#is it something to be proud of. probably not

[leighsartworks216]

If You're Quiet During Sex (Headcanons)

Sylus x gn!Reader + Zayne x gn!Reader (separate)

Had this thought because I'm quiet During so I got a little self-deprecating about what they'd think about it... but then I remembered the boys would never make me feel ashamed for that shit

Warnings: sexual content

Word Count: 434 (cool, it's like a little kissy face)

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Sylus

Probably thinks he's not making you feel good enough at first

Shocked when you orgasm because you were so quiet, surely he didn't make you cum already???

Brings it up right away, asks if you liked it

Admits that he expected you to make more noise

If it's purely from inexperience or anxiety, he's more than happy to spend time breaking down those barriers. He won't force you to make noise, but he's definitely more forthcoming with his own sounds to encourage you. Any sound you do make, he's praising you for it and trying to draw it out of you again

If moaning really just isn't your thing, he just asks that you tell him if something feels good or bad. He wants to pleasure you, and he wants to make sure he's doing things you like when he might not notice your little tells in the heat of the moment

Either way, he does keep track of your tells. If you close your eyes and tilt your head back, mouth hanging open, small whimpers or shivers - he's looking for whatever it is that tells him you're enjoying yourself

He's moderately noisy during sex. He'll moan and talk, but it's not like he's trying to project it. It's more close to you, contained in the space between you both, but not so quiet he has to be in your ear to hear it

-

Zayne

I feel like he wouldn't question it as much

Because he's also not very vocal

He himself is very breathy and whines a little, but full moans are few and far between

Communicates a LOT about what you do and don't enjoy before, during and after

Sometimes requests you to speak (*ahem* "Say my name..." from Silent Poem, I'm looking at you), but never pushes you to be loud

If you're quiet because of anxiety or inexperience, he's as reassuring and encouraging as he can be. Would honestly be so proud of you if you start being louder and more vocal over time, because it means you're comfortable with him and that means the world to him. Says as much afterward, cuddling you and nuzzling into your neck with a lovestruck grin as he does

I wonder if you couldn't also influence him into being more noisy during sex. Command or beg him to say your name, tell you how good he feels, suck and bite at his most sensitive spots until he's a whining, simpering mess.....

Imagine his own surprise when you touch him and he lets out a very loud moan that even he wasn't expecting

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[teaboot]

I’m sending this anonymously but this is NOT anon hate

You are such a good person, i think. Your latest post(as of 4:10pm Arizona, US time) spoke to me really hard. My father is a cop, in the united states, arizona, duh. And he used to be such a good person, he was a security guard and a damn good one too, and later in he became a prison guard because it paid better, and then he joined the police force.

I’d like to think that hes one of the good ones, and for the most part he is. A lot of my delinquent friends over the years who’ve had run-ins with him say that he gets them breaks, he takes care of them, hes a good cop. I’ve even seen body camera footage of him in the field and i’m proud to say that hes my dad. He calls out bad actors where he sees them, and he gets punished for it. He doesnt see the system or how his punishments are by design. And he continues turning in his cog, begrudgingly, and slightly out of time, but he thinks hes making a difference

Sorry for the ramble and essay, i just wanted to say that i really like your blog and i think you are a very nice human being. Thank you for sharing your perspective.

P.s. i’m totally basing an oc off of your outlook on security. You strike me as more of a superhero than a security guard.

-🦕 anon

Oh, that’s a super flattering take and a valuable perspective- so thank you! But I’m a gullible dumbass, and not even an incredibly smart or fit one- I just want people to be happy and safe. That’s all. And I don’t want to BE a cop, I’ve NEVER wanted to be a cop, but every time the request comes around I feel like I’m wearing down.

I keep wondering if I could help MORE in a position like that.

Probably like your dad did.

Here, people know they’re safe with me because I shut down the gunhappy jerks, but I don’t know how long it would take to truly make a difference in public security, or how many of my morals I’d have to compromise to get to that point

I feel objectively like a system so archaic and flawed can’t be changed from the inside, but another part of me says that you don’t need to change an entire system to make a difference where it counts

I believe that so many bad situations and life-changing moments can be diverted or changed by a single person in the right place at the right time- and I figure, if I trust myself to do the right thing and BE the right person, shouldn’t I do my best to put myself in those places?

But good intentions, roads to hell, you know? I don’t WANT to be a cop. But I want to be able to DO SOMETHING about the thinks I dislike seeing in conflicts. SOMEONE has to be willing to do that, right?

I’m not religious, you know? But the devil can be very convincing

[burningembers91]

Rare - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature

On Display

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Crime of Passion

Synopsis: The Salesman wants to play a game with you. But when he changes the rules, so do you

A/N: I am immensely proud of this series. It’s unlike anything I’ve written before and I love exploring the darker sides of characters. This particular fic is probably my favourite so far. I wanted to thank everyone for the frankly mind boggling love I have received on all my fics so far. Thank you ❤️

It had been two weeks since your mysterious man in the grey suit had saved you. Two weeks since you’d given in to your desires. The day after he fucked you so hard that your bed slats broke, an entirely new bed arrived. One with a plush, cream, fabric headboard and a mattress that felt like you were sleeping on a cloud sent straight from heaven.

His heroics in the alleyway, the transition from something psychological to physical had changed the dynamics of your relationship. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could feel himself falling under your spell. It was a constant struggle to maintain the upper hand, to continue the illusion that you were entirely at his mercy. But you both knew it was a mutual torture, that each of you had the other twisted so deliciously around your respective fingers. The other night he had come so close to telling you his name. It had been so long since he’d spoken it, he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what is was anymore. But there was something about you, something deliciously dark bubbling after your soft, shea scented skin. You could be the death of him, this beautiful femme fatale. He wasn’t quite ready to relinquish control to you though; he still wanted to try and break you.

You received a phone call one day, requesting your attendance at an incredibly high end dress store in Myeong-Dong. As you made your way through the doors, the eye watering price tags made your jaw drop. You could never in a thousand lifetimes afford a dress like this; but you knew someone who could.

You were whisked into a private area, where several women with tape measures took measurements of your body. They didn’t speak to you, didn’t answer any of your questions. You were there less than five minutes, after being instructed to return to the store the next day to pick up your purchase.

“But I didn’t order anything,” you exclaimed, “can you just tell me what’s going on.”

“Our client is very discreet,” the store manager responded. “Please arrive promptly tomorrow to collect your purchase.”

You couldn’t text Mr Grey Suit to ask him what he was up to. You still weren’t privy to any personal information about him, including his phone number. He didn’t come to see you that night, leaving you to stew in your own thoughts about what he could have possibly ordered you.

The next day, you arrived at the time requested, and were once again greeted by the store manager who handed you a dress bag, with a note attached. I will see you tonight, 7pm. DO NOT LOOK IN THIS BAG UNTIL THEN. I will know if you do. You headed home, desperate to look inside the bag. You didn’t dare though, you had absolutely no doubt he would know if you took a peek.

Your grey suited man arrived at your apartment at 7pm sharp. He nodded appreciatively at your immaculate hair and makeup, cupping your chin in his hand as his eyes explored yours.

“Tonight,” he explained, “you will do exactly what I say, when I say it. If you disobey me, you will be punished. If you perform satisfactorily, you will be rewarded.”

“If I perform satisfactorily?” You scoffed. “I didn’t realise I was a circus monkey.”

He wiped his thumb along your lower lip, smearing the lipstick you’d applied not 10 minutes ago.

“You will do exactly what I say,” he growled. “Now, get dressed into the gift I gave you. And clean your face up. You have 5 minutes. Do not keep me waiting.”

You did as you were asked, presenting yourself like a piece of meat on a platter for him. He nodded approvingly, his hand trailing down the burgundy silk of the evening dress that fit you like a glove, the one he’d had made especially for you. You were a vision, an angel sent straight from heaven. He wasn’t going to tell you that though; he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

He took you to the most expensive restaurant in Seoul, where a private room had been set up especially. The staff were very discreet, and he’d need exactly that for what he hand in store for you tonight. You sat down opposite him at the small table, classical music quietly playing through the speakers. The room had no windows, lit only by the dimness of the candles dotted around the room.

“I took the liberty of ordering for you,” Mr Grey Suit said. “I’d expect you to eat every single bite.”

Champagne arrived, followed by oysters. You hated oysters with a fiery passion, but you forced yourself to finish every single one. You refused to show your distaste for them, refused to grimace as the slimy substance slid down your throat. Next up was steak, rare, the meat still oozing blood into to your plate, seeping into the accompanying potatoes. Your stomach turned; you hated red meat. You hadn’t eaten it since you were 10, the smell of it sending your stomach churning.

“I can’t,” you whispered, the metallic smell of the dead animals blood seeping into your nose.

“Are you disobeying me?” He asked, tutting as he tucked a linen napkin into his shirt. “I’m supposing you want to be punished then?”

“Please,” you choked, “anything but steak. I can’t, it’s the smell.”

“Stand up.” He told you. You stood to attention, ignoring the rising bile in your throat. “Come here.”

You did as you were told, your breath hitching as he pulled up your dress to your waist.

“Bend over,” he instructed. You obeyed, hearing the sound of his steak knife slide through the fabric of your lace underwear. You cried out as a sharp, swift slap was delivered to your right cheek, quickly followed by another, and then another. Each hit was harder than the last, tears streaking your face. The mixture of pleasure and pain was exquisite and yet so unbearable.

“Will you do as you’re told now?” He asked, his breath slightly ragged. You were soaking wet as you nodded, and he to resist sliding his fingers inside you. He was supposed to be punishing you after all, not giving you what you wanted.

You sat back down, the skin of your ass stinging as it made contact with the leather chair. Mascara smudged your cheeks, your face flushed. You looked down at the rare steak, then back up your mystery man. He was smiling so smugly at you; he clearly thought he’d won this little game. You smiled sweetly back, picked up your knife and fork, and sliced into the meat. You did your best to ignore the blood that seeped from it. You hardly breathed as you ate, swallowing the bile that continued to rise. A flash of anger contorted his usually handsome features; you were besting him yet again.

You proudly showed off your empty plate, sweat peppering your forehead from the immense effort. You refused to show you him how unwell you felt, choosing to down your glass of champagne to remove the metallic taste from your tongue. He begrudgingly poured you more, both of you smiling as you tried to figure out the others next move.

“What do I get then?” You finally asked, when the silence became too much.

“I’m sorry?” He said, dabbing the corner of his napkin as he surveyed you.

“You said if I did everything you asked, you’d reward me,” you reminded him.

“Ah,” he chuckled, “but you didn’t do everything I asked.”

“Yes, I did,” you snapped back. “I wore the dress, I ate the oysters and the fucking steak!” Eating that piece of meat had almost made you sick, but you’d done it. And he was reneging on his end of the bargain.

“But I had to punish you before you would eat he,” he smiled.

“And I did,” you hissed back at him, fists clenched under the table. “You can’t do this.”

“I can do whatever I want,” he whispered.

You looked him up again, his smug face looking entirely slappable in that moment.

“And so can I,” you decided. “Goodnight.” Throwing your napkin down on the table, you headed for the door.

“Wait!” His voice was desperate, panicked. He didn’t want you to leave. You stopped in your tracks, turning slowly to face him. He looked uneasy, wondering why his game wasn’t going the way he wanted.

“Fine, you sighed, “I’ll stay, but you’re going to play one of my games now.”

You fucked him on the floor of that private dining room, straddling him as you pressed the steak knife to his throat, the one he’d used to slice off your underwear. He quivered underneath you, entirely at your mercy as your slick, tight walls swallowed him again and again. He came with a strangled cry, thrusting his hips up into you as you drained every last drop of his seed.

Leaning down, you planted a single tender kiss on his lips.

“Goodnight, Mr Grey Suit,” you whispered. Standing up, you left him lying there on the cold marble floor, his cock still hard and his breathing ragged.

He had seriously underestimated you. What had started as a game of control, was now something entirely new to him. For the first time in his life, he was entirely at someone else’s mercy.

[deramin2]

The entire point of clothes not fitting right is that there's absolutely some body out there that the clothes do fit, but they do not fit the person currently wearing them. Apart from that making the clothes look terrible on people, like a hotdog squeezing out of bad packaging, they also feel terrible when they don't fit. They're tight in uncomfortable places and they restrict movement.

Even if we just set aside the subjective aesthetics of stylishness, Morgan could go from schlub to ignorably bland if he was just wearing clothes that actually fit him. A thing the stylists on his show are paid to make happen, where he ends up looking his best. Tailor made always looks and feels the best because it's the talk size and shape of your body, but off the rack can look just fine if you at least buy something a little too large in places and take it to a damn alteration place to have them take bits of it in so it actually fits like 90% of the way. Especially if you're choosing to live your life on camera. Some of Kermits fits are probably altered children's clothes.

The broader point is these fuckers want to act like they're the master race who have all the answers to fix everything, but they are too ignorant, lazy, and cheap to even dress themselves properly. Again not even style, just literally clothes that accommodate the reality of their own biddies.

If you know the bare bones of what actually fits you, it's possible to persistence hunt good formal outfits at charity shops for dirt cheap. It's blatantly apparent from just his clothes that Morgan knows fuck-all about reality and is too proud or invested in mass-produced averageness to do the bare minimum to look and feel good in his own body. Why would we trust that guy to decide anything for anyone else?

This might be Derek Guy's greatest masterpiece.

(The Twitter thread is probably easier to read and easier to look at the images, but I wanted to make sure it got preserved. Images are the tweets.)

(Continued in reblog)

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° every move is magic

♡ a/n — this is probably one of the longest things i've written lol. it's only bc it's yuki i swear.

♡ word count — 2.3k

♡ content — yukimiya kenyu x fem! reader, fem! reader, model! reader, childhood best friends, friends to lovers, mutual pining, goes from like kindergarten all the way to the u-20 game, mentions of yuki modeling, decided reader needed to be a model too, reader is shy and reserved as a kid, i made yukimiya one of those gremlin kids

♡ synopsis — Even if the world could never keep up with Yukimiya Kenyu, you’d always be grateful that he’d chosen to stay by your side.

The first time you met Yukimiya Kenyu, you were sitting on the edge of the playground, quietly watching the other kids play. You didn’t join them—not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t figure out how. It was easier to sit by yourself, even if it meant being lonely.

Then he appeared, a blur of energy and determination. While the other kids were too slow to keep up with him, Yukimiya’s restless nature had finally found something that caught his attention: you.

“Why aren’t you playing?” he asked, tilting his head as if the idea was incomprehensible.

You shrugged, unsure what to say other than, “I don’t know how to play the games they’re playing.”

He blinked at you, his head tilting like he was trying to figure you out. “That’s dumb.”

Your eyes widened at his bluntness, and he quickly added, “Not you! The games. They’re boring. Wanna play something else?”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Something fun,” he said with a grin. “We’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t wait for you to answer, instead grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the sandbox. From then on, he never left your side. While he was still a whirlwind of energy, he always made sure to include you, even if it meant slowing down.

“You’re my best friend now, okay?” he declared one afternoon after you’d spent hours building an intricate sandcastle together.

“Okay,” you agreed, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

From that moment on, Yukimiya became your shadow, and you became his anchor. While he zoomed around the playground like a whirlwind, he always circled back to you. And when you sat quietly coloring, he sat next to you, fidgeting but staying put.

He slowed down for you.

Yukimiya’s talent for soccer became apparent early on. By the time you reached the third grade, he was already being called a prodigy. Coaches marveled at his footwork, his speed, his ability to outplay anyone who dared to challenge him.

You watched every game from the sidelines, cheering louder than anyone else. He always made sure to find you in the crowd afterward, his grin wide as he asked, “Did you see that? Did you see how I scored?”

“You were amazing, Yuki,” you’d say every time, and he’d beam like your words mattered more than anyone else’s.

But as his talent grew, your insecurities began to as well. You weren’t particularly athletic, or artistic, or academically gifted. While Yukimiya excelled at everything he tried, you felt like you were just… there.

You were proud of him, of course, but a small part of you always felt like you were standing in his shadow. Everyone noticed him. Everyone praised him. Meanwhile, you were… you.

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Yukimiya said one day, lying flat on the grass beside you after practice. His bangs stuck to his forehead, sweat glistening under the sun. “What is it?”

Your mother had always said that Yukimiya had "great emotional intelligence" for a 3rd grader.

You didn't know what that meant, but you thought so too.

You hesitated before mumbling, “I don’t think I’ll ever be as good at something as you are at soccer.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, frowning. “That’s stupid. You're good at being my best friend." The way he said it, with so much conviction would've made you laugh if his face didn't look so serious.

"You don’t have to be ‘good’ at anything for me to like having you around.” He mumbled, just a quick little add on.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache in a way you didn’t understand.

By the time you both entered middle school, Yukimiya’s popularity had skyrocketed. Girls giggled and blushed whenever he walked by, and boys challenged him to soccer matches, hoping to prove themselves.

At first, it didn’t bother you. Yukimiya was still the same boy who ran to your side after every game, who walked you home even when he was exhausted, who always made time for you no matter how busy he was.

But then the love letters started.

“Another one?” you asked one afternoon as he stuffed a folded note into his bag.

“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly, not even bothering to read it.

“Don’t you care what they say?”

“Not really.”

You frowned, not understanding how he could be so unaffected. “What if it’s someone you like?”

“Nah. I don’t feel that way about anyone.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Besides, why would I need another girl when I already have you?”

The casual way he said it made your heart skip a beat, but you brushed it off as a joke. He couldn’t possibly mean it… could he?

No. You were best friends, he just didn't need another girl in his life right now. You were only in middle school, dating was the last of your worries.

But what would happen when a girl he did like gave him a letter? What would happen to you?

Your friendship with Yukimiya had always been effortless. He was the first person you turned to for help with anything—homework, outfit choices, or just figuring out life’s little mysteries. And he was the same with you.

You’d spent countless afternoons in his room, sprawled out on his bed while he juggled a soccer ball, the steady rhythm of it hitting the wall almost comforting.

This time was no different. You’d come over for a “study session,” but neither of you had cracked open a textbook. Yukimiya was sitting on the floor, bouncing the ball off the wall with practiced ease, while you lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Yuki,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” he replied, not looking up from his game.

“Do you think we stop each other from learning?”

The ball thudded against the wall again before he caught it, turning to look at you with a confused smile. “What do you mean? You’re here for a study session, silly.”

“No, not that,” you said, sitting up and hugging your knees to your chest. “I mean… learning how to kiss someone. Or how to go on dates. Stuff like that.”

His smile faltered, and he stared at you, the soccer ball forgotten in his hands. “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It’s just… we’re always together. And I love that, I do. But what if we’re keeping each other from… I don’t know, growing up or something?”

Yukimiya’s brows furrowed as he thought about your words. He stood, tossing the ball onto his desk and sitting beside you on the bed. “So… you want to learn how to kiss someone?”

“I guess,” you said, feeling your face heat up. “Don’t you?”

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’ve never… y’know…”

You nodded, the awkward silence stretching between you. And then, to your surprise, Yukimiya looked up at you with a small, nervous smile.

“Maybe… we could help each other,” he suggested, his voice trembling slightly.

Your breath caught in your throat. “You mean…”

“We’re best friends, right?” he said quickly, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. “It’s not weird if it’s just to… learn. Right?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. But the way he looked at you—hopeful, nervous, and maybe a little excited—made you nod. “Okay,” you whispered.

His hand reached for yours, his palm warm and slightly clammy, if he was any other guy, you'd have been grossed out. But he was Yuki, your Yuki, nothing about him was gross.

He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away. But you didn’t. When his lips finally pressed against yours, it was soft and tentative, like he was afraid of doing it wrong.

It didn’t take long for the awkwardness to melt away. What started as a simple kiss turned into something deeper, something neither of you had planned.

His hands found your waist, yours tangled in his hair, and before you knew it, the lines between friendship and something more had blurred entirely.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your cheeks flushed. Yukimiya looked at you with wide eyes, his glasses slightly fogged, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Did we just…” you began, trailing off.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Neither of you knew what to say after that, so you didn’t say anything at all. Instead, you lay back on his bed, your hands still intertwined as the silence settled over you like a blanket.

Both you and Yukimiya were scouted for modeling—him for his sharp, athletic looks, and you for your natural, understated charm. And maybe because Yukimiya dragged you to every meeting because he "couldn't do it alone."

He could, by the way, but he didn't want to be without you longer than neccessary.

But you were always so thankful to him, the industry was intimidating, but having him by your side made it bearable.

“You’ve got crumbs,” Yukimiya teased one morning during a shoot, brushing powdered sugar off your cheek from the donut you’d been eating.

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, wiping coffee foam from his lip. Lips you'd kissed far too often to be considered 'just friends' anymore...but all you were doing was helping each other release energy.

It was Yuki, your Yuki, nothing was weird whenever you were with him.

The photographer snapped a picture of you two mid-laugh, and it became one of your favorite memories—a candid moment that felt more real than anything else.

When Yukimiya was invited to Blue Lock, you encouraged him to go, even though the thought of being apart made your chest ache.

“Don’t forget about me,” you joked, forcing a smile as you handed him his bus ticket.

“Never,” he promised, his voice low and serious.

You couldn't put a finger on why your heart was screaming at you to make him stay when he leaned down to give you one last kiss while your parents backs were turned.

If this wasn't his dream, maybe you would have.

Leaving for Blue Lock was the hardest decision Yukimiya ever made. He hated the thought of being away from you, but he knew he had to take the chance if he wanted to achieve his dream.

He worked tirelessly, determined to prove himself and earn his way back to the real world—not for glory, but so he could call you.

The day he scored enough goals to get his phone back, the first thing he did was call you.

“Yuki?” Your voice on the other end of the line made his heart ache with relief.

“Hey,” he said softly. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion.

His teammates teased him mercilessly when they saw his lock screen: a picture of the two of you in matching robes, laughing over coffee and donuts.

“Who’s that?” Karasu asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“My best friend,” Yukimiya replied, his tone too soft for the teasing that followed.

“Just a ‘best friend,’ huh?” Karasu smirked. “Sure doesn’t look that way to me.”

He ignored the crow-like boy the rest of the night, but the truth was, Karasu was right. You weren’t just his best friend. You were his everything.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in the stadium as Yukimiya scanned the field, his gaze darting between his teammates and the celebrating fans. But then he spotted you. Standing at the edge of the field, looking up at him with that same smile he’d seen a thousand times before—on playgrounds, in his room, and through the screen of his phone.

Without a second thought, he ran to you, dodging past reporters and teammates. Before you could say a word, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle. The world blurred around you, and all you could focus on was the way his laughter vibrated against your chest and the warmth of his embrace.

When he set you down, you barely had time to catch your breath before he cupped your face in his hands, his forehead resting against yours. “I think…” he began, his voice trembling. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft and sure, as if he’d been waiting his entire life to do this. The noise of the stadium faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oh, is this the best friend?” Otoya's voice cut through the moment, and you pulled away, cheeks burning as you turned to see him smirking, Karasu snickering beside him.

“ ‘Best friend’ my ass,” Karasu added, crossing his arms and shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Yukimiya’s ears turned bright red, but he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he shot Karasu a glare before looking back at you, his gaze softening. “They can say whatever they want,” he murmured, his voice just loud enough for you to hear before he leaned down one more time to kiss you again.

You couldn’t help but think back to when you were kids, when Yukimiya’s speed and energy left everyone else in the dust. You’d always been the shy one, the one who struggled to keep up. But Yukimiya had never minded.

He’d slowed down for you, waited for you, and in doing so, made you feel like you were the only one who could ever truly match him. And now, standing here in his arms, you realized that he’d never stopped waiting.

Even if the world could never keep up with Yukimiya Kenyu, you’d always be grateful that he’d chosen to stay by your side.

yeah i chose yuki for this bc im bias, so what ?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[capquinn]

any quinn thoughts youd wanna share?🤭

been thinking a lot lately about how bf!quinn would be the type of guy who sends you flowers when he’s away — not because it’s a special occasion or because he feels obligated, but because he’s just thinking about you and wants you to feel loved even from far away.

Like, you’d be going about your day, maybe having a rough moment or feeling a little off, and then suddenly, the doorbell rings, and there’s a delivery person standing there with the prettiest bouquet. And the note is always simple, maybe something like, “miss you. Thought these might make you smile. Love you.”

And it’s not even just when he’s gone. He’s definitely the guy who walks through the door on a random Tuesday evening with a small bouquet in hand, all casual like it’s no big deal. His cheeks are a little pink, and he shrugs as he hands them to you, mumbling, “saw these on my way home. Thought you’d like ‘em.” And then he acts all nonchalant about it, but you can tell he’s watching your reaction, looking so proud of himself when your face lights up.

It’s not always the big, fancy arrangements either. Sometimes it’s daisies he spotted at the grocery store or a single sunflower because he knows how much you love them. And if you say something like, “Quinn, you don’t have to keep bringing me flowers,” he just smiles, leans in to kiss your forehead, and says, “I know, but I want to.”

He’s the kind of person who’d come back from a long road trip with a tiny bouquet he grabbed at the airport, the kind of flowers that might be a little worse for wear after the journey. “They’re probably a little squished,” he’d admit, holding them out with a sheepish grin. You wouldn't even care about the slightly wilted edges because it’s Quinn, and the thoughtfulness behind it makes your chest ache in the best way.

It’s just so him — quietly thoughtful, never over-the-top, but always intentional in the way he loves you. The flowers aren’t about grand gestures; they’re about making you feel seen, reminding you that no matter where he is, he’s always thinking about you. And honestly, who could ask for anything better than that?

[baambastic]

“Drake,” Damian announced, “I require your presence at an outing this afternoon.”

“‘Hello, Tim, how are you?’ ‘I’m good, Damian, and how about you? Did you need something?’ It’s usually considered polite not to walk in and immediately make demands of people, Damian,” Tim replied from where he was hunched over his keyboard. He didn’t look over at his unexpected visitor, but he bet the brat was rolling his eyes.

“Whatever. Will you do it or not?”

Tim hummed. “Depends on what this ‘outing’ is. And why you didn’t ask Bruce or Dick to take you.”

“Father and Grayson are both imbeciles,” Damian huffed.

“They’re too busy today, you mean?”

“I meant what I said. Are you an imbecile like they are?”

“Again, you haven’t told me what it is you want to do.”

“Fine,” Damian grumbled. “Colin has asked me to do something called an ‘escape room’ with him. It sounded mildly diverting, so I looked into it. There’s a recently opened establishment for such an activity, but we need four people to participate.”

“And you want me to be one of those four,” Tim concluded. He pushed himself away from the computer. “I’ve got time, so sure, I’ll come with. Two things, though.” He paused for dramatic effect.

Damian crossed his arms impatiently. “Yes?”

Tim grinned. “First, who’s this Colin?”

“An acquaintance. He assisted me in apprehending Victor Zsasz not long ago.”

“Is he around your age?”

“Approximately.”

Was he some sort of meta, then? How else would a (presumably untrained) kid be able to handle Zsasz? Tim decided to file that away for later inspection. At least it sounded like Damian was making friends. He definitely needed some. “Alright then, second thing. You said you needed four people. Even with me, you only have three. Who’s your fourth?”

Damian looked away. “I… hadn’t gotten that far yet.” Was that embarrassment Tim heard in his voice? Damian was usually too proud for that.

“Okay, not a problem. I can wrangle us another person.” If the person he was thinking of could make it, both Damian and them could get a lot out of this. Hurrah for two birds with one escape-room-shaped stone.

“Very well. Colin and I will be waiting outside for you. I presume this fourth person will meet us at the establishment?”

“Probably, yeah. Did you really leave Colin on my doorstep?”

“He did not want to enter, I would say because he thought he might be unwelcome. A stupid notion; you are far too trusting.”

“Thanks,” Tim said drily. He waved towards the door. “Alright, lemme make this call.”

Damian nodded and walked away. Before fully exiting the room, though, he turned back to Tim. “What are you working on, anyway?” he asked.

Tim hummed. “Nothing much. Just preparing.” He didn’t offer any further explanation. After a few moments of waiting expectantly, Damian huffed and left.

[this-machine-runs-on-coffee]

1. Probably my clocks, I love them even tho they aren't working rn (one's batteries are dead and the other has to be charged through winding up a thing. I want to take that last one apart and put it back together to learn how it's made)

2. Embarrassing but Freeze Your Brain

3. Passing ones but recently got failing ones. I'm very unfit.

4. My longest streak on an app is probably WhatsApp because I log onto it every day but I don't really use apps that count streaks. I once used Duolingo for a week (three days...) intensely, got bored of it and barely got through another month with minimal xp. I got a shit ton of xp in those few days. I'm not very proud of it.

5. Some of Rick Riordan's I have never read

6. Hades and Artemis

7. Wolf cut of the ones I've had. Idk about other haircuts' names tho, because it they weren't the ones I've had then idk.

8. Cola! Very fizzy sour ones. I love sour things

9. So many books I haven't read yet. It's been two years or more

10. Kinda. I like a lot of food but I will not eat anything other than the food I know I like unless I can back out or know the food I'll be eating but have never eaten has ingredients I like

Thank you so much for tagging me!

Do you like fruit?

What's your favorite food?

What's your favorite book/movie/musical?

Do you have a favorite kind of object? (Clocks for me. I love them. I don't know a lot about them but they are so cool)

Do you like warm or cold lights best?

What's your favourite character from your favourite book/movie/musical?

Have you ever used Duolingo? If yes, what's the highest amount of xp you've gotten in a short time? (I read what you said, @a-fucking-tornado, also consider yourself tagged if you want to answer any of these questions!)

Favorite candy or snack?

Do you prefer the beach or the mountains? Something else if you've never been to either

What's your favorite color?

Open tags!

Ten questions to ask a mutual

Instructions: prev asks ten questions and you answer them, then ask ten new ones and tag ten people to keep the chain going! I’ll go first

What is the weirdest thing you’ve eaten? (For me it’s the time I accidentally drank ants)

do you like purple or green more? (For me it’s a 50/50 I love them both)

what is your favorite two color color combo? (For me it’s purple and gold)

are you a cat or dog person? (Dogs 100%)

what is your favorite painting (Miranda by John William Waterhouse)

Mountains or beaches? (Mountains)

what’s your favorite dessert? (Lemon bars)

are you right or left handed? (Right but I used to be left handed)

salty or sweet? (Sweet)

summer or winter? (Winter)

I’m tagging 11 people but it’s whatever

@wra1th-k1ng

@bladevoyager

@tragedyanddust

@kindred-spirit-93

@urfavgreekmythnerd

@sickneurotic

@ry-diggity

@we-are-but-dead-stars

@thestarryfalls

@tamaruaart

@hermesmoly

[joyceyayo]

Stanford & Stanley Pines NSFW alphabet Pt. 1

A/n - there is some freaky shit, you’ve been warned.

A = aftercare (what they like after sex)

Ford: He gets flustered after, often embarrassed of things he said or did in the heat of the moment. But that won’t stop him from wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you to sleep.

Stan: If it’s a one night stand, I think he’s partial to leaving right after. Maybe a pat on the ass to say goodbye. but if be really cares for you hes all about aftercare. You often see him smirking after, cocky and proud of himself. He’ll almost always snap open a Pitt and light a cigarette, holding it to your mouth for a drag if you ask nicely.

B = body part (favorite body part of theirs and their partners)

Ford: He always says his brain, but if you say he’s annoying and cheated, he’ll give you his honest answer. Which is his chin; he never really thought about it until a girl from BMU said he had the perfect mouth and chin to sit on, which had him blushing every time he thought about it for weeks. And yes. All the girls there were that forward. So suffice to say, he got his fair share of pussy there. And he never minded his smile; he liked how you could always tell him and Stanley apart from their smiles. And you can’t disagree with any of this :)

Stan: His arms. When he hit puberty, he barely noticed and honestly disliked the broad shoulders and big arms he was developing a bit. It's just another thing for people to pick on him for. But one day, when he and Ford were next to each other in the mirror, Ford said something about, “How are we genetically identical, yet you’re the one who got dad’s arms?” Ever since, he didn’t seem to mind them.

C = Cum (where they like to cum ofc 😋)

Ford: Inside of you. All day. Every day. Not literally, of course. Or maybe…? He doesn’t know. What he knows is that all day every day, his brain is wracked with thoughts about stressful and dire shit he can’t control one bit… but when he fills you up, it’s like a switch is flipped that turns all of that off, and he’s just with you.

Stan: Tits, ass, face. The man isn’t picky as long as he gets to cum on you while looking right at you.

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret obviously)

Ford: This man steals your fucking panties. Used ones, too. You’ve found the panties you thought went missing accidentally left in his pocket while doing laundry. You playfully scolded him while slapping his arm with them, calling him a dirty old man. But you let up a bit because he was so cute when he got embarrassed about it, turning bright red and chuckling.

Stan: takes Polaroids of you sleeping after sex… he thinks it’s normal enough. He keeps them in his bedside table, and depending on how long you last, you will go for years oblivious to such photos.

E = experience (how experienced are they?)

Ford: experienced enough to make you feel great. I mean, he went to Backupsmore… I feel like they get freaky, but not Ford. Was definitely a virgin until college, but had his fair share of fun when he got there. One time took notes while watching an orgy. He had so many questions… not many were answered.

Stan: very experienced. When he was hopping from state to state trying out his brands, he was also trying out the women; he can't tell you how many times he'd got blown and ridden in the stan mobile... and he didn’t mind it.

F = favorite position (this goes without saying)

Ford: good ol’ fashioned missionary for Fordsy over here. He could give you love bites all down your body in that position for hours and probably will

Stan: doggy. He wants to pull your hair and pull your ass onto him. He’ll never get enough of watching his cock disappear inside of you, and that’s something you’ll just have to come to terms with ;)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Ford: Serious, he’s not thinking enough to joke around. He’s in a primal headspace where even if you made a joke, he’d just groan and shrug it off, getting back to work.

Stan: it depends on the vibe you’re giving off. If he feels like you’re being more playful, he’ll naturally act that way.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Ford hasn’t even thought about it; he’s clean. And yes, absolutely, he’s grey all the way. If you do mention you don’t like his body hair, it will reward you with his most embarrassed and distraught look, but he’ll trim it up without a second thought.

Stan: He knows he has a lot of hair, don’t mention it. Around his 40s, he just stopped fucking caring. He thinks it was the shoulder hair that did him in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ford: as intimate as you can imagine. He doesn’t just fuck Willy Nilly. He only gets into bed with someone he cares for. So there’s a lot of kissing and sweet talk from him, an ‘I love you’ every 30 seconds if you’ve said that to each other.

Stan: Again, it entirely depends on who he's with. If it’s more of a one-night stand, he’ll get a bit scared off if you’re too romantic. But if you’re together… you’re in for it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Ford: He does it to keep a straight head when he’s alone, without you, but overall, when he’s with you, he feels no need to do all that.

Stan: partook in it a lot when he was on the road, not in a way he ever did before. He did it not to think. But that was before you. When he’s away from you, he finds himself doing it while thinking about you, drifting into a fantasy where you are touching him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Ford: He hates to say it, but breeding. He can’t get enough of the primal feeling of cuming inside of you… and you don’t mind either.

Stan: cuffs. Maybe it’s all the times he’s been in them that it turns him on to be the one putting them on and deciding when they come off. (Of course, if you asked to get out, he’d do it readily)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ford: He really quite enjoys the routine that may seem mundane to some, such as getting into bed with you each night and making love with you after a long day.

Stan: again, he doesn’t mind fucking in his car; in fact, he loves it. His seats go wayyyy back, too ;)

A/n more coming soon!

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 9 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇note: so…I kinda maybe…lost the order these go on…ahem…can someone tell me if soemtbjng doesn’t make sense because it probably doesn’t belong there

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Telemachus was unable to sleep. He was staring up at his ceiling, creating stories in his head. He vividly imagined himself with a gleaming sword. A siren in front of him trying to sing him to his doom. Telemachus would put beeswax in his ears so the siren’s song wouldn’t be audible. He would cut off her tail. Telemachus froze. The prince couldn’t bring himself to put the siren through any more pain.

“Throw her body in the water. If the siren is trying to harm you, don’t let her. You’d be reckless.” A familiar voice says. Telemachus looked to his left and sees Athena standing in the corner of his room. As usual, Athena was standing tall, keeping her calm and stoic expression. It was still strange that the goddess could hear his thoughts.

“But I’ve already cut off her tail..there’s no need to drown her.” Telemachus sighed.

“You still have a lot to learn, little wolf.” The goddess nodded, exhaling as she walked around the prince’s room. While Telemachus laid on the bed, his fingers idly played with the bandages that Y/N had wrapped around his arm. He could still feel her precise touch as she healed him. For some reason, he was unable to forget the moment that had a firm hold on his memory.

“You’re thinking of something young prince.” Athena glanced at Telemachus. He turned his head to speak with the goddess.

“Y/N..” Telemachus breathed, “She bandaged me. It was the most emotion she’s ever shown me. I should be furious with her. She broke my ship..my father’s ship.” The boy sat up with a wince, while looking down at his hands.

“And what did you do about it?”

“Nothing..I did nothing.”

“Hurt her back.”

Telemachus then looked up at Athena, an unreadable expression on his face. He’d been through the idea so much, but he never thought of executing it.

“What?” He mumbled.

“Find something she cares about and hurt her back. An eye for an eye.” Athena kept her stoic expression as she glanced at the prince. It was almost a foreign concept to her that he had never carried through with such a simple solution.

“Eye for an eye..” Telemachus whispered. The prince got out of his bed and brushed his hand along his wrinkled tunic. With a new stride to his walk, he moved over to the trapdoor that led to Y/N’s room.

Athena then grabbed Telemachus’s shoulder to get his attention. The boy turned to her to see an almost proud look.

“All’s fair in love and war.”

Telemachus nodded in agreement before grabbing a torch off of his bedroom wall and opening the trapdoor. This route was so unfamiliar than the route he took to get to his mother’s room. He sighed in determination and walked through the passage. The air was damp and not at all comforting. Cobwebs began hitting him and the face and he had to hold back the urge to yell in disgust. He glanced ahead and saw that the passage would get narrower. The boy sighed in pure annoyance and disgust.

Telemachus went onto his knees for the next part of his journey. He felt something crawling up his leg and looked down to see an eight legged creature. He groaned at the uninvited spider and shooed it off of him. Keeping the torch away from his face, he crawled through the claustrophobic space. He exhaled in relief when he saw the end of the passageway was nearing.

The young prince reached the end of the tunnel, and put his hands against the trapdoor. He applied a light pressure and managed to quietly unlatch it. Still on his knees, he crawled out and put his hand on the wall to help himself up. Telemachus couldn’t help but glance around. The room was barely decorated. The only thing on the wall was a tapestry of Orpheus and Eurydice. The exact moment when he looks back at Eurydice. The boy had studied the myth endlessly. His gaze then fell on a figure in the bed.

Y/N.

The girl was laid on her stomach, the cover laid over her hips. Her back and strophic on almost full display through the thin nightgown she was wearing. Her wavy hair was let down and draped across her pillow. And lastly, her face. She looked completely relaxed. A state Telemachus had never seen her in. He found himself unable to stop staring. The boy closed his eyes and quietly exhaled.

I need to focus

He walked over to a desk against the window of her room. It was completely dark in Ithaca. All that could be heard were the waves against the shore. She didn’t own much. Something that stood out to the prince were the vases. All different colors and shapes. She must’ve been a vase collector. He slowly reached out to touch one of them, handpicking which one he would destroy. Suddenly, he was pulled back. Telemachus groaned as his back hit the hard floor underneath him. When he looked up, Y/N was on top of him. Her chest heaving against his own.

“Who are you? What the hell are you doing here?” Her voice barked out, a terrifying sharpness in her voice. Her grip was firm on the front of Telemachus’s tunic.

“Y/N!” Telemachus yelled, grabbing her wrists in an attempt to get her off of him. He then glanced up her arms and saw an array of scars. Some looked fresher than others. Still tints of pink along them. The others were healed and could barely be seen through the darkness of the room. Telemachus then remembered that he had seen scars on her back while she was sleeping, but he didn’t notice them at first. He glanced back up at Y/N, a look of confusion in his eyes.

Before he could ask her what had happened, she was already off of him, staggering backwards. She grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped it around herself.

“What in the gods are you doing here Telemachus?” Y/n’s voice lacked the authoritative tone it usually had. As he sat up and met her eyes, he saw something he had never seen before. Vulnerability. It only made the prince wonder more about what had happened.

“I was…” Telemachus breathed out. He couldn’t even bring himself to say what he was going to do. He glanced to his side and saw Athena standing there, an expectant look on her face.

“Grab the vase. She’s down. This is your chance to strike.” The goddess ordered. Telemachus couldn’t get to his feet. He just sat there. He glanced at the vases then his gaze fell to y/n.

“No…” He whispered, so quietly that no one could hear it but himself. Y/N was gripping her blanket like a lifeline. As if it was the only thing keeping her from drowning in an unknown ocean. The princes only thought was,

How could I hurt you?

Telemachus completely ignored the goddess’ advice and inched himself towards y/n. He didn’t care how much either of them would hate him for it.

“What happened, y/n..tell me” The prince whispers, reaching his hand out for Y/N. At his words, he watched tears pool in her eyes and her lip slightly tremor before she swatted his hand away.

“Go away, Telemachus.” She snapped, standing up and turning away from him, discarding the blanket on the bed. It was no use. Telemachus had seen everything. He could see her hand go to her eyes, most likely wiping away her tears. Telemachus wasn’t sure what switch had been turned on in him. He stood up, using the edge of her bed. The boy inches towards her, putting his hand on her shoulder, feeling a few of the rough scars beneath his finger.

“I said go away.” The girl yelled, stepping forward and away once again. Without thinking Telemachus went behind her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling the girl firmly against him.

He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I’m not leaving. You don’t have to tell me why you’re upset…just let me do this.”

The girl felt almost rigid in his arms. That didn’t stop Telemachus from letting go. To his surprise, she turned around, burying her face against his chest.

“5 minutes..then I want you to get the hell out.” She murmured.

A surprised huff fell from Telemachus’s lips, “5 minutes and get the hell out..got it.” Holding her felt surreal. Something he never thought he would experience in his lifetime. In a weird way it felt..right. Like she was supposed to fit against him like this. Her arms were snaked against his waist and he heard the occasional sniffle from her. Slowly, Telemachus moved his hand to her hair, feeling each curl between his fingers. She was still warm from being in her bed and he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

Telemachus got bolder and moved his other hand to her back, gently moving his fingers up and down the girl’s spine. He was incredibly shocked that he hadn’t gotten pushed off her yet. His final move was laying his head on top of hers, no space in between them. He breathed her in. Lavender. She smelled like lavender. It took everything in the prince to not carry her back to her bed and lay down next to her. To hold her, to find out everything about her, and why she acted the way she did.

Then he remembered who he was holding.

The girl who broke his ship. The girl who tormented him. The girl whose brother wanted the crown and his mother. But for some unknown reason. He couldn’t pull away. He then felt her hands against his chest, pushing him away.

“5 minutes is up, get the hell out.” The girl nodded towards the door.

Telemachus held his hands up, “5 minutes right.” They both glanced at each other. Something unspoken between them. Most likely awkwardness, but possibly a mutual attraction. Telemachus wanted to ask her what happened or if she was ok, but he refrained. He moved towards the trapdoor, getting on his knees, and unlatching it. He swung the door open before crawling inside and shutting it behind him. Telemachus couldn’t help but wonder what had happened back there and why he secretly enjoyed it. But also why Y/n hadn’t pushed him away.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Reckless and sentimental,” Athena yelled, looking down at Telemachus, “that’s what you are.”

Telemachus only sighed, glancing down at the bandage on his arm, trying to drown out the goddess’ words. He was pacing around his room, avoiding her gaze.

“She was down. And vulnerable. There was no need to hurt her further.” Telemachus spat back. He couldn’t get y/n out of his mind. Quiet and trembling. He could never hurt her. Even though he so desperately wanted his revenge.

“You’re just like him.” Athena mumbled, almost inaudible, but the boy had heard it.

“What?” Telemachus turned around to face her for clarification.

“Nothing,” Athena snapped, exhaling, “That’s not a war tactic. You asked for my help to be a warrior. Not to play your Aphrodite.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have done the same?” Telemachus yelled, “You would have striked her while she was crying and looking down upon herself with shame?”

The goddess raised her brows in perplexion. Athena couldn’t help but be reminded of Odysseus. Standing on his ship, spreading his new ideals of open arms and mercy. Her arguing her position with him. The pure, raw emotion in the king’s eyes.

“At least I know what I'm fighting for

while you're fighting to be known”

The young prince wasn’t Odysseus but he might as well be. If it weren’t for the situation at hand, she would find it amusing how similar the boy is to his father even though they had never met.

“As I’ve said before…those are not my ideals. It is not my job to care.” Athena curtly said. Before Telemachus could spit out another disagreement, the goddess was already gone.

୨୧┇for the people confused on how she has scars, it was from her past. Bc her and Antinous used to be on the STREETS💜

[soraka-in-warhammer40k]

The Black Rose is essentially engaging in something I've come to call "Nuke-Seeking Behavior". They are desperate as fuck with the threat of Mordekaiser looming and Swain uprooting their power structures - but also too proud and paranoid to make that danger public and seek assistance. They cannot dial it down. Their modus of operations does not accept that. At this point they must double down if they wish to succeed at their terms.

Some thought that the rune she was playing with looked like a Watcher, which is uh... a curious escalation. LeBlanc would probably burn down the entire contient of Valoran if it would help them win against the Eternal Threat. The issue is with a Watcher, even a small one, you threaten more than just a continent...

I love the sneak peek of LeBlanc and Vladimir's dynamic.

Vladimir *walks in*: "Wow that last plan almost destroyed the world. Can we tone it down next time? Maybe talk to Mel"

LeBlanc *slowly as she paints more schemes on her magic ipad*: "noooooo".

Vladimir: "......*confused*"

LeBlanc: "The next plan needs to endanger our lives even worse."

[grimesbunny]

when you sleep

cw dubcon. somnophelia. unprotected piv. dirty talk. prison era. secret relationship. not proofread idc.

the exhaustion festering inside rick’s bones takes the form of something more heady once his eyes adjust enough in the darkness to make out your sleeping form. clad in just his shirt and your cotton panties, rounded, plump flesh peeking out just enough to feel purposely teasing. it takes everything in him to constrain his groan, cock quickly filling the front of his blood stained pants. you’re none the wiser— turned away from him on your stomach as slow breaths cause your chest to rise and fall rhythmically.

gently, he reaches over your figure, brushing your wild hair behind your ear to get a better look at your pretty face. the lack of ponytail or braid leads him to presume you fell asleep on accident, probably succumbing to restlessness after having been waiting for him all night. that thought is what has him reaching down to palm at his bulge.

“my sweet girl.” he coos lowly. his voice sounds gravelly to his own ears after having spent the majority of the journey back to the prison in silence. “so beautiful, aren’t you?”

it’s as if a magnetic force brings his lips to your cheek, his calloused hand to your hip. cant help himself.

the bed dips under the weight of his knee, sliding it where one of your legs is perched off to the side. his warm hands feel you up innocently at first, sculpting the dips and crevices of your pliant body. reveling in how soft. . . how alive you feel. “missed you so much. missed touchin you.”

his inhibitions falter the longer he sits there, hovering over you. breathing you in. he lets his hips fall slightly to catch the friction of your ass against his hard on.

“god.” he laughs out in disbelief at himself. “feel that baby? feel me throbbin for you in your sleep?”

he looks up for a reaction, any indication that you’re somehow consenting and enjoying this, because he doesn’t know if he can just stop here. he pins his hands on either side of you for leverage as he bucks into you. the side of his brain nagging at him for how perverted he’s being is overtaken by the part that’s chanting desperately for more.

“drive me crazy. make me need you so bad, don’t even have to try.” he grits out the misplaced blame, his thrusts becoming more deliberate. he’s chasing his own high, using your unconscious body to get off. humping you like a dog in heat.

one particularly rough thrust jostles you slightly, making you shift in your sleep. rick doesn’t stop, not even when a soft groan slips out of your mouth. not even when you blink awake.

“rick? is that you?” the mixture of confusion and innocence in your voice only spurs him on, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

“shhh, it’s me, baby.” he places another kiss onto your cheek, soothing your hair out of the way in attempt to comfort you. maybe coax you back to sleep. his lips trail down to your shoulder, the snap of his hips never faltering. “so soft, honey. how’s it that in a world like this, you still feel so fuckin soft?”

your next words sound more clear, more awake. you turn to look at him in the dark. his hair falling over his forehead, still fully clothed and unshowered from the run. the lustful glint that has turned his eyes almost completely black. “what’re you doing, rick?”

“i know, i know. fuck.” he’s sympathetic, even as his hand travels up your shirt. as it trails along your stomach, as it gropes the fat of your breast. you gasp, your own hand coming to weakly circle around his bulging bicep. as if you could ever fight him off. “can you feel how hard you made me?”

you don’t respond verbally, because rick doesn’t count whimpering into your pillow as a response, but you push your ass back to meet his thrusts, still meek from sleep. he groans out, long and throatily and low, a proud grin etched onto his lips.

“there’s my girl. d’you miss me too?” his breath tickles the shell of your ear, followed by a rougher kiss to your jaw. “waiting for me to get home and take you?”

you nod as best you can in your position, letting yourself bask in the pleasure of having him pressed against you. you’re leaking, soaking the spot where your groins connect. rick has to reach down and feel it.

“sure feels like you missed me.” he chuckles, cocky. the rough pads of his fingers dip into your panties from behind, sliding along your slippery folds. “fuckin’ say it.”

“missed you s’much, rick.” you whine through delirium and pleasure, bucking down into his hand involuntarily. “was getting worried.”

“poor thing. gonna make it up to you.” he hums absently. too lost in the feeling of you. your puffy mound, the scent of your hair. he dips a thick finger into your spongy entrance. “look at that, always open up nice and easy for me, huh? could slide right in.”

you instinctively clench around him at that. your thighs threaten to close— they would if it weren’t for the way his knee has rooted in between them. “yeah? want me to stuff this little pussy?”

you manage to squeak out your confirmation and he removes his hand, but the sound of his belt unraveling behind you is enough to make you whimper in anticipation.

“yeah, you need it just as bad as i do.” he states. he takes a pillow from beside your head, lifts your hips with one hand and slides it under you in one swift motion. it’s a position he’s taken you in several times, but neither of you have gotten used to just how deep it sends him. and it’s one of those nights where he needs to be as deep as possible, breach uncharted parts of you. “don’t you?”

you feel his spongy, thick tip press against your entrance in the dark and squeeze your eyes shut. he’s painfully hard at this point, and it takes every last bit of resilience from rick not to shove himself inside and pound your cervix until it’s bruised. of course, you would take whatever he gives you without complaint. but he’s not a barbarian.

“oh— mhm. need you, rick.” you confirm, though it feels like you’re speaking through cotton with how exhaustion and pleasure are playing tug of war inside you. it’s far from a lie. you need him in more ways than one, much like how the rest of the group needs him.

only this part of it, the one saved for when the two of you are alone, spoken through silent glances and subtle touches throughout the day— this is sacred. just between you.

“you’re gonna get me, honey.” he knees your thighs farther apart to make room and eases his way in. his ego soaks up your gasp at the intrusion, the stretch.

it winds him too, sends him toppling forward and landing with his hands pinned on either side of you for stability. he’ll never not marvel at how warm and tight you are inside, sucking him in like you never want him to pull out. it’s almost gotten you pregnant more than a few times.

“yeah, that’s it.” he groans, careful not to wake anyone in your cell block. the heavy weight of him envelopes you from behind, pressing you uncomfortably into the prison mattress. your bones are sure to be sore and bruised from it tomorrow, but all you can focus on is his voice, his breathing, his scent— his cock. filling and stretching you so nicely. curving enough to slot inside your stomach.

he’s grunting out strings of praises into your ear — “so fuckin’ perfect. takin’ care of me…” — and all you can manage out are mindless mewls, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. he doesn’t warn you before he cums inside, just fucks into you rapidly until you feel the warmth blossoming in your abdomen. it momentarily snaps you out of your entranced state, and you attempt blink back at him.

“rick, did you—”

“couldn’t find condoms, baby. i tried.” he sounds completely unfazed. he kisses your cheek one more time before he pulls out and tucks himself back into his pants. “go back to sleep.”

and with that, he rolls over next to you. it’s not seconds later that you hear snores falling from his mouth. you try your best to ignore the feeling of his come leaking out of you and close your eyes as you snuggle up next to him, knowing he’ll be out of your bed long before anyone else wakes up in the morning.

[strawberrysugar71]

I've actually had enough and I'm going to fucking scream (LOTS OF SWEARING, passive aggressive - I think - and rant :3)

(I probably put this really horribly and I'm sorry about that but I'm genuinely so pissed off I actually can't find a shit to give.)

"SHE TOLD GANGLE SHE'S ANNOYING! RAGATHA IS A HORRIBLE PERSON!"

HAHA NO SHE'S NOT 😝😝😝 GET OVER IT. SHE'S TROUBLED LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE THERE. SHE LIES TO KEEP EVERYBODY SANE, WHICH TBF HARMS HERSELF MORE THAN IT DOES ANYBODY ELSE. BUT THE SECOND SHE'S HONEST ABOUT SOMETHING BECAUSE IT'S WHAT'S HEALTHY FOR HER SHE'S A HORRIBLE PERSON AND IS EVERYBODY'S LEAST FAVOURITE CHARACTER. LET IT GO. SHE WAS INTOXICATED TOO, AND PEOPLE DO DUMB SHIT WHILST INTOXICATED. (literally common sense that 17-20 year olds are ignoring that even a 13 yo understands?!). NOT TO MENTION 2 SECONDS LATER SHE ACKNOWLEDGED WHAT SHE SAID WAS MEAN. EVEN I - ONE OF THE BIGGEST RAGATHA FANS YOU'LL EVER MEET - WAS UPSET AT HER WHEN SHE SAID THAT. IF YOU WANNA ACCUSE ONE OF THE CHARACTERS OF BEING A PRICK, MOVE ALONG TO JAX. THANKS.

Also she doesn't ACTUALLY hate Jax. That's common knowledge, I fear... If she really hated him, why is she always with him? Why is she sharing the spotlight of the next TWO episodes with him? Huh? Huh? HUH?

"THEY HAVE AN EIGHT YEAR AGE GAP!!!"

😱😱😱 OMG I NEVER FUCKING KNEW THANK YOU FOR THIS BRAND NEW LIFE CHANGING INFORMATION!! 8 YEARS IS NOTHING, GET OVER IT. BRUTAL TRUTH. YOU'RE JUST FINDING PATHETIC EXCUSES TO HATE ON A SHIP YOU LOATHE. BUT THE SECOND I EXPRESS MY MASSIVE HATRED FOR FUNNYBUNNY/BUNNYJESTER I'M A BAD FUCKING PERSON?! (You ship it? Totally fine by me! Ship whatever the hell you want, I'm just tryna make a point.) WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?! AND LET'S JUST BE REAL FOR A MINUTE, NOBODY WOULD ACTUALLY GIVE TWO SHITS ABOUT THE AGE GAP IF JAX WAS OLDER! JUST BECAUSE THE WOMAN IS OLDER FOR A CHANGE!!! stoopid.

JUST BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE DOESN'T MEAN IT'S AN ILLEGAL SHIP! FUNNYBUNNY MAKES ME HELLA UNCOMFORTABLE BUT YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME HATING ON THE SHIP BECAUSE OF IT!!!

"THEY'RE SIBLINGS THOUGH!!!"

😱 THAT'S YOUR HEAD CANON BITCH! UNLESS GOOSE SPECIFICALLY SAYS "yo chat mb Jax and Ragatha are siblings lol" THEN IT ISN'T CANON! SORRY NOT SORRY! TRYNA RUIN PEOPLE'S FUN BY MAKING THEM FEEL LIKE BAD PEOPLE FOR SHIPPING 'InCeSt' HAHA VERY FUNNY. THEY DON'T EVEN ACT LIKE SIBLINGS. SAID IT AND I'M PROUD OF IT.

RAGATHA'S NOT A BAD PERSON, AND BUNNYDOLL ISN'T BAD. (also Funnybunny shippers ily, you're some of the sweetest ppl ever. Mwah!)

YOU'RE WELCOME.

PASS ME THE NEXT ONE.

[emsdevs]

Okay Luke is once again taking up my mind

This one is for the girlies that like to game :)

So I’m imagining sitting in the floor or a bean bag or something so you’re comfy while you’re playing whatever game you might be playing (hogwarts legacy if you’re like me) and once again I feel like Luke is just a clingy guy so he’s probably sitting right behind you on the couch but that’s not enough for him. So he reaches forward and starts playing with your hair. And maybe it starts with him just running his fingers through it but eventually his brain tells him he can totally braid your hair. And you’re locked in and it feels good so you’re not really paying him any mind. It takes him a few tries but eventually he manages something that kind of resembles a French braid. But this man is just SO PROUD of himself so he makes you pause your game or waits until you’re at a spot where he can have your full attention and whether he takes a picture and shows you or takes you to the nearest mirror he HAS to show you his masterpiece. And even if it looks horrible or your hair is in knots you can’t be mad because he just looks so cute trying to show you something he worked hard on

[lavellansvh3nan]

A Letter From Inquisitor Lavellan to Dorian Pavus

//OOC//: Hello again! These letters won’t leave my brain so I’m churning them out while the muse is there. Enjoy!

My friend,

I can practically see you brooding, you know. Which is your right and your past-time, by my count.

I won’t sit here and try to make excuses for my choices, there are no good ones anyway. I want you to know that no matter what, I never meant to hurt you. But that doesn’t make you less angry with me.

Perhaps I’ve caught you in a more benevolent mood, willing to hear me out. If Bull is near you when you read this letter, remind him that he owes me one. Or more likely you’ll crumple up this letter, probably set it on fire, and only spare a thought for me when you’re telling embellished stories around a gorgeous dining table. Either way, you are owed an explanation.

I remember when you told me of your intentions to try and change Tevinter. I was so proud of you, because I knew if anyone could make change in their home, it was you. The idea of watching my friend leave, knowing that it would be unlikely we’d see each other more than a handful of times among the years, was difficult to swallow. Especially after all you did to bring me back to life when Solas left.

You can say his name, you know. He isn’t going to appear around a corner and lunge at you. I’ve made him promise not to.

What you did for me in the months following his departure is a debt I’ll never be able to repay. I’ve known the love of a mother, a father, a lover, and a friend, but perhaps yours exceeds all of them. For yours is a loyalty, a steadfastness, a patience, that only comes with knowing someone completely and choosing to be with them in their dark moments.

Bathing me when I was covered in paint. Filling the endless silence of my despair with your constant prattle, being with me every single day I didn’t know what to do or how to move forward, it is a love I had never experienced or will ever experience again. It is unique to you.

When I finally came back to myself all those months later, realized you’d put your plans on hold for me, I was appalled. I assured you I would be fine and you finally went on your way. To start the life I knew you deserved. And look at all you’ve done! Minrathos and the Shadow Dragons would be nothing without your leadership.

I’ve spent the last eight years wondering what I would ever do if the chance came to see Solas again. In those first years, I was angry. And then I was lost, for a long time, though I think you were the only one who truly saw it.

Being the Inquisitor gave me purpose. I knew Thedas needed me. I wanted to help in whatever way I could, especially considering we’d inadvertently unleashed Solas on the world. And then there was the waiting, wondering when he’d strike. If he really intended to take us all down with him.

Over the years, I’ve spoken to so many about whether or not I believe Solas capable of tearing down the Veil. You, Bull, half the Inquisition, really. Most everyone agreed that Solas needed to be stopped by any means necessary. That he was a monster.

What was your poetic phrase? “A madman with the moral superiority of a guilty noble.”

Varric was the only one who believed Solas could be swayed. Told me that really, all Solas wanted was a reason not to go through with his plan. After what happened when Solas took my arm, I didn’t want to believe him. It was too painful to hope.

But then the reports came in, bit by bit from Varric. Noted from Solas, personal journals. Like he was leaving clues for us to find. As if his pride refused to relent but Solas, my vhenan, wanted us to stop him.

It wasn’t until I spoke with Rook, actually, that I knew for certain that if I saw him again, when I saw him again, things weren’t through between us.

Call it soulmates. Call it a connection through space and time. Or, call me a fool, as you already have. All are probably correct. But I’ve know since the moment I met Solas that something tied me to him. When I saw him again, I didn’t see the Dread Wolf. I saw my vhenan, beaten and broken and tired. Drowning in his regrets, a slave to what he thought was his journey to redemption. And in that moment, I swore Varric was standing there right beside me, telling me that the one thing that would sway Solas was love. And he was right.

Especially after his final encounter with Mythal (That is another letter entirely. One I know you’re dying to read, so if nothing else, allow me to indulge you in my next response)

To be perfectly clear— I do not love him more than you. I could love no one more than you. No matter where I go, I’ll be with you. Just as you told me when you returned to Tevinter. But it is different. Just as you have Iron Bull, and we both know logic has no place in your relationship with him.

*the last sentence is a crossed out line, still legible, as though Lavellan is teasing Dorian*

Now, this isn’t goodbye. This isn’t even see you later. Solas has assured me I can enter and leave the Fade whenever I choose. Thanks to Rook, there are plenty of Eluvians available for me to come and visit. If you’ll have me. I understand you plan to pout, to hate me for a few weeks, as is your right. Don’t brood too long, however. I know you’re chomping at the bit to know all that’s transpired.

Just know, I’ll never be far from you.

With love, always,

Elliana

[theostrophywife]

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢

masterlist | chapters | playlist

🗡️ pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🗡️ song inspiration: the death of peace of mind by bad omens.

🗡️ author’s note: happy new year my darlings! buckle in because this series is going to be a wild ride. as always, special thanks and dedication to @writingsbychlo for helping me sort this series out while it was in its early form. now, without further ado. enjoy.

Nothing bad ever happened in Ashmore. 

Tucked in the outskirts of a quaint and idyllic East Coast town, Ashmore University was ranked as the sixth safest school in the nation.

Until the body was found. 

A malevolent fog marked that fateful September day, its shadowy tendrils snaking through the slumbering campus, its eerie talons curling over the ivy-covered brick buildings, covering the proud oak tree standing tall in the middle of the quad before eventually converging at the edge of the small collegiate town like a predator awaiting its prey. 

The smoke filled the air with the heady scent of cinnamon and cedar, a remnant from the bonfire that the Student Government Association organized every year to celebrate the first game of the season. The homecoming event was supposed to boost campus morale, but in your opinion, putting drunk and rowdy college students near an open flame was perhaps not the brightest idea. You always thought it was a recipe for disaster, but you had no idea how catastrophic things could truly be at Ashmore. 

The eerie mist that had settled over campus parted for a squad of police cars, the red and blue lights cutting through the haze like a blade through butter as they raced for the heart of Ashmore. The quiet peace of dawn was shattered by the sound of sirens, which rattled like a death knell through campus. The more you tried to ignore it, the louder the sirens echoed. 

The disturbance was strange enough to warrant investigation. Though you barely got any sleep the night before, you forced yourself out of bed and hastily changed out of your ratty Hello Kitty pajamas. You doubted that any renowned journalist would be caught dead wearing a fictional cat on their ass. 

The gravity of the situation hit you full force when you reached the crowded lobby. If your fellow college student were up at the ass crack of dawn on a weekend, then something was seriously wrong. You elbowed your way through the crowd, eager to find the source of the commotion. Maybe someone got stuck in the laundry chute again. Seamus, probably. 

God, you really hope it was something more exciting than that. You could only report on Finnegan’s clumsy tendencies so many times before the act grew stale. What the Quill needed was hard-hitting journalism. As of late, the campus paper that you wrote for relied solely on fluff pieces and sports highlights that the student population had grown bored with ages ago. They weren’t exactly the type of stories that would warrant a Pulitzer Prize. 

Luck seemed to be on your side as curious chatter rumbled through your apartment lobby. Amidst the crowd, you spotted a familiar tall figure towering over your fellow residents. A smile graced your face as you recognized the chunky knit sweater, baggy corduroy trousers, and beat up combat boots that your best friend had no doubt haphazardly thrown on the second he heard the sirens blaring. 

Sleepy eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses surveyed the scene, his dead eyed stare softening when he spotted you. Theo pushed his frames up the bridge of his nose and waved. As always, his trusty vintage camera hung loosely around his neck because according to your best friend, point and shoot was the only acceptable way of capturing pictures. You ruffled his already tousled brown waves in greeting, which earned you a fond eye roll. 

Without a word, Theo handed you a cup of steaming hot coffee that he procured from the vending machine. Despite his obvious judgment, you happily indulged in your guilty pleasure. Your best friend remained silent as you took the first sip, his nose upturned and twitching in disapproval as the caffeine worked its magic. 

“Thanks, Teddy,” you murmured in appreciation. 

“I still don’t understand how you can consume that swill.” 

“Not all of us are certified coffee elitists,” you teased. “Maybe you should take a sip. You seem a little cranky this morning.” 

Theo swatted your hand away when you tried to pinch his cheek. “Of course I’m cranky. Who wants to be woken up before noon on a weekend? It’s criminal, really.” 

Your lips twitched in amusement. Normally a sweet and easy going person, Theodore Nott turned into an absolute grump any time his precious sleep was interrupted. 

“Any idea what’s going on?” 

He shook his head. “Not a clue, but I have a feeling you’re about to drag me along for answers, bella.” 

You chuckled as you looped your arm through his. “You know me so well, Nott.” 

The playful mood turned somber as soon as you stepped out of your apartment complex. The smoke was thick, choking the life out of your surroundings while you and Theo walked in tense silence. A sense of mystery and suspense lingered in the air, putting the two of you on edge. Your instincts were screaming at you to veer away from the woods, but for the sake of a story, you forced yourself to take another step towards the sirens. 

“Why is it always the woods?” Theo grumbled. “This place gives me the creeps.” 

You couldn’t have agreed more. The secluded wooded area, which sat on the outskirts of campus, had always seemed menacing to you. The oak trees that crowned the running trail towered over the two of you now, standing proud and tall like omniscient sentinels. The thick roots of the trees choked the earth beneath you and weaved through the entire trail, the strange saplings painting the ground with jewel toned leaves that disturbingly resembled blood. 

Though you weren’t a fan of the place, you were dismayed to find it littered with empty liquor bottles and sports paraphernalia. You hadn’t bothered coming to the bonfire last night and gladly so if this was the aftermath. 

“Poor Enzo.” You could only imagine the depraved things Berkshire witnessed at the bonfire. “I bet last night was a shit show.” 

For reasons beyond your comprehension. Enzo voluntarily covered any and all sporting events for the Quill. You couldn’t even imagine the chaos he witnessed at the bonfire if the scene before you was any indication. 

Theo scoffed. “Don’t let Berkshire fool you. He lives for this type of lawlessness.” 

Lawless, indeed. Theo guided you by the small of your back as you narrowly avoided stepping on loose debris. You gripped the edge of his cardigan for support, shuddering in disgust at the sight of a haphazardly discarded used condom littering the forest floor. 

“How romantic,” your best friend deadpanned. 

You snorted at his remark, fully prepared to volley theories on exactly how the condom ended up in your path, but stopped short when a piercing scream sliced through the forest. Theo appeared rather apprehensive about investigating the source of the sound, but sighed in defeat when you took off running towards whoever it was that was screaming bloody murder. 

“This is exactly how people die in the movies,” Theo muttered under his breath. “And here we are, sprinting headfirst towards our demise.” 

“You could’ve stayed in bed,” you countered.

Your best friend sighed as though he was considering doing just that. “Trust me, the thought crossed my mind about a thousand times, but unfortunately I have a moral responsibility to prevent your untimely death.”

“You love me.”

“To the detriment of my own health and well-being.” 

You chuckled. “Stop whinging and get your camera ready.” 

The scene that greeted you at the edge of the woods was utter chaos. A line of police cars blocked the creek by the woods, the fluorescent lights reflected in the murky waters. The sirens came to a stop, but the screaming continued to echo. At the edge of the creek, a girl your age thrashed in the arms of a police officer and scrambled backwards from the water. Her face was distorted with horror as she pointed a shaking finger into the rivulet. 

You followed the trail and blanched at the reason for her terror. Something floated in the middle of the creek. At first, you thought it was a mannequin. Probably another remnant of the bonfire since students were known to bring and burn a myriad of weird things, but the closer you looked, the clearer the situation became. 

The thing floating in the creek was a real body. A person. His clothes were shredded in long slashes that cut deep into his torso. The water around him was crimson with blood. His flesh was in absolute ruins, barely hanging off the bone like the skin was made of tissue paper. You had never seen anything like it. Whoever did this to him took their time. You didn’t have to be an expert in forensics to know that this was personal. 

You inched closer to peer into the water and froze when you caught a glimpse of his face. A face that you had seen just the other night. The hatred that simmered in his gaze during your last conversation was gone now, snuffed out like his existence. Now those familiar eyes were trained on the horizon, cloudy and unseeing. 

“Are you alright, bella?” Theo asked softly as he took hold of your hands. “You’re shaking.” 

“I knew him,” you whispered. Your voice sounded distant and unfamiliar, as though someone else was speaking.

Theo shielded you from the body, turning you away from the creek. “Were you two close?” 

You shook your head numbly. “No. We had a class together last semester. He…” Taking a deep breath, you attempted to calm your nerves. “There was an incident. I lost out on an internship because of him, so I can’t say I was much of a fan. But still, it’s awful to see him like this.” 

“Fuck, that’s terrible,” Theo said as he rubbed your back. “Do you want to leave?” 

Everything within you screamed in agreement. You should leave. You should get as far away as possible from this place. From him.

But instead, you tampered down all of your emotions and wiped the nonexistent tears from your cheeks. “No, there’s a story here. I can feel it. Let’s try to find out what we can.” 

Despite the apprehension written all over your best friend’s face, Theo knew better than to come between you and a story. As always, he followed your lead as you approached the line of squad cars parked in the banks of the creek. The police were busy cordoning the area, which made it easier to sneak closer to the lone ambulance facing away from the scene. 

“Where are we going?” Theo whispered from behind. 

“To speak to a witness.” 

As you rounded the ambulance, the girl from earlier came into view. Wrapped in a thick blanket, she shivered as the cold fall breeze rustled through the woods. The sound of twigs snapping startled the blonde out of her reverie. Behind you, Theo sheepishly grimaced as he tiptoed around to your side. 

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled. “I’m a bit clumsy.” 

The blonde surveyed the two of you with suspicion. “Who are you?” 

“My name is Y/N. This is Theo.” You flashed your press badge and offered her a sympathetic smile. “We’re with the Quill.” 

“The school newspaper?” 

You nodded in confirmation. “You’re Flint’s girlfriend, right?” The blonde teared up at the mention of Marcus. “I’m so sorry that you found him like that. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Tiffany.” 

“The police said he’d been out here for hours,” Tiffany sniffled. “Oh god, he was probably attacked while I was out partying at the bonfire.” 

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” you said, daring to take a step forward. The blonde shuddered as you rubbed her back. “You couldn’t have known.” 

“It’s awful. Who am I supposed to go to Homecoming with now?” 

Theo shot you a look that you purposely ignored. “It’s a terrible tragedy,” you nodded solemnly. “Do the police have any idea what happened?” 

“They didn’t even take my call seriously at first,” she explained. “I told them that Marcus had been missing for a few hours, which is so unlike him. He would never miss a party. At first, I thought he was just cooling off because we had a pretty bad fight last night, but when his brothers said he hadn’t come home this morning, then I really started to get worried.” 

“His brothers?” Theo asked. To both of your knowledge, Flint was the only child of William and Anne Flint, making him the heir to the Flint fortune. A fact that Marcus flaunted any chance he got. 

Tiffany wiped a stray tear away. “His frat brothers.” 

“The Sigmas, right?” 

Sigma Theta, the fraternity that Marcus all but spearheaded, had a rather dark reputation. For years, rumors of fraud, hazing, and drug trafficking had swirled around the organization, but somehow they managed to evade the allegations again and again. Given the powerful alumni that backed the fraternity, you weren’t the least bit surprised. Evidence was lost. Witnesses were intimidated. Law enforcement was bribed. After all, everyone had a price. 

“When was the last time you spoke to Marcus?” 

“We talked on the phone right before the bonfire.” 

“Did he mention speaking to anyone else?” 

“No,” Tiffany answered. “He sounded distracted, but he promised to meet me at the quad.” 

“Distracted how?” 

“Well, it sounded like he wasn’t alone,” Tiffany frowned. “It was probably that bitch Brittany. She’s always trying to steal other people’s boyfriend, the slut. I told Marcus as much and we had an argument about it. That was the last conversation we had.” 

“Do you know if Marcus had any enemies?” 

You could feel Theo’s gaze land on the side of your face, but you kept your attention on Tiffany. “Of course Marcus had enemies. When you’re young and rich, people tend to get jealous.” 

Tiffany folded her legs primly, gathering her composure. The fear and adrenaline pumping through her moments before started to calm. She glanced up at you curiously, recognition of your odd line of question slowly creeping in. Before she returned to her senses, you asked her a question you already knew the answer to. 

“Is there anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt Marcus?” 

The blonde blinked. “You sound so familiar.” 

You squeezed Tiffany’s hand and plastered a smile on your face. “Thank you for answering our questions. You’ve been very helpful. Take care, Tiffany.” 

With that, you promptly walked off. Out past the creek and beyond the woods. Far, far away from the police. It wasn’t until you reached the edge of campus when Theo finally spoke. 

“What was that all about?” 

You blinked up at him with guilt written all over your face. “I did this,” you whispered. “I killed Marcus.”