady and her grandchild,

Her old lady babysitting may or may not have been picked up off the streets grandchild,

You see your grandmama Susan was a MENACE TO SOCIETY, to be fair she earned it, she went through life in the 1800's but that's not an excuse for her smacking people she didn't like with her cane, or cursing them out,

the majority of the cannibal town residents were excused, as they were a tight knit community and Susan was, somehow, respected

only a few unlucky cannibalistic souls were smacked harshly with the cane.

You were dubbed the Susan handler at some point by Rosie so whenever Susan was Susan-ing you were called to calm down your dearest grandmama, it did come with the risk of getting gently smacked with the cane but you didn't particularly mind it, the most you said to do was calm her down and offer to get her some tea and pray that she would quit cursing at random overlords and the princess of hell.

But caring for your elderly grandmama wasn't all chaos and fearing for her life, you did have bonding moments, such as now, your grandmother much like many old people liked knitting, mainly because she could stab someone with the needles if needed, you on the other hand preferred crochet. [Spreading my crochet propaganda]

It was days like this you adored, acidic rain pouring outside, the radio playing some type of classical music, you sat cozily in the couch listening to your meemaw Susan ramble on about kids these days and how back in her day they were more respectful or whatever, or maybe drop lore about how she was involved in supporting woman's rights movements from the shadows, maybe how when she was alive she did this or that while she knitted a throw pillow,

You'd get her nagging at you about how you should hurry up and get hitched, although she didn't approve of anyone for her dear grandchild, secretly afraid of the day you would finally grow up and move away from her, leaving her alone, sure she had the cannibals but they weren't her beloved grandchild,

She'd never tell you that though, but you knew, after all you were closest to her, and frankly you weren't planning on leaving her anytime soon, even if you did you wouldn't go far.

Or the days where you'd cook together bonding over her teaching you how to make cannibal meat loaf, or you grilling a sinner thigh during the summertime outside, with Susan under an umbrella going on about something.

Specifically winter holidays of gifting your Nana Susan something you made like a blanket or something you saved up for like a parasol,

She'd make a comment about it but would use it all the time, after all actions speak louder the words,

She'd give you something expensive that you mentioned in passing about liking, waving off your excitement by saying she got it last minute like it hadn't been hidden in her woredrob for the past two months.

Birthdays with her were bittersweet, they were a sign that you had survived another year in this hell, that you both were growing older and older, how long it had it been since you were alive? You'd bake her favorite cake, pick up pinkie fingers, and get her something nice,

She'd order a cake for you, cursing at the poor employee to make it perfect for her grandchild, she'd buy you a set of pearls or some type of jewelry.

You'd sit down Infront of her rocking chair and place a brush in her hands asking her to brush your hair, no matter the length {unless your bald then I guess she's brushing your scalp? With a soft brush}

You curled into her arms, it was after the extermination, Many Cannibals were lost, friends you had known for ages gone just like that, she couldn't say anything, no snappy comment, no words of comfort, she could only watch as you sobbed into her, the only thing she could do was pat your back until you were smoothed to sleep.

You woke up the next day with warm soup on the stove and a blanket on you with Susan snoozing away on her old wooden rocking chair.

Actions speak far louder then words.

Your grandmother was cranky, grumpy, had zero fear towards death, she cursed like a sailor and she had a soft spot for you,

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

SUSAN SUPREMACY, also I switched around calling her Nana and Meemaw Susan because she wouldn't have just the classic grandma Susan,

Anyways I got one more Susan request and part two of Eldritch horror reader coming up so tune on in for that! Have a wonderful evening everyone!

[waywardangel-wilds]

Most unhinged HC about post-MJ everlark?

Hmmm I don’t know. I feel like my hcs are pretty tame. Let me write down my most silly ones:

No.1: they gossip together. They GAB. They love to talk shit at home.

No.2: Katniss has a jealous fit over something or someone and Peeta which Peeta reacts to with confusion and then laughs about it for years. “Hey Katniss, remember when—” “SHUT UP.”

No.3: Peeta’s on a mission to have sex everywhere he’s ever wanted to in his fantasies. All furniture. In the woods. In the bakery. They would do the school too but the chances of getting arrested and traumatizing someone are too high. Oh and in Peeta’s new-to-him truck too.

No. 4: Peeta cannot be normal about sports. As the volunteer coach he’s gotten complaints but no one is brave enough to tell him to stop being so annoying outright. Imagine Katniss watching in the background with sunglasses and a smirk during a sunny day.

No. 5: Peeta and Katniss enjoyed doing the whole “polishing my gun” routine (but without an actual gun lol) for their daughter’s first boyfriend.

No. 6: Katniss cannot be normal about Peeta on the days after they sleep together for the first time. She wants to do it all the time. When they go out in public it’s kind of obvious by her face alone what she’s thinking about. It makes construction crews laugh and elderly ladies raise their eyebrows. Haymitch laughed so hard he choked and slapped his knee. Called her a starving dog and Peeta the unfortunate piece of meat in her path. Peeta does not care, he’s getting lots of liquids in, he can do this.

No. 7: if Finnick had survived he’d be the most no-boundaries friend ever. He’d just show up unannounced all the time. Picture him in flip flops and a Hawaiian shirt ready to use Peeta and Katniss’s nonexistent grill. The friendship would be immaculate. He’d be the glue who’d form the victors friend group: Jo, Peeta, Katniss, Annie and Finnick. He’d force them all to get on his boat all the time. He’d introduce Peeta to rum just to watch his face get all pink. He’d see Katniss like this little-sister best friend type but he’d still make dirty jokes at her cause she’ll never be able to handle those. Him and Jo are the best duo. Bro should have lived.

No. 8: Katniss, at 38, can still miss the point when someone tells her a dirty joke which her friends LOVE. she’s frequently like “what are you talking about?” And everyone just laughs. Also, Katniss is so used to Peeta just getting her that when her friends complain about their husbands not listening, or not understanding her honest reaction is: “just break up???” And everyone is like “girl, it’s not that serious. You just have the perfect husband.”

No. 9: Katniss cried one time when her daughter said she didn’t want to play with her anymore because who wants to play with their mom when they could just go outside and play with their friends. Peeta found her sobbing over a tray of cookies and tried not to laugh because it really isn’t that serious. It’s totally okay for ten year olds to want to be outside, but Katniss was still like “she doesn’t like me 😭”

No. 10: Where Peeta was a hopeless romantic who only ever wanted to be with one girl Peeta’s son goes through girls like water. It’s what Peeta yells about in the car when it’s just him and the boy. “Why?! Be respectful! I didn’t raise you like this!” I’m a believer in that the toastbabies are nothing like their parents. They’re their own unique ppl with the ability of driving both their parents up the wall. I looove thinking about them being teenagers and rebelling. Their kids grew up in a mansion, they’re gonna have a fun rebellion haha.

[scientia-rex]

Also an elderly patient the other day was throwing herself a pity party about how she doesn’t have anyone to drive her to eye surgery. And while I was talking about how okay there are some local volunteer organizations that—she cut me off to bemoan her terrible childhood, and then started grilling me. “How old are you? Do you have children? Why not? Who’s going to take care of you when you’re old?”

Her point was supposed to be that having alcoholic parents fucked her up for life. Which, fair! But assuming that the person you’re talking to had a GOOD childhood? Buddy, no. By the end of the visit she was apologizing to ME, unclear whether for my shitty life or for asking overly personal questions.

I was just SO angry. It’s like when chronic pain patients just blithely buy in to the “invulnerable doctor” myth and talk to me as if I am not One Of Us. “You couldn’t possibly understand—“ bitch want to bet? Don’t pull that shit! Don’t assume that you know someone’s backstory! The more you meet people, the more utterly BANANAS backstories you will encounter. The idea of a “normal person” with a normal family and a normal life is rare to the point where you can safely assume you will never encounter it.

And don’t ever try to use your assumptions about someone who is talking to you as a weapon. Because if you say “now have YOU ever—“ to score points, there are decent odds you’re going to force someone to choose whether to answer a REALLY inappropriate question or lie or make the whole thing awkward by saying they’d rather not answer.

I often think about a post I was reading from a man who got asked “have YOU ever been raped?” by a woman acquaintance who was trying to win a fight, and he had to decide whether to say yes, actually, this one thing he’s been struggling with is probably—and she cut him off mid answer anyway to assume he was going to answer the way she expected and carry forward her fight from there.

Patients are allowed to make it all about them. If they want to wallow a little, that’s fair. Their life probably did suck. But they are not allowed to make my personal life all about them. That’s inappropriate and disrespectful boundary crossing that’s also counterproductive, because it takes time away from their issues, and time is about ten bucks a minute in your average doctor visit in the US.

She talked so much about why I don’t have kids that she never got to hear me finish saying that we could look into connecting her with local volunteer organizations.

[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Chapter 6 “Harvest Season” is available now!

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

PICK YOUR FAVORITE!

AO3 or Wattpad?

Preview ↆ

“Welcome to this year's harvest. Thanks to your relatives or communities, you have been chosen as the most useless beings of this year. So the great king Sukuna has decided to give you the opportunity to work for him as servants,” The person began to read the scroll aloud in front of everyone. 

A collective sigh was heard when he read the word “useless”. Most of them, being elderly, already knew that they were only a burden to their families. Therefore, there was no need to stress it further. It was like squeezing lemon on an open wound. 

“As every year, we give those who are completely useless a chance to leave. King Sukuna needs real servants and not stupid dogs.” Along with that announcement, the castle gates opened.

There it was, the door that would lead them to freedom right under their noses. Hearing that, most of them ran towards their escape route, desperate to return home to their loved ones. You took the child in your arms and were about to run away until the thought that the offer was too good to be true settled in your mind. “Those who go in, never come back” you thought. 

“Come on, dear, let's go,” the kind old woman asked you while she pulled you by the arm to escape quickly. 

“If they do this every year, why doesn't anyone come back home?” You asked her. “It's a trap, I can feel it.” The old woman looked at you puzzled at first, but understood your point after processing it for a couple of seconds. She was so blinded by the brilliant exit that she hadn't boasted about it. 

Once the first to escape was about to reach the door, the grille slammed shut. The evil laughter of hundreds of curses echoed through the place like a war chant. In less than a second, a gigantic flock of armored curses began to eat all those who were about to flee. A massacre, desperate screams and blood spraying everywhere. You had never seen anything like it in your life. You knew the curses were evil and ate humans, but you never thought it would be such a disastrous sight. You covered the child’s eyes. The lady covered her face as she realized the hell they had been sent to. 

“Traitor dogs do not deserve to live,” the white-haired person said as soon as no human who had tried to escape was left alive. 

“You were right…” the old woman whispered next to you between silent sobs. 

You looked back at the front of the castle while your eyes were still drowning in tears. The person who was summoning you was glaring at you, as if offended by your mere presence. You looked around, less than half had stayed. The other elders were crying, vomiting and some lucky ones hadn't even turned around to see what was happening. Your arms were shaking from the cold of the morning and the terror that consumed you whole. You squeezed the child against your body to protect it. A little creature was not to blame for being in a place like that. You had to protect him, it was the only way he would have a chance to survive. 

“I congratulate you for surviving the first round. My name is Uraume, and I am the right hand of your king, Sukuna Ryomen,” they introduced themselves in a loud, monotone voice so that we could all hear them. “Next you will introduce yourselves to the king. He will have the final word as to your fate,” they explained before returning to the castle. 

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

[pettyrevenge-base]

Neighbors called the cops on me!

So I moved into this house in 2017, nice neighborhood, everyone usually friendly. Except for an elderly couple directly across from me. They have called the cops on everyone for everything, they have even had numerous screaming matches with other neighbors over their rage issues. One occasion was kids playing in a public street in front of our houses.

Since moving in I have been cordial, offered them food when I grill outside, take them packages I get by mistake, say good morning and wave at them. They can barely walk and one of them is going blind. I since moving in noticed they get their yard treated and if I mow and note the treatment sign withering away in their yard, I get it and throw it away for them. Been doing this since 2017. Today I mow, chunk their tathered sign, and go back in to enjoy my day. 45 minutes later a deputy is knocking on my door asking what my issue is with my neighbor. Explains I threw out their sign and they called him. He upon finding out what the sign is gives me the "you're kidding" look. He puts it back in their yard. They sat out their commenting bullshit on their porch while the cop was there. After they left they hurried inside.

Took picture of the sign sent it to the hoa as a violation as it has been out there for 2 weeks per the date on it. Hope they like the fine they get.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

☠️ Don't Be Bitter, Honey

Don't Be Bitter, Honey: He’s kept you under his thumb with Shakky's help and after your latest attempt to flee, Rayleigh decides he is no longer entertaining your naughty behavior.

Warnings: Dubious/Non Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Spanking.

To Note: Dark Rayleigh x Female!Reader, Named Honey BC 100% Rayleigh Would Use that Endearment.

Word Count: ~7.8k

Your feet pound against the ground, heartbeat echoing in your ears as you dart through the chaotic maze of Sabaody Park. The air is thick with the mingled scents of sea salt, sweet snacks, and sweat. Brightly colored bubble rides swirl overhead, their passengers blissfully unaware of your desperation.

You duck between crowds, eyes darting around, seeking any path that might lead to freedom. Panic claws at your chest. Nearly crushes your heart inside out! How much time do you have before they find you? You don't know.

"Please excuse me, I'm in a hurry!" you gasp, pushing past a group of tourists who look at you in surprise. Your lungs burn from the exertion; every breath feels like fire. But you can't stop now.

Your thoughts are a chaotic whirl. What should you do? Where can you go? Is there a ship leaving right this moment? Every corner of this park seems to taunt you with memories of past failures—times when Rayleigh's steely gaze would find you within moments, no matter how far you thought you'd gotten. Nothing terrified you more than his passive look of disapproval!

You spot a food stand up ahead and veer towards it. The vendor barely glances at you as he flips a fish on the grill. You slip behind the stand, crouching low, trying to calm your racing heart.

It's been nearly twenty minutes since you slipped from your room above Shakky's Rip-off Bar and bolted, longer than you've ever managed before. It had been an in the moment decision, the only way for you to leave given Rayleigh and Shakky's Haki powers. But the fear of being caught gnaws at you with every second that passes. This is suspiciously too easy.

"Please, please..." You whisper to yourself, clenching your fists so tightly that your nails dig into your palms.

Voices drift over from the other side of the stand—children laughing, parents chattering. It feels like another world, one you're not a part of anymore. Every sound sharpens your paranoia. Footsteps approaching make you hold your breath. Is it Rayleigh? Has he found you again?

"Excuse me! Can I get some more sauce?" a customer calls out to the vendor, who obliges with a friendly nod.

You exhale softly but remain on high alert. This brief respite could end at any moment. Rayleigh’s presence always seems inevitable; his ability to track you down feels almost supernatural. Not supernatural, just Haki.

"Where do I go?" You fret to yourself again, tears threatening to spill over as exhaustion and fear threaten to break your resolve. You haven't been on your own in over two years!

Your eyes catch a sign in the distance: Grove 40. An idea sparks. You push yourself to stand, muscles aching, and slip back into the flow of pedestrians. Keeping your head low, you navigate through the bustling park, each step a desperate prayer.

Grove 40 is quieter, lined with small shops selling trinkets and essentials. Your heart leaps—this might be the sanctuary you need! You spot a dimly lit bookstore, its sign creaking gently in the breeze. Perfect. You make your way over, eyes darting around for any sign of pursuit.

Inside, the scent of old paper and ink fills your nostrils. The store owner, an elderly woman with silver hair and round glasses perched on her nose, glances up from her book.

"Can I help you?" she asks softly, her eyes kind but curious.

"Just browsing," you whisper, slipping between shelves. You find a nook at the back of the store and sink down onto the floor, hidden behind stacks of novels. For a moment, you allow yourself to breathe. Or at least breathe to the best of your ability. It's a struggle to stay calm and you can't even hope to stop the terrible shake in your hands.

Minutes pass in relative silence, but soon the fragile peace is shattered by raised voices outside. Peering through a gap in the books, you see a group of pirates swaggering into the grove. They’re rough-looking men with scars and sneers that spell trouble. Exactly the type of men Rayleigh told you he is protecting you from.

"Did ya see that girl runnin'?" one of them says loudly. "Looked like she was up to no good."

You shrink back further into your hiding spot, but it's too late. One of them spots you through the window.

"Oi! There she is!" he shouts, pointing directly at you.

Panic surges within your veins as they rush into the store. The elderly owner protests as they shove past her.

"No trouble here!" she cries out, but they ignore her.

You scramble to your feet and bolt for the door, but one pirate grabs your arm with an iron grip.

"Let me go!" you scream, twisting in his grasp and thrashing around. Oh, not when you've gotten this far!

"Not so fast," he growls. "What’s your hurry?"

They drag you out of the shop and herd you towards a shadowy alleyway behind Grove 40’s shops. You struggle against their hold, feet kicking at their shins and free hand clawing at their wrist.

"You don’t understand!" you plead desperately. "I need to get away!"

The pirate holding you chuckles darkly. "We know exactly what to do with runaway girls."

Fear turns your blood cold as they pull you deeper into the alley. The grove narrows to their leering faces and your own frantic heartbeat, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum of doom. You can feel the roughness of their hands, the smell of sweat and sea salt overpowering your senses. Desperation claws at your chest, making it hard to breathe, to think.

Suddenly, an invisible force sweeps through the alley like a tidal wave. It's as if the very air has been electrified, charged with a power you can't see but can feel deep within your bones. The pirates' eyes roll back and they collapse around you like marionettes with their strings cut, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds.

You blink in shock as silence descends once more, the sudden stillness almost deafening. Your breath comes in shallow, ragged gasps as you try to process what just happened. Rayleigh's unmistakable presence hangs heavy in the air, though he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s his Haki—you’re sure of it. The sheer force of his willpower has rendered the pirates unconscious, saving you from a fate you dared not imagine. But what about your fate with him.

You collapse to your knees, gasping for air as panic wraps its cold fingers around your throat and winds it's way into your lungs. The world spins, narrowing to the sight of the unconscious pirates sprawled around you. Your chest heaves; each breath feels like you're dragging it through water.

“Calm down, Honey.” Rayleigh’s voice is soft yet commanding. He steps out from the shadows, his presence overwhelming. “What were you thinking?”

You glance up at him, tears welling in your eyes. “I just... I wanted to try.”

Rayleigh kneels beside you, shaking his head with a tut. “You could’ve gotten hurt,” he chides, his tone laced with disappointment. His hand reaches out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face with a gentleness that feels almost mocking. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened if I hadn’t been here?”

“I—I just wanted to be free,” you whisper, your voice trembling. The words feel hollow even as they leave your lips, as if freedom were a distant dream rather than an attainable goal.

Rayleigh’s expression hardens, his features carved from stone. “Free?” He repeats the word like it’s a foreign concept, something alien and unattainable. “You’re safer with us than out here alone. You don’t understand the dangers that lurk beyond these walls.”

“I’m not a prisoner,” you protest weakly, your voice barely rising above a whisper.

“Of course not,” he says, but his eyes bore into yours, unyielding, as if daring you to contradict him. “But running away will only get you hurt, Honey. You belong with us, where you’re protected.”

Tears spill over, tracing hot paths down your cheeks. Your body trembles as the weight of his words sinks in. The world outside seems to fade, replaced by the cold reality of your confinement, and the hope that had flared briefly within you dims once more.

“Don’t cry,” Rayleigh murmurs, almost tenderly, a deceptive softness in his tone that contrasts sharply with the severity of your situation. Before you can muster any response, his Haki envelops you once more, a suffocating force that bends your will to his. Darkness begins to creep at the edges of your vision, swallowing the room in a murky haze as your body goes limp, powerless against the overwhelming energy.

The last thing you hear is Rayleigh’s voice, tinged with a regret that feels almost sincere, yet heavy with unyielding authority. “It seems you've forgotten what happens when you break the rules,” he says, his words echoing in the fading recesses of your consciousness, a grim reminder of the iron grip he holds over your fate.

You wake up in a dark room, your body feeling sluggish and heavy. Disoriented, you blink against the darkness, trying to make sense of your surroundings. Your last memory is of Rayleigh’s Haki crashing over you like a tidal wave, drowning out consciousness. Now, the air is cold and damp, carrying a faint scent of salt and alcohol.

Your skin tingles with an unfamiliar cleanliness. You shift slightly and realize your old clothes are gone, replaced by a soft, oversized shirt that drapes over your body. Your hair feels clean too, strands slipping easily through your fingers.

"Shakky," you whisper to yourself. She must have washed you while you were out cold. They can't have you touched by others.

Moving your legs, you hear a faint clink. Panic surges through you as you feel an iron cuff around your ankle, chaining you to the floor. You pull at it with your foot first, then bend down and yank at it with your fingers. The metal is cold and unyielding against your skin. No chance of even leaving the room.

"No, no, no," you mutter frantically, pulling harder until the skin around the cuff darkens and aches. Your breaths come in quick gasps as fear claws at your throat.

You glance around but see only shadows and darkness. There are no windows to let in light, no cracks in the walls to offer any hope of escape. Your fingers dig into the cuff again, nails scraping against the metal as you tug with all your might.

"Let me out," you cry out into the void. "Please! I'm sorry!"

But there’s no answer, only the echo of your own voice bouncing back at you from unseen walls. The chain rattles with every desperate movement you make, each sound amplifying your sense of entrapment.

Tears blur your vision as frustration boils over. You slump back against the wall, chest heaving from exertion and fear.

You scoot back against the cold, damp wall, hugging your knees to your chest. The oversized shirt bunches up around you, a flimsy barrier against the chill that seeps into your bones. Soft sobs escape your lips, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto the fabric.

The darkness presses in, amplifying every sound—the clink of the chain, the rustle of your movements, the faint echoes of your whimpers. Your fingers dig into your knees, nails biting into flesh as you try to steady yourself.

"Why did I even try?" you whisper to the empty room, voice breaking. "He’s going to be so mad."

Rayleigh’s face flashes in your mind—those piercing eyes, the stern set of his jaw when he’s disappointed. You can almost hear his voice, laced with that calm authority that makes your stomach twist in knots. There is nothing scarier when he is both calm and disappointed.

“Honey,” he would say, “what were you thinking?”

You sniffle and bury your face in your knees, trying to block out the imagined reprimand. But it’s useless; his presence is like a shadow over you, even when he’s not there.

"I’m sorry," you murmur again, though there’s no one to hear. The words feel hollow in the empty space.

The minutes drag on, each one stretching into eternity as you sit there in the darkness. The dampness of the floor seeps through the shirt, making you shiver. You close your eyes tightly, wishing for some way out of this nightmare.

Your thoughts spiral—what will Rayleigh do? What punishment awaits? The uncertainty gnaws at you like a persistent ache.

The door creaks open with a slow, ominous groan. Light spills into the room, sharp and blinding after hours of darkness. You shield your eyes with a trembling hand as Rayleigh steps inside.

"Well," his voice cuts through the silence like a knife through butter, "look what you've gotten yourself into this time."

You shrink in on yourself as he turns on a light and shuts the door behind him with an air of finality. His figure looms over you, casting long shadows that dance across the walls.

"I'm sorry," you whisper again, barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Rayleigh's gaze pierces through you—those eyes that have seen so much now filled with disappointment and something else... concern? He takes a step closer and crouches down to your level.

"What were you thinking?" His tone is stern but there's an edge of weariness to it.

"I just... I wanted to be free," you manage to choke out between sobs.

Rayleigh sighs deeply and sits back on his heels. "You think running away will solve anything? Do you have any idea what could've happened to you?"

"I didn't mean for that to happen," you reply, voice cracking under the weight of guilt and fear.

"You never do," he says softly but firmly. "But actions have consequences."

He reaches out and gently lifts your chin with his finger so you're forced to meet his stern gaze. "You could’ve been hurt or worse." His eyes search yours for understanding. "I can't always be there to save you, Honey."

You whimper with a nod, your shoulders slumping. Rayleigh’s eyes soften just a fraction, but the sternness remains. He reaches into his pocket and produces a small key. The sound of the lock clicking open echoes through the room as he removes the iron cuff from your ankle. You rub the sore spot where the metal had chafed against your skin, but Rayleigh's gaze keeps you rooted to the floor.

“Stand up,” he orders, his voice steady but not unkind. You hesitate for a moment before rising to your feet, your legs unsteady beneath you. Rayleigh’s hand rests briefly on your arm, guiding you as you wobble. Oh you can feel the disappointed in his touch.

"I really am sorry," you whisper, your hand trembling in his as your fear spikes.

Rayleigh’s grip tightens just slightly, a reminder of his control. “Actions have consequences, Honey” he repeats, his voice like steel wrapped in velvet. “You need to understand that.”

He directs you towards the bed in the corner of the room, its frame old but sturdy. You glance back at him, uncertainty and fear warring within you. His expression remains unreadable.

"Bend over," he instructs, nodding towards the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you move slowly, each step feeling like it carries the weight of a thousand regrets.

You position yourself over the edge of the bed, hands gripping the rough fabric of the blanket for support. The anticipation is almost unbearable; your breaths come in short gasps as you wait for what comes next.

Rayleigh stands behind you, his presence a looming force that makes every nerve in your body stand on edge. "You need to understand," he says softly, "that I’m doing this because I care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt."

The words are a paradox—a gentle declaration wrapped around an act of punishment. The first strike lands with a sharp crack that reverberates through the room. You squeak in pain and surprise, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily. "Count," Rayleigh commands.

"One," you say through chattering teeth, trying to steady your shaking voice.

"And why won’t you break the rules again?" Rayleigh’s voice remains calm but insistent, each word a reminder of your transgression.

"Because... because it’s dangerous," you manage to say just as another strike lands, sending a fresh wave of pain through your body. Smack. "Two."

"And?"

"I could get hurt or worse," you respond quickly, tears starting to blur your vision as you struggle to keep your composure. Smack. "T-three."

Rayleigh continues methodically, each strike precise and measured. "I want more than that, Honey."

You struggle to find the words between gasps and sobs, your voice trembling. "I... I need to trust you and Shakky," you finally say, hoping it’s the right answer. Smack. You bite down on your lip as pain ripples across flesh. "F-our."

"Keep going." Rayleigh urges.

"I can’t survive on my own," you admit, another wave of pain surging through you with the next strike. Your breath catches in your throat and for a moment nothing leaves your lips.

"Come now, Honey, what did I tell you about counting?" Rayleigh chides. You whimper and force out the next number.

"Five."

"And?"

"I’m safer with you," you cry out, your voice trembling but holding steady through the pain. Smack. "Six."

Rayleigh pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. "You need to understand why these rules exist. They’re for your protection."

"I understand," you sob desperately, tears now streaming freely down your cheeks. Your backside stings and burns so terribly! "I do."

He nods, satisfied with your answer but not yet finished. Another strike lands, sending a fresh jolt of pain through your body. You twitch and jerk, your fingernails sinking into the sheets like they are knives.

"Seven." Your voice is hoarse now, barely above a whisper, each word a struggle.

"You won’t forget this lesson?" Rayleigh’s tone is firm yet filled with an underlying current of care that makes your chest ache more than the punishment itself.

"No," you assure him quickly, your voice breaking. "I won’t forget."

He delivers one final strike before stepping back, the echo of the impact lingering in the room. "E-eight."

With the spanking done, your backside burns with an intense fire, each stinging strike leaving a lasting imprint. The pain throbs in waves, making it hard to sit still. You sniffle and bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from openly sobbing. Your legs tremble and shake from the pain, making it difficult to stay upright. It's difficult to do anything.

Rayleigh sighs deeply and rubs your back soothingly. His hand moves in slow, circular motions, offering some comfort against the harshness of his punishment.

"If you just behave," he says softly, "I won’t have to do this."

You nod through your tears, your voice barely a whisper. "I understand."

Rayleigh’s touch begins to change, becoming less about comfort and more about control. His fingers slide up your back and then down again, lingering at the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath. The sensation sends a confusing mix of relief and apprehension coursing through you.

He pulls you up gently, turning you to face him. His thumb brushes away the streams of tears, leaving a trail of warmth against your cool skin. His eyes lock onto yours, unyielding yet filled with a complexity of emotions that you can’t fully decipher. You probably won't ever.

"You need to listen," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. "If you just listened, Honey, none of this would be necessary."

His hands continue their caresses, moving down to your hips and then sliding around to cup your burning backside. The tenderness of his touch contrasts sharply with the pain still lingering from the spanking. Your breath hitches as his fingers trace the welts left by his strikes.

"Do you understand?" he asks again, his tone softer now but no less insistent.

"Yes," you whisper, feeling a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over.

Rayleigh's expression softens just a bit as he leans closer, his breath warm against your face. "I only punish you because I care deeply for you," he murmurs, each word sinking into the air between you. "It's for your own good."

You tremble against him, still slightly afraid but unable to pull away from eye that command to be seen. He presses his lips to yours in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly grows more insistent. His hands wander over your body, bunching up the oversized shirt you wear until it’s nearly above your waist.

The kiss deepens, and you can only go along with it as Rayleigh’s passion overtakes you. His tongue brushes against yours, coaxing a response that feels both strange and inevitable. Your body reacts despite your inner fears—hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he pulls you closer.

"Respond to me," he whispers against your lips, his voice low and filled with an undeniable command. "Come on, my Honey, show me how sweet you can be."

You nod slightly, trying to match the demands of his kiss despite the confusion and fear still swirling inside you. What if you do something wrong? His hands roam freely now, exploring every bit of exposed skin with a possessive familiarity that leaves no room for doubt or hesitation.

His fingers dig into the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as his mouth claims yours repeatedly. You can feel his need in every touch, every movement—an urgency that makes it clear how much control he holds over you in this moment. Over your entire life.

Rayleigh's lips crush against yours with a demanding urgency, his mouth moving over yours in a way that leaves no room for hesitation. His tongue parts your lips, delving into your mouth with an intensity that makes you gasp. You try to keep up, responding as best as you can, but it's clear who's in control. His tongue tangles with yours, tasting, exploring, claiming.

Your hands grip his shoulders, trying to find some semblance of balance as he deepens the kiss. His hands move with purpose, sliding under the hem of your shirt and pushing it upwards. The fabric bunches around your waist, exposing more and more skin to the cool air and his heated touch.

"Rayleigh," you breathe out his name, your voice tinged with shyness and apprehension. You can feel his need in the way he tugs at the shirt, wanting it gone.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. "You know I'll take care of you," he murmurs, his voice soft. He maneuvers the shirt over your head, leaving you exposed and vulnerable.

You clutch an arm to your chest and a hand over your pelvic region, trying to hide from his gaze. The cool air bites at your skin, making you shiver.

Rayleigh chuckles darkly, a sound that sends a rush of conflicting emotions through you. "Honey," he says, his voice low and soothing yet firm. "You know I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take care of you."

His words are meant to comfort, but they do little to ease the apprehension gnawing at you. You know he's still mad at you. His hands move with gentle insistence as he makes you lower your arms, exposing yourself fully to him.

"Don't hide from me," he whispers against your ear before pressing another kiss to your lips. "I need to see all of you."

You comply reluctantly, feeling the weight of his gaze on every inch of exposed skin. His hands continue their exploration, moving over your breasts and down your sides with possessive familiarity. Each touch is gentle, but terrifying.

Rayleigh’s lips travel from your mouth to your neck, planting heated kisses along the way. You close your eyes and let out a soft moan as he finds a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear.

His hands continue their journey, tracing patterns over your hips and thighs before settling on your waist. He pulls you closer until there's no space left between you, his breath hot against your skin.

"See?" he murmurs against your neck. "I'm here to take care of you."

Rayleigh returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, his tongue probing and exploring your mouth with an intensity that leaves you breathless. The taste of him is overwhelming, a mixture of power and command that seeps into every corner of your being. You can barely keep up with his fervor, each stroke of his tongue against yours making your mind whirl and your body tense.

"Just relax, Honey," he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and tantalizing.

His words barely register as he captures your mouth again, his kiss becoming more insistent. Your fingernails grip his shoulders, trying to retain some sort of control over yourself as he consumes you with each press of his lips. It's near impossible. His tongue dances with yours, coaxing a response that feels both inevitable and terrifying.

While you're caught in the tempest of his kiss, Rayleigh's hand begins its descent down your stomach. His fingers glide over your skin, leaving a trail of sensation that makes your muscles twitch in anticipation. You can feel the heat radiating from his palm as it moves lower, slipping between your legs.

His fingers find their way through the curls at the apex of your thighs, sliding between the soft folds with a deliberate slowness that heightens every nerve ending. The sensation is startling—both electrifying and foreign. You whimper against his mouth, but he swallows the sound with another deep kiss.

"Relax," he rumbles against your lips before plunging his tongue back into your mouth.

You try to comply, but every instinct screams at you to pull away as his fingers explore further. He parts the delicate lips of your cunt, sliding one finger inside with an ease that makes you shudder in uncertainty. The intrusion feels invasive yet somehow delightful, sending conflicting signals through your body.

"See how good it feels?" Rayleigh's voice is low and intimate, each word gliding across your skin. "See how good I can make you feel when you behave, my sweet honey? Don't go bitter on me, stay sweet."

You squirm against him, the sensation of his finger moving inside you both alarming and oddly pleasurable. He adds another finger, stretching you gently but insistently. You can feel every ridge of his skin as he works you open, making you acutely aware of just how vulnerable you are in this moment.

His thumb finds a sensitive spot at the apex of your cunt, rubbing slow circles that make you gasp into his mouth and clench your thighs with a whine. The intensity of the sensation makes your knees weak; you're barely able to stand as Rayleigh's fingers continue their exploration.

"Rayleigh," you whisper nervously against his lips, voice trembling with a mix of fear and confusion.

"Shh," he soothes softly, pressing another kiss to your lips. "I'm just getting started. Don't want to hurt you, now do I…"

You don't know what he means by that, but agree with the sentiment. You don't want him to hurt you. He adds another finger, stretching you further. The sudden intrusion makes you stiffen against him and let out a noise of pain.

"Ow," you whimper, feeling the burn of the stretch.

Rayleigh shushes you. "If you're going to take me," he says in a low voice filled with promise and command, "I need to prepare you for me."

His words send a fresh wave of apprehension through you as his fingers continue their deliberate movements. Each stroke is purposeful, designed to coax your body into accepting more of him.

Your mind swims with confusion and unfamiliar sensations as Rayleigh’s fingers delve deeper. Each movement stokes a fire inside you that grows with every second, making it hard to think clearly. Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as he continues his relentless exploration.

His thumb never stops its maddening circles over that sensitive spot, drawing sounds from your throat that are completely beyond your control. "What... what are you doing to me?" you manage to gasp out between breaths, your thighs squeezing his wrist and hips twitching almost uncontrollably.

"Just teaching you how good it can feel when you behave," he murmurs against your lips before capturing them in another searing kiss. His fingers curl inside you, finding a spot that makes stars burst behind your closed eyelids. You keen against his lips, nails dragging down his shoulders when your hips buck into his touch. How does he command such actions from your body so easily?

The sensations build rapidly until it feels like something is about to snap inside you. Your muscles tense and then suddenly release as an overwhelming wave crashes over you—your very first orgasm. You cry out against Rayleigh’s mouth, the intensity making your body tremble uncontrollably.

Rayleigh chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he holds you up. "That’s it," he urges warmly, kissing your forehead tenderly while his fingers still move inside you gently, coaxing every last tremor from your spent body.

You go limp in his arms, unable to comprehend what just happened. Every muscle feels like jelly; every thought is scattered by the pleasure rippling and nipping at your limbs.

He pulls his fingers out slowly, causing one final shudder to course through your exhausted form. Your eyelids flutter as you watch Rayleigh bring the fingers that had just been within your body, to his lips.

Your breath hitches as Rayleigh's fingers, slick with your release, brush against his lips. He licks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours, the act both intimate and unsettling. A shudder runs through your already trembling body, the aftermath of your release still echoing in every nerve.

Rayleigh’s gaze is heavy with satisfaction and something deeper, something you can't quite name. He holds you steady, his hands firm but not cruel. "See?" he murmurs, voice low and filled with a possessive pride. "How sweet you are when you let go?"

You nod weakly, no words coming to your tongue. The room feels smaller, the air thicker as you try to process the whirlwind of sensations and emotions.

Rayleigh picks you up, cradling your limp body with ease. His strong arms envelop you, and you can feel the warmth of his skin against your own. He carries you to the bed, each step measured and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment. You’re too exhausted and dazed to protest. Is he not mad at and disappointed in you?

He lays you down gently on the soft sheets, and the sensation is both comforting and terrifying. You feel exposed, vulnerable, every nerve still buzzing with residual sensations. Does he plan on punishing you in other ways you aren't aware of? You had gone quite far. Rayleigh’s eyes never leave yours as he begins to undress himself. The sound of fabric rustling fills the room. Oh. Oh no.

His shirt falls away first, revealing a broad chest crisscrossed with old scars. Each mark tells a story, but there’s no time to ponder them as his hands move to his pants. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear surging as he steps out of his pants. The sight of him naked and aroused sends a wave of panic through you.

"Rayleigh," you whisper, voice trembling and eyes glistening with fresh tears. "Please… I'm not ready…"

Rayleigh's eyes soften as he looks down at you, a blend of possessiveness and something almost tender. "I need to show you how much you mean to me and Shakky," he murmurs, his voice a soothing rumble. "What it can be like when you behave."

His lips descend on yours, capturing them in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly grows more insistent. His teeth graze your lower lip, nipping lightly before his tongue delves into your mouth again. Each touch, each movement is a command that you find impossible to resist. His hand travels up your stomach, the calloused pads of his fingers leaving a trail of heat in their wake. His thumb brushes against the curve of your breast, circling the sensitive peak with deliberate slowness.

"Rayleigh," you whisper against his lips, but he silences you with another kiss, deeper this time, more demanding.

"Just feel," he murmurs between kisses. "Let me show you."

His hand moves lower, pushing your thighs apart with a firm yet gentle insistence. You can feel the weight of his gaze as he positions himself between your legs, his hips pressing against yours. The hardness of his erection meets the softness of your engorged cunt, the contact sending a shockwave through your already overstimulated body.

You whimper at the sensation, instinctively trying to roll away from the overwhelming intensity. But Rayleigh effortlessly keeps you beneath him, his strength undeniable. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing away a tear that escapes.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a blend of command and reassurance. "I'm here."

He presses forward, his cock rubbing against your wet folds with agonizing slowness. The friction is both torturous and electrifying, making your hips buck involuntarily against him.

"Please," you manage to gasp out, not even sure what you're pleading for anymore.

Rayleigh's lips curve into a small smile as he leans down to capture your mouth again. "Shh," he soothes between kisses. "Just feel, Honey."

You try to comply, focusing on the sensations he's drawing from you. His cock slides along your slit with deliberate slowness, teasing and testing your limits. Each movement stokes the fire inside you higher until it feels like you're about to combust.

Rayleigh's free hand roams over your body, exploring every curve and dip with an intimate familiarity that makes you shudder. His touch is both possessive and tender as if he's claiming every part of you while simultaneously cherishing it.

"See how good it can be?" he murmurs against your lips before kissing you deeply once more.

Your body responds despite the fear still lurking in the back of your mind. Each touch sends another wave of sensation coursing through you until it's all you can do to cling to him and ride out the storm he's creating within you.

Rayleigh's hips press harder against yours, his cock sliding against your wetness with increasing pressure. The sensation builds rapidly until it feels like something is about to snap inside you once more.

The pleasure you're feeling and moaning from is broken the moment Rayleigh begins to push his thick, erect cock into your body. The sensation shifts from heated arousal to sharp pain as his cock pushes through your clenching tight walls. Your breath catches in your throat, and a high-pitched whine escapes your lips. You gasp for oxygen, your chest heaving as your body struggles to adjust.

Rayleigh's eyes lock onto yours, his expression one of intense focus and control. "Breathe, Honey," he murmurs softly, his voice a gentle coax in the storm of sensations overwhelming you. His hand cups your cheek tenderly, thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that feels almost loving.

You whimper again as he pushes further inside, every inch of him forcing you to stretch around his girth. The pain is sharp and unrelenting, making you squirm beneath him in an instinctive attempt to escape the discomfort. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his flesh as if seeking something solid to hold onto.

"Relax," Rayleigh whispers, pressing his forehead against yours. "You can take me. I know you can."

His words are meant to comfort, but they do little to ease the burning stretch within you. You try to focus on his voice, on the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each word is a command that you struggle to obey despite the pain coursing through your body.

"Rayleigh," you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths. "It hurts..."

"I know," he murmurs softly, kissing the corner of your mouth. "But it will get better. Just breathe for me, my sweet Honey."

You nod weakly, trying to follow his instructions even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. The sensation of him inside you is overwhelming—both agonizing and oddly exhilarating in its intensity.

Rayleigh continues to press forward with deliberate slowness, allowing your body time to adjust to each new inch of him. His free hand moves down to your hip, holding you steady as he sinks deeper into you.

"Breathe," he repeats gently against your lips before capturing them in another kiss.

You try to focus on the kiss instead of the pain, letting his lips distract you from the burning stretch inside. Each movement feels like an eternity as Rayleigh gradually fills you completely.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he's fully seated within you. The sensation is almost unbearable—the fullness combined with the lingering pain making it hard to think clearly.

Rayleigh pulls back slightly to look into your eyes, his expression a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "See?" he murmurs softly. "I told you-you could do it."

Your eyes brim with tears, the sting between your legs not growing or lessening. Just persistent. His hips press against yours, and the sensation is a confusing blend of pain and fullness that makes your breath hitch. Each heartbeat sends a pulse of discomfort through you, but Rayleigh's gaze holds you captive, demanding your focus.

"How does it feel?" he asks, his voice low and almost tender.

You hesitate, biting your lower lip as you search for the right words. The truth teeters on the edge of your tongue, and you know he expects nothing less than honesty. "It... it hurts," you whisper finally, your voice trembling.

Rayleigh's hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. "Good girl for telling me," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "It'll feel much better soon."

He begins to move slowly, his pelvis rubbing against yours in a way that makes you tremble and whimper. The friction of his skin against yours is both raw and intimate, each movement sending conflicting signals through your body. The sensation of his pubic hair brushing against your sensitive flesh adds another layer to the overwhelming experience.

You can feel every inch of him as he withdraws slightly before pushing back in, the deliberate slowness meant to ease the discomfort. But the pressure is unrelenting, making you gasp with each movement. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly, seeking something solid in the whirlwind of sensations.

"Stay with me," Rayleigh whispers again, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

You nod weakly, trying to focus on his voice and the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. Each word is an anchor in the storm of sensations threatening to pull you under.

As he continues to move within you, the pain begins to ebb slightly, replaced by a strange warmth that spreads through your core. It's still overwhelming, but there's an odd sense of rightness in it—a feeling that you're exactly where you're meant to be.

Rayleigh's hand moves down to grip your hip again, holding you steady as he increases the pace slightly. Each thrust sends a ripple through your body, making you gasp and cling to him even tighter.

"See?" he murmurs softly against your lips. "I told you it would get better."

You manage a small nod, still overwhelmed but starting to adjust to the sensations coursing through you. His words are both a promise and a command that you find impossible to resist.

Rayleigh's movements become more fluid as he continues to guide you through the experience. The pain gradually fades into the background, replaced by a growing rush of pleasure that leaves you breathless.

Each thrust brings with it a wave of sensation that makes your toes curl and your fingers dig into his shoulders. The fullness inside you is no longer just pain—it's something more complex and exhilarating.

Rayleigh's eyes never leave yours as he continues to move within you, his gaze filled with pride and satisfaction at how well you're taking him. His hand moves up to cup your cheek again, thumb brushing against your skin in a gesture that's almost tender.

His hips press harder against yours as he thrusts deeply inside you, each movement drawing another gasp from your lips. The pleasure builds rapidly, an insistent tide that threatens to sweep you away. You begin to lose control over your sounds, pleasure pouring from your lips in breathless moans and whispered pleas.

"Rayleigh... please," you huff out, breathless and hardly able to think straight.

His fingers dig into your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he captures your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue explores yours with deliberate intensity, each movement designed to heighten the sensations coursing through your body. You can taste the whiskey he last drank.

You feel his other hand slide down to grasp your thigh, pulling it up against his hip. The new angle opens you further to him, allowing him to thrust even deeper inside you. A deep moan emerges from your throat. The sensation is overwhelming—each stroke sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating from your core.

"That's it, my sweet," Rayleigh urges against your lips between kisses. "Let yourself feel it all."

Your body clenches and ripples around his cock, responding instinctively to his command. Every nerve seems attuned to him now—the heat of his skin against yours, the roughness of his touch, the intensity of his gaze.

The rhythm between you intensifies; each thrust deeper than before until it feels like he's reaching parts of you no one ever has. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as waves of pleasure crash over you relentlessly.

Your nails dig into Rayleigh's shoulders, one of your hands sliding into his hair. The strands are coarse between your fingers as you grip tightly, desperate for something to hold onto amidst the torrent of sensations.

"It's too much," you manage to gasp out, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Your hands push subtly at his body in a futile attempt to create some distance.

Rayleigh's response is a low chuckle that vibrates through your chest. "I know you can take it," he murmurs against your lips before capturing them in another demanding kiss.

His hips drive harder against yours, each thrust more powerful than the last. The pressure builds rapidly until it feels like you're on the brink of breaking apart entirely. Your body convulses around him as another orgasm crashes over you, a scream tearing from your throat as you writhe beneath him.

Rayleigh watches you with a mix of pride and satisfaction as you lie limp and dazed beneath him. He leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth gently, his breath warm against your skin. "Good girl," he whispers softly.

His cock pulses and throbs within your trembling body, and he shifts slightly to look into your eyes. "Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asks, voice low and intense.

You whimper and shake your head weakly, still reeling from the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you.

Rayleigh's gaze darkens slightly as he persists. "Are you sure? It would feel so good... both for me and for you."

Your response is a shaky whimper as you try to form words amidst the haze of sensations clouding your mind. "Please... no..."

Rayleigh chuckles again, a sound that sends fear coursing through your veins. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks softly but firmly. "You've already taken your punishment, Honey," he murmurs. "But you still need to realize that you're mine."

You weakly push at his chest, but his strength is unyielding. His hands grip your hips firmly as he thrusts into you again, each movement drawing another gasp from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming—each stroke sending waves of pleasure mingled with pain through your body.

Rayleigh's breath is hot against your skin as he continues to move within you, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "You belong to me," he whispers between thrusts. "Every part of you."

Your body responds instinctively to his words, clenching around him as another surge of pleasure courses through you. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly, seeking something solid amidst the storm of sensations.

Rayleigh's movements become more urgent, each thrust deeper and more powerful than the last. The pressure builds rapidly until it feels like you're about to break apart entirely. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as waves of pleasure crash over you relentlessly.

With a final powerful thrust, Rayleigh shudders above you, his cock pulsing deeply within your cunt. You feel the hot rush of his seed filling you completely, the sensation both shocking and strangely satisfying. His grip on your hips tightens as he holds himself deep inside you, ensuring that every drop is buried within.

Rayleigh nuzzles your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. "Such a good girl," he whispers, his voice thick with satisfaction. "So sweet and responsive, and all you have to do is be sweet, Honey."

A whimper escapes your lips as the realization settles in—you’re never going to escape. His control over you is absolute; every whispered word and possessive touch binds you tighter to him.

Rayleigh shifts to lay on his side, keeping you pressed up against his body. His cock remains buried deep inside you, the fullness still overwhelming despite the rawness from losing your virginity. Each slight movement sends jolts through your sensitive flesh—pleasure mingling with pain in an almost unbearable mix.

"Rayleigh," you murmur weakly, feeling his seed drip from your body with every pulse of your cunt. The sensation is humiliating yet oddly comforting in its intimacy.

"Shh," he soothes again, stroking your hair with gentle fingers. "You took your punishment well, my sweet Honey."

Your body twitches involuntarily against him, the aftershocks of pleasure making you whine softly. The ache between your legs is a constant reminder of how thoroughly he’s claimed you—how there’s no going back now.

Rayleigh’s hand continues to caress your hair, his touch almost tender despite the possessiveness in his actions. "Rest now," he murmurs into your ear. "You’ve earned it after the day you've had."

His words wash over you like a command, not tainted by Haki but just Rayleigh. Exhaustion tugs at your consciousness; every muscle feels heavy as if weighed down by the enormity of the truth. You are never going to escape.

Date Published: 9/25/24

Last Edit: 9/25/24

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