#just makes it all that much more impossible

[canisalbus]

For your gay little dogs

.

[mariasont]

hiii, more bimbo!assistant!reader calling hotch, daddy, pleaseeeee😁🫶🏻💖😇

ilyyy!! <3

Bought & Paid For - A.H

summary: you push hotch's buttons just to see how far you can take it, and today, you finally find out pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: suggestive content, reader calling hotch daddy, hotch blatantly staring at r's ass, established relationship, slight brat taming undertones perhaps? wc: 0.6k

You’re talking about almond milk.

Or, at least, you were talking about almond milk — now you’re on some tangent about how store-brand oat milk is never as creamy as the one from that overpriced cafe near your apartment. He has no idea how you got here. He’s not even sure you know.

Your face is full of conviction — deeply invested in a topic that no rational person should have these many feelings about. It’s… impressive. Baffling, but impressive.

Hotch should be paying better attention, filing this long-winded dairy dissertation for the next time you inevitably guilt him into fetching your morning sugar bomb like some kind of begrudging personal assistant.

He’s not oblivious to the irony.

Instead, he’s watching you slide into the passenger seat, and instead, he’s having a private moment of reflection about how you absolutely cannot wear those jeans in public. 

Because they were almost pornographic.

Because they make it very, very clear what’s beneath them which makes it very impossible to think about anything else.

Because they make him look stupid.

He had told you. Repeatedly. Jeans should not cost that much. They were jeans — denim, mass-produced, entirely unnecessary at that price point. You could buy three pairs for half the cost, and no one would know the difference. 

He looked you in the eye and declared, with absolute authority, that he would not enable this behavior.

And then you pouted. And he pulled out his wallet like an absolute disgrace to his own principles.

He was actively experiencing the consequences of his own actions in real time.

Because you’re wearing them to go grocery shopping now and he’s going to spend the next hour fighting the very real, very primal urge to knock out every man who so much as glances at what he paid for.

He hands you your purse once you’re settled, barely paying attention, already running through the mental checklist of things that need to be done before he can call this errand over.

And then you flash him a quick, unassuming smile. “Thanks, daddy.”

His fingers still on the door handle, entire body seizing, breath catching mid-inhale as his brain tries — and fails — to process whether he actually heard you correctly.

His pulse goes from stable to needing immediate medical attention in a matter of seconds.

He straightens like someone just pulled a gun on him, adjusting his watch even though it does not need adjusting. Forces himself to level you with the most unaffected look he can manage. 

“Sweetheart, that’s not appropriate.”

You blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence that he knows is fake. “Why?”

His fingers drum once against the car before curling into metal, grip bordering on savage, white-knuckled tension bleeding into every line of his body, the only outlet for something too risky to be voiced.

It doesn’t help that you look exceedingly gorgeous in daylight. That the sun — a merciless accomplice in your destruction of him — has taken it upon itself to illuminate every detail.

That you decided today was the day to try a new blush. That you had stood in front of him this morning, asking if it made you look pretty like you didn’t already know how impassioned he felt about that answer.

Like you weren’t a loaded weapon wrapped in silk and perfume, soft where you should be sharp, lethal in ways that have nothing to do with intent.

And now, here you are, stacking problems on top of problems, and he has to somehow be the one to keep himself in check.

He exhales sharply, glancing away for a second — a brief, necessary reprieve — before settling his gaze back on you. “Because you know exactly what you’re doing, and I strongly suggest you stop.”

You bat your lashes. “I really don’t know what you mean, daddy.”

He doesn’t think — there’s no room for thought, no time between your words and his reaction. One second, you’re in the passenger seat, smirking, and the next, you’re hauled up and over his shoulder, one arm locked around your waist, and the other gripping your ass, fingers digging into the denim that started this whole damn mess.

You squirm, thrashing in the most unconvincing, unserious way imaginable, laughter spilling from your lips in delighted, unrepentant little bursts, and he knows it down to his very core that you are enjoying this far more than you should. 

And despite his better judgment, so is he.

“Hey! The groceries —,”

“Groceries can wait.”

Hotch doesn’t even pretend this trip is still happening. The moment the words left your mouth, the destination changed, the entire purpose of this errand replaced by something far more immediate and deserved.

So he spins on his heel and carries you straight back to the house with the ease of a man handling something he fully intends to deal with. 

Because this is about balance, about the fundamental laws of action and reaction, about the way you tip the scales just to see what it takes to tip them back. 

And because, if nothing else, you’ll think twice before calling him that again.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[verdancy-hime]

Sometimes you can.

If people leave you alone to do it, it's easy.

The main reason I can't think myself out of depression or executive dysfunction is because the overwhelming majority of the people in my life throughout my life have wanted me to be depressed and barely functional.

I think about how after years and years of struggle I finally beat my messy tendencies and then this guy I used to talk to started telling me all of a sudden how sexy my messy room was and praising me for photos of it.

I think about how any time my life is stable and going well, some funny little series of coincidences piles up to make it incredibly hard out of nowhere.

Some of those are just coincidence.

Some of them have been my employer that didn't pay me enough or give me full time hours giving me the worst shifts and the worst tasks and switching up my hours so I couldn't get a second job. My boyfriend suddenly getting our joint account garnished by the irs when I finally found a full time job. My boss accusing me of stealing to cover up her own theft. Now the people at my job are intentionally stalking me online and in person trying to make me stressed out all the time. Targeting me at work and pretending that suddenly all the things they used to like they hate now and annoy me in various ways on purpose.

I don't know why.

I'm just not allowed to be happy or stress free.

I'm not allowed to be cute or not in poverty.

I'm not allowed to have a relationship that's not abusive. I tried that for years. No matter what I did, it just turned into being in a hostage situation with a guy who hated me. Only the means of control was different. The idea that I don't want to be around any person who doesn't treat me well is apparently also not allowed, because the more I keep to myself the more people bully me.

But most people in most friendships and relationships seem to be unable to allow me to be normal and be myself and constantly follow either a bait and switch cycle or turn abusive.

I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that.

I guess I know one thing.

Anyway, the point is?

You very much can think your way out of internal problems.

You can take other actions that also help.

The problem is that you can not think your way out of the fact that most other human beings are sadistic and hate you. Like... most other human beings default to wanting to see you miserable and dysfunctional except while you are doing things for them. There is never enough that you can do for them that they won't want every minute that you aren't doing something for them to be hell on earth. There is never enough you can do for them that they won't try to make hard or impossible on purpose.

You can't think yourself out of the fact that capitalism requires you to beg other people for resources to survive and those people all hate everyone

Say you break your ankle. You could know everything there is to know intellectually about the injury. Even with this vast knowledge, you will still experience physical pain.

Now take this logic and apply it to things like ADHD, autism, clinical depression, and other less visible/divergent disabilities. You cannot think your way out of feeling.

That is to say: you are not a bad, lazy, or selfish person for struggling, even if you know why you are struggling.

[wchswift]

─── dark paradise

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader

summary: forced to share a motel bed, you and soldier boy push each other’s limits, until the tension gets too much.

contents! porn with plot, cursing, "enemies" to "lovers" (more of hate-sex partners), pet names, bratty action, little spanking, tension, unprotected sex p in v, smut (so the usual warnings); mdni 𖤐 18+

word count: 1k

It’s Butcher’s fault.

Of course, it is.

The bastard had barely spared you a glance when he tossed you the motel key, muttering a quick, "S'only one room left. Deal with it." before heading off to his own damn bed, probably sleeping like a baby while you were about to experience hell.

Because standing behind you, staring at that single, shitty-ass motel bed, is Soldier Boy.

Smug. Smirking.

Because of all people, you were stuck with the most infuriating, sexist, arrogant piece of shit Supe on the planet.

And worse?

He was undeniably, unfairly fucking hot.

That cocky smirk. That thick beard. That solid wall of muscle barely hidden beneath his suit. He oozed confidence, the kind of man who knew he could say or do whatever the fuck he wanted and get away with it. The worst part? You had to pretend like you hadn’t definitely thought about what it’d be like to have those hands on you—rough, strong, possessive.

But that wasn’t happening.

No way.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," you breathe out, rubbing a hand down your face.

Soldier Boy just chuckles behind you, stepping into the room with all that confidence. Looking so goddamn smug you wanted to punch him. Or maybe shove something in his mouth to shut him up—just not your tongue.

You exhaled sharply, grabbing one of the shitty motel pillows and stomping toward the armchair in the corner. "I’ll sleep here."

"Oh c'mon... what, you afraid to sleep next to me, sweetheart? Afraid you might like it?"

He dropped his shield onto the floor with a heavy thud. The mattress squeaked as he sat down, legs spread wide, watching you like a cat watching a mouse it was about to pounce on.

Your jaw tightened. "Afraid you’ll wake up with my foot up your ass."

His laugh was a low, deep rumble, so fucking cocky. "Damn. Feisty. I like that."

You ignored him, trying to make the armchair comfortable—except it was fucking impossible. The seat was stiff, the armrests dug into your ribs, and after about two minutes, your back already ached.

Soldier Boy was watching. He knew.

"Go ahead, suffer all night. Or—" He patted the mattress beside him. "You could just quit bein’ a stubborn little brat and get your ass in bed."

You snapped, "I’d rather die."

"Alright, suit yourself." He stretched out, kicked off his boots, and took off part of his suit.

After a few minutes, you heard him sigh.

"C'mon, doll. I don’t bite." A beat. "Unless you ask real nice."

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Thirty minutes later, you gave up. With a growl, you stomped over to the bed.

"Not. A. Fucking. Word." You hissed.

Your hands clenching into fists. "If you touch me in your sleep, I’m breaking your fingers."

His smile was so wide you could practically feel the smugness wave from him.

"Baby, if I touch you, you won’t be breaking shit. You’ll be begging for more."

Your face burns.

You throw yourself onto the bed, keeping as much distance as possible between you. You yank the thin motel blanket over yourself and turn away from him, fuming.

But the second you slipped under the sheets, he turned on his side, facing you. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

You kept your back to him, grinding your teeth. "Shut up, Soldier Boy."

"Aw, c’mon. Call me Ben. We’re close now, ain’t we?"

"Eat shit, Ben."

He laughed—actually laughed—the low, husky sound way too fucking sexy for this situation. You squeezed your eyes shut, determined to ignore him.

Until—

A shift. The mattress dipped behind you. His breath—warm, slow—ghosting over the back of your neck.

"What are you doing." Your voice was tight.

"Relax." His voice was lower now, smug, lazy. "Just getting comfortable."

Bullshit.

His arm stretched over your waist—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.

"You’re so goddamn tense, sweetheart." A pause. Then— "Wonder why that is."

Your entire body stiffened.

"Maybe," he continued, voice dipping into something almost sinful, "’cause you’re trying real fuckin’ hard not to think about me fucking you."

Your breath hitched.

"Not to think about how good it’d feel to let me wreck that bratty little mouth of yours. Break you in just right."

Your throat went dry.

His fingers barely grazed your hip, testing the waters, a feather-light touch—like he was daring you to stop him.

You should. You should.

But your pulse was hammering. Your thighs clenched. And he knew it.

"You don’t wanna admit it, do you?" His lips were right by your ear now. "That you’re already getting wet just from the thought."

Your breath was uneven. "Go fuck yourself."

He chuckled. "Oh, baby. I’d rather fuck you."

After that, everything snapped.

You didn’t know who moved first—you or him—but suddenly you were on your back, pinned beneath him.

His mouth crashed against yours, all teeth and hunger, and you hated how fucking good he kissed. Rough. Demanding. Like he owned you already.

His hands tear at your clothes, ripping them away, his mouth hot and bruising against your skin. You barely process how fast it happens, his hands everywhere—gripping your throat, forcing your thighs apart, pressing bruises into your skin. So fucking dominant it makes your head spin.

"You gonna be good for me now, sweetheart? Huh?" His voice was a growl, his hand gripping your jaw. "Or you still gonna act like a brat?"

You spat, "Fuck you—"

Slap.

A sharp, stinging smack to your thigh. Your breath hitched—not in pain, but in something so much worse.

"Wrong answer."

Then, he pushes in.

A sharp stretch, filling you in one deep, slow thrust, knocking the breath from your lungs.

"That’s my girl," he breathes.

You whimper, body trembling, arching, clenching down on him.

Soldier Boy sucks in a sharp breath, stilling inside you.

"Jesus fuck," he growls. "You feel that, babydoll? The way you’re squeezin’ me?" His voice is strained, ragged. "So fuckin’ tight. Shit."

He finally starts to move.

Slow, so slow, dragging it out, forcing you to feel everything.

His pace is deliberate, teasing—rolling his hips, stretching you open, pushing deeper with every thrust, until you’re gasping, clawing at his back, needing more, needing him.

"You’re gonna take it, your little brat," he murmurs, taunting, dirty. "Gonna let me fuck you like I should’ve from the start."

You whimper, body arching into him.

He pounds into you, harder now, faster, unforgiving. Your thighs tremble, burn, but he just shoves them higher, wider, completely open to him.

And that mouth? Never stopped.

"Look at you." A dark chuckle, his grip tightening in your hair. "Not so mouthy now, huh?"

You gasped, back arching, your nails scratching his back.

"Use your words, babydoll. Tell me how good I’m making you feel."

"F-fuck you—"

Slap.

"Try again."

His fingers find your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles.

Your breath shatters.

Your head tilts back, helpless, back arching into him. "S-so fucking good—"

"That’s it, baby," he groans, pushing you over the edge, feeling your body clench, convulse around him.

You break.

Pleasure rips through you, blinding, earth-shattering, unstoppable.

And Ben follows.

His thrusts turn messy, desperate, his body shaking as he buries himself deep, groaning, cursing, growling your name as he spills into you, claiming you in every fucking way.

He stays there for a second, breath hot and ragged against your skin, his body heavy, unmovable.

And in the morning?

That smug, insufferable smirk would be the first thing you’d see.

"Told ya you’d like it, doll."

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

lina's notes: soo this is my first sb fic and the first time I post smut so I'm really nervous lol. I'm still learning and trying to improve my writing with explicit scenes, but I really hope it's at least good, enjoyable to read!! 🫶 (and plss comments and feedbacks will be greatly appreciated.)

special tags for some soldier boy lovers: @blossomingorchids @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @daylighted @vmiina @gibson-g1rl @figthoughts @stargrltara @starzify @angelackless @bluemerakis @jasvtsc

(I don't have a taglist for soldier boy yet but if anyone wants to be added just let me know)

[alicentsgf]

we talk a lot about shauna losing jackie and her baby boy and yes those are major traumas. however, i think the moment that truly changed her fundamentally was butchering javi. that moment is truly symbolic of what shes sacrificed for all of the others. she let him die to save nat and then his blood was literally on her hands because no one else could handle the burden of butchering him. this is a kid she LIKED. that she had some small bond with. she had to pull her headband over her eyes because she couldnt bear to look at what she was doing. and the others just left her alone out there cutting up his body because none of them could bear to even watch it. so shauna shoulders it alone. how does the human brain even cope with that experience? especially since every single time gen brings back a kill, shauna has to butcher that animal and relive that moment in some way again and again

and whats crazy is yes shauna resorts to violence easily, shes impulsive and deeply angry, but she doesnt enjoy killing. when she threatened the carjacker her words were much more about the power she felt over him, enjoying the fear of someone who'd wronged her, than actually threatening his life. shes willing to kill for power and control, but her relationship with the actual physical act is complex. sometimes trauma can become strangely familar and soothing, maybe thats why shauna butchers the rabbit in season 1. its like a fucked up coping mechanism based in her need to feel a level of control. and it was okay in her mind, because the rabbit had wronged her, ruined her flowers. but when gen comes back from a hunt with nothing, dont you think shaunas the one who chooses which innocent duck or rabbit has to die so that everyone can eat? like why do you think she cried over the goat? It was probably the first time in her life she was handed something innocent and told, very explicitly, that she was not going to have to hurt it.

essentially what im saying is you dont have to agree with shaunas actions to see her point of view. all she does is feed them. she told them it was what jackie wanted. she told them to wait for javi to drown. each time shes shouldered the actual burden of the choice. and all whilst not even having any faith, in the wilderness or otherwise, to alleviate her guilt. pregnant and starving and she never took extra, she makes sure everyone eats to the detriment of herself, and what does she get in return? shes left alone. in pain. she lashes out at anyone who comes near her and because of it they give up on her, like she isnt what they made her. reliving her trauma every time she peels the skin off a stag. her baby is turned into a diety for a faith she doesnt even believe in. jackie and javi too. the others take her real, human losses and make them mythology, stake a claim on them before shes even had a chance to properly grieve. and ofc these are just kids in an impossible situation needing something to believe in, so you cant even rly judge them for it. but that doesnt make shaunas rage any less understandable

[klausysworld]

Hiii I absolutely love your oneshots. Can you please do one with Elijah mikaelson. Similar to your klaus one shot about the reader having a lack in height.. Elijah is OBSESSED. Reader could be like (4’10 to 5’1?)

Uncontrollable Love

It shouldn’t have turned him on as much as it did.

Just looking at her made him stir. 

It had gotten to the point where even Niklaus was teasing him about it all.

Whenever Y/N would leave the room Elijah’s eyes would follow and someone would snicker. 

He hadn’t realised quite how tiny she was the first couple times, Y/N always seemed to be sitting the first few encounters so when he had been too focused on sorting out his cufflinks and bumped into her, he didn’t realise who it was.

Not until she spun back around and called out his name with a smile on her face.

“Oh..” He breathed, Elijah hadn’t remembered the last time he’d been at such a loss for words but looking down at her he was. Y/N barely reached his chest, let alone being at eyeline. Her head was tilted all the way back, looking up at him with such a sweetness that it made his dead heart thump quickly. His head shook a little, trying to urge his thoughts back. “Y/N.” He nodded, “Forgive me, I wasn’t looking.” His throat cleared, he felt like he sounded funny. Did he sound different? Was his voice too high? Too deep?

He wasn’t so sure and he could feel the bead of sweat on his forehead.

“That’s okay, neither was I.” She smiled, holding up her phone as if to show him what she had been looking at. Her expression shifted, a slight frown and it made him worry more. “Oh did I mess up your tie? I’m sorry, I must've knocked it somehow.” Y/N reached up as she said so, her arms stretched up to straighten his tie. 

Her fingers were so close to him, almost touching him. Usually he was very possessive of his belongings, especially his extensive tie collection but he couldn’t help but want her to stroke every inch of fabric he owned.

He couldn’t take it, just watching her. It was straining him.

Without a word he had left the room, leaving her confused but she simply shrugged it off and went on her way.

From that day he couldn’t help but imagine her with him all the time.

Wondered how she’d look snuggled up against him, gods he’d be able to wrap his body all the way around her. 

He’d imagine her sitting on his lap, straddling him. Her thighs stretched open as she looked up at him with her big eyes. It made him throb.

Every morning he had to reach over her, grab the cereal and pass it down to her and every time he couldn’t help but let himself press against the back of her. 

At lunch he’d get too nervous that she might slip and slice her finger off when she cut her sandwich in half so he’d hastily make his way down the stairs and grab the knife before she could. She’d laugh, such a bubbly laugh that would make his heart clench and she’d tell him that she wasn’t a small child but he could always see the level of comfort and enjoyment she took when he sliced her sandwich into two triangles and shifted them onto a plate for her. 

Once dinner rolled around he’d be all over her in the kitchen. He’d lift her onto the counter, watching her legs swing back and forth as he slid the herbs across to her when she asked for them. 

She’d talk so much to him then, and he would always listen of course. It was impossible not to pay attention to her, her voice was addictive. But he also couldn’t stop himself from admiring her. He just wanted to hold her, feel her, know that she was his.

Pure and utter joy would fill him when his brother announced another event they were throwing.

It meant Y/N would be held against his chest, letting him lift her off the ground and dance her all around the room like she was just a petal in the wind. In addition to that, at the end of those events, Elijah was almost guaranteed a kiss from her. 

He’d walk her back up the stairs, her dainty hands clutching his bicep as she spoke to him about how lovely the evening had been. Once they got to her bedroom he’d clear his throat, a faint smile creeping on his lips but he needed to keep it back.

Y/N would tuck her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit Elijah had discovered, and look up at him through her lashes. 

“Thank you for being with me all night.” She’d whisper, her foot sliding in and out of her heel, another habit, before she’d reach up to wrap her fingers around his tie. Elijah would always have to hold his breath so he wouldn’t let out a groan.

She’d tug him down and he’d eagerly lean so that their lips could meet. 

Always soft and innocent but would linger slightly too long for it to mean something casual. 

His hand would hold her waist, he felt as though he could fit her in one hand. 

“Goodnight Elijah.” Her voice would utter before she disappeared into the confines of her room.

Elijah would have to sit as quietly as he could in his reading chair, his hair damp as he stroked himself like a desperate animal. His hips would jump as though somehow he’d lost the control over himself that he had trained himself to have over centuries. 

It took him an embarrassingly long time to finally cave to his feelings and bring her to his bed. But once he had her, he knew she’d never be able to leave him. 

Elijah was in a state when her legs wrapped around him, his hands traced the short length of her body over and over and she knew how much he loved her size. Especially once her fingers were trying to wrap around his cock, the contrased made his hips just. Watching her pretty pink lips stretch around the head made his hands tangle in her hair, he just couldn’t believe what was happening.

Even once he was deep inside her, he couldn’t help but watch as his cock disappear inside her over and over, he could feel her pussy stretching around him. He looked so big between her legs.

Y/N moaned and whined like a needy whore and it made him crazy.

“Just desperate to be split in two by my big cock, aren’t you baby?” he would taunt against her ear, relishing in the way she would clench around him. 

Once she finished around him, he would pump her full of his cum, not once tearing his gaze away from how it all spilled out of her.

Elijah was a carer, that much was evident just with his siblings but with Y/N he was even more so.

He never wanted her walking, holding her tight instead, needing her legs around his waist all the time and arms over his neck. He needed her to need him, to cling to him like his soul would cling to hers.

[cutiefulism]

cw — big dick caleb 😓, cum eating hinted, back shots of doom n caleb being pussy drunk

i think caleb definitely is super calm and collected during foreplay. likee almost overly so (⁠~⁠_⁠~⁠;⁠)

he doesn't rip your panties off trying to get to that pretty pussy, he doesn't hump against the bed when he's working his fingers into you to stretch you out (much to your and his dick's dismay), and he tries to keep any excessive groping, marking, and fondling to a minimum.

his goal is just to please you. that's it.

his own feelings don't matter — after all, he's basically a professional in emotional repression.

but once he fits all eight inches inside, that plan goes right out the fucking window.

he's pounding into you like a mad man, the pillow under your stomach being the only thing keeping you up. his hands freely grope and fondle, from pinching your nipples and squeezing your tits to smacking your ass. he leaves your neck practically covered in marks so red and deep that it's just impossible to cover up.

you wouldn't have to cover it up if you stayed with him another couple of days.

the bed creaks and rocks beneath you, the scent of sex and the sound of slick skin slapping against skin filling his bedroom.

all you can do is helplessly drool onto his sheets, eyes rolled back as moans and whines leave your parted, swollen lips.

music to his fucking ears.

"it . . it feels good, r-right? shit, ungh, you feel sooo good. squeezin' me tight like this — hah — gonna choke my damn dick off, pips."

caleb's own jaw is a little slack, a bit of drool starting to escape the corner of his mouth as his fingers dig into your hips, leaving bruises that he'll oh so generously ice later.

each thrust of his hips has his big cock dragging through your gummy insides, abusing your poor g-spot and bullying your cervix. if he flipped you over, he'd see that plush bulge in your tummy, right where he's sank all the way to the hilt.

it's not deep enough, in his opinion.

"oooh, caleb, mmph! 'm gonna cum—" you sob, broken voice like a siren's song.

and that only makes his pace more brutal, more sloppy.

it's like he isn't even here right now, too drunk on your perfect pussy to think about the ramifications of this.

"yeaaah, honey. cum . . cum on my dick." his voice cracks right on that last word, and his heavy balls are aching with the need to pump his nut into you. "g-give it t'me, please, fuck—!"

you can only manage a broken squeal of his name as pleasure rips through you again, legs trembling and slick hole gushing around his length.

caleb's big hands leave your sides and his arms wrap around you, pressing your back to his chest as he continues to split you open. "'m gonna c-cum, okay? gonna cum right inside 'cause i jus' love ya so much— ngh! i love you, i love you, i love you—"

he squeezes you to him as he finally cums, long and hard like he's been denying himself this for years. thick, gooey white ropes fill up your insides and then trickle out, adding to the preexisting mess on your plush thighs.

you've never felt so full in your life, like he's stuffed you to the brim with his seed and then some.

his racing heart starts to slow against your back as he starts to press gentle, soothing kisses and licks to your neck. "i didn't . . didn't go too hard, did i?"

you don't even get the chance to answer before caleb is pulling out of you, cunt squelching as more cum leaks out.

"don't worry. jus' lemme make it up to, princess, riiight now . ."

and you scream when he licks a long stripe up your poor mound :((

my 8ball said this would flop. do we believe bro

[isaadore]

ATTACHED CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor isn’t the type to say outright how much he loves you. but you didn’t need him to, not when he showed it in every little thing he did. whether it was following you around the apartment, pulling you into his arms the second you sat down, or finding excuses to keep you close, one thing was clear. he was completely, hopelessly attached to you. word count 0.6k

warnings fluff, established relationship, connor being soft and clingy, minor teasing

note not a part of my 1k celebration but i thought we all needed this with how connor’s season is going on rn 😕

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

IT ALWAYS STARTED small.

You woke up first, rolling onto your side to grab your phone. But before you could even reach for it, a strong arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back into the warmth of the bed.

Connor buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing sleepily against your skin. “No.”

You stifled a laugh. “No?”

“Stay.”

His voice was muffled and low, still heavy with sleep, but there was no room for argument. You were stuck, wrapped up in him. His grip was just firm enough to keep you from slipping away.

You exhaled through your nose, amused, and brushed your fingers through his hair. “You’re clingy in the mornings.”

“Not clingy,” he corrected, though the way he tugged you closer said otherwise. “Just comfortable.”

You shook your head, but your chest felt warm, your heart softening at how much he didn’t want you to leave yet.

Still, after a few more minutes, you finally manage to wiggle free, much to Connor’s displeasure. He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his stomach as you sat up.

“I’ll be back in, like, five minutes,” you promised, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before slipping out of bed.

You thought that was the end of it.

But then, twenty minutes later, you were standing in the kitchen making coffee when you felt it. A familiar presence lingered behind you, followed by the quiet shuffle of socked feet.

You glanced over your shoulder, and sure enough, Connor was there. His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were still half-lidded with sleep.

“You good?” you asked, sipping from your mug.

He grunted in response, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

You huffed a laugh. “Connor.”

“What?” he mumbled against your hoodie.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was.” He paused. “Then I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

You blinked, realizing he had gotten up just to follow you. “So you came all the way to the kitchen?”

He nodded against your shoulder like it was the most logical thing in the world.

“You’re impossible.”

“Mm.” He hummed, unbothered, and just tightened his arms around you.

And really, what could you say? That was just how he was. He was never too obvious about it, but he always found reasons to be close.

It happened again when you were sitting on the couch later that afternoon. You had your laptop balanced on your knees, fully focused on whatever you were watching, when Connor came in from the other room and wordlessly flopped down beside you.

You barely had a chance to react before he shifted closer, his arm draping over the back of the couch, his knee knocking against yours.

You glanced over. “Comfortable?”

“Not yet.”

Before you could question it, he moved again, pulling you into his side, letting you settle against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You paused for a second, then shook your head, amused. “You do realize you’ve been practically glued to me all day, right?”

Connor exhaled, long and dramatic, like he was thinking about it. Then, after a beat, he said, “So?”

You snorted. “So, is there a reason, or are you just really attached to me all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, playing with the hem of your hoodie. “Dunno. Just like having you close.”

Your heart clenched, and maybe you were a little obsessed with him too.

“Well, lucky for you,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor hummed, satisfied, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before relaxing against you completely.

Yeah. He was definitely attached.

But honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Persephone 2.0

(Somehow, even when I come up with an angsty scenario it turns into zany comedy hijinks. Send help.)

Cassie, Tim, Kon and Bart are hanging out, just chilling, when a glowing green minotaur pops out of nowhere and yoinks Wonder Girl into another dimension.

Obviously, Cassie is so not down with the whole kidnapping thing, so she starts beating up all the Greek mythological monsters in sight. Soon enough, Pandora pops out of the woodwork and orders everyone to stand down.

Pandora: *sigh* I ordered you to escort her here, not drag her kicking and screaming. Ugh, it's impossible to hire competent help these days. Come child, we have much to discuss.

Cassie: Uh, it's an honor to meet you ma'am, but why am I here?

Pandora: It's quite complicated I'm afraid. To make a long story short, a few years ago the tyrannical ghost king was defeated by a young ghost hero, and by right of conquest the crown passed to him. However, since he has not yet reached the age of majority a regency council was put in place until he is old enough to be formally crowned.

Cassie: What does that have to do with me?

Pandora: You see, your father, Zeus, wishes to make an alliance with this new power...

Cassie: Oh no

Pandora: ...and so he has offered your hand in marriage to the young prince, as he once did Persephone's to Hades.

Cassie: That fucking asshole!

Pandora: And the regency council has accepted on the prince's behalf.

Cassie: *cracks knuckles* So, what's your opinion on patricide?

***

When Cassie meets Danny, she fully expects him to be some pompous asshole.

Danny: I am so fucking sorry!

Cassie: Huh?

Danny: *wrings hands* I'm sorry you got dragged into this mess! This was not my idea! But the council are a bunch of stuck-up jerks who think this is for the good of the realm and...

Cassie: So the wedding is off?

Danny: Well... unfortunately Clockwork is the one who floated the idea? And he only gets directly involved if it's like, end of the world kind of stuff...

Cassie: Who's Clockwork?

Danny: The Master of Time. He uh, helped me prevent a potential future where my soul got merged with that of my arch-nemesis and I miiiight have wiped out all life on Earth. But uh, that timeline is gone and you don't have to worry about it!

Cassie, muttering: Chronos?

Danny: So I think we might be stuck with each other, unless you have an idea on how to get out of this?

Cassie: Well my friends are bound to come rescue me, so...

Danny: Stall?

Cassie: Stall.

Queen Dora, popping in with a dozen handmaidens, a measuring tape and hundreds of dress and fabric samples: ~ Who's ready for a makeover? ~

Cassie: Oh gods just kill me now

***

Cassie and Danny both go full Bridezilla in an effort to delay the wedding, nitpicking everything from the clothes to the flower arrangements.

Cassie: I am not wearing some poofy monstrosity to my wedding. I want a tux! If anyone's gonna wear a dress it's gonna be him.

Danny, posing in front of a mirror: What do you think, can I pull off a mermaid cut?

***

Eventually, they can stall no more and the day of the wedding arrives. Zeus is there to give her away as the father of the bride. Cassie tries to stab him with the cake topper.

The wedding proceeds, they are standing in front of the Observant who is officiating. Cassie is glaring murderously at Zeus. Danny just looks resigned. Suddenly, there's a loud screech and a bang. The team has arrived to crash the party...!

...by literally crash landing the stolen Specter Speeder on top of Zeus.

*smash cut to a flashback of Tim reading the Drs Fentons' research and breaking into Fentonworks*

Tim, Kon and Bart pop out of the smoking wreckage.

Tim: We object!

Observant, outraged: On what grounds?!

Kon: Wonder Girl can't marry the ghost prince, because... because I'm marrying her!

Tim and Bart: Wait what?

Danny: Oh thank fuck *rips off his veil and dress and chucks it at the Observant* Cassie, do you want to marry Superboy?

Cassie: I do!

Danny: Then by the power vested in me by the Crown and Ring, I now pronounce you Super and Wonder. You may kiss the bride or whatever.

Cassie dip kisses Kon in front of the assembled ghost citizenry. Tim and Danny disappear into a broom closet during the wedding reception. Bart demolishes like 90% of the buffet by himself.

***

In a dark room, Clockwork is repeatedly watching Zeus get pancaked in slow motion and chuckles to himself.

Roll Credits

[itsrensfairygardenn]

dilf!art x tired!reader for everyone who needs it </3

2,2k words

you’ve been seeing each other for a while now, and your friends say that it’s stupid that the two of you still haven’t moved in together — after all, it’s not weird at all. he seems to like you so much, and you like him too, love him even, because he is the best thing you could ever have, you know that for sure. you live in the most inconvenient part of the town, renting a tiny flat, which is not even that close to your university, and even further away from art’s place — he lives out of town, completely alone in his enormous house, except for days when lily stays with him. he never presses you into staying with him, moving your stuff to his place, or even lingering there for longer than you’re comfortable with, but his eyes always speak for himself — he wants you to stay there with him. he wants his home to become yours too.

life for you is routine, because you’ve built it this way; and while it obeys your rules, working like a finely-tuned machine, you can handle it just fine — i mean, there was nothing impossible, right? the schedule is tough, but you’ve already got used to it, still managing to submit your assignments just in time and getting excellent results, even though your part-time job is taking much more of your time and energy than you thought it would — but it feels nice to be appreciated by your professors, to stay one of the best students, even though it feels like you’re on the verge of losing it because of your job. you don’t have much time for living your quiet and slow life anymore, and it was difficult for you, to the point of a permanent exhaustion, of aching pain all over your body even after a proper rest. but life is never easy, is that what people always say to you? you should adjust to this rhythm, because you think that that’s how adult life works.

and you can handle it just fine, till the moment when this algorithm just stops working.

this day, everything went completely wrong since the very beginning — you overslept, simply because you’d forgotten to set your alarm the night before, and the whole process of getting ready and running to the campus brought you immense anxiety; by the time you got to the classroom, you felt a thick lump of nausea in your throat. you were answering questions on autopilot, thoughtlessly writing down words that couldn’t even form adequate sentences, and you could swear that by the end of this class you were on the verge of crying or losing your consciousness, because you felt so stupid and helpless, not being able to try your hardest, to focus and get a grip. you hadn’t had enough time to have a proper breakfast, you had forgotten half of your notes at home… god, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to answer art’s messages — as always, he sent you ‘good morning’, wishing you a nice day, reminding you about your plans for the evening. why was it so hard for you to just answer?

then someone accidentally pushed you with their shoulder in the cafeteria, and you stained your skirt with sprinkles of coffee that fell from your hands right to the floor… you were sure that you heard someone laughing behind your back, while you were frantically pushing through the crowd to make it to the bathroom. first of all, you were frustrated, terribly embarrassed and mad; second of all, you missed art so badly, that you teared up in the bathroom stall, because you still hadn’t answered his messages, and you knew that he would worry about this silence. he always worries, you know it, but he always pretends that he doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to seem overprotective or overly sensitive; right now a concerned expression of his loving eyes is the last thing you want to witness.

now, when your classes are over, and art’s car is finally waiting for you in the parking lot, you want to cry again — because he’s looking at you through the window, giving you the sweetest smile, with his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the leather surface of the steering wheel, because this very hand is waiting for its chance to settle on your thigh, or caress your cheek. art has missed you so much, you know for sure; he’s so excited about having dinner with you tonight, because both of you’ve been so busy recently, that you didn’t have a chance to spend some quality time together. and here you are, without any makeup on, with these ugly coffee stains on your skirt, and the same anxiety and suppressed emotions bubbling underneath every inch of your skin, that were making you sweat through the day. what if you smell bad? what if you snap at art, just because you feel like falling apart in front of him?

“how was your day?” art asks in this soft, soothing tone of his. as you’ve expected, his hand settles on your knee, gently rubbing your skin; you’re afraid that he’ll say something about this damn skirt, but he doesn’t even look down at it.

art smells like his usual cologne — such a faint note of it, because he’s already washed it off in the shower after training his tennis players under the scorching heat of the sun on the tennis court; you want to bury yourself in his chest and inhale the familiar scent of his skin, to nestle your nose in his neck and make him giggle, the way he always does when you’re together — so boyish and sweet, despite the age. god, he doesn’t seem much older than you at all.

but you can’t even speak, biting your lower lip, with that gloomy crease between your eyebrows. art notices almost immediately, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see his smile fading. is he no longer happy with you? what if you’ll upset him with your attitude, ignoring him just because you feel terrible? he just asks you about your day, and the next moment tears starts falling from the corners of your eyes; you can feel it prickling in your nose, and suddenly the morning nausea is back again.

art’s heart sinks into his chest, stopping its steady rhythm and falling down to his stomach, slowly dying from the sight of your reddened nose and cheeks, the faint traces of tears on your beautiful face — god, he only wishes to never see you upset again, to make you the happiest person in the world. he’s noticed everything about your busy schedule, your exhaustion and those dark circles under your tired eyes — this life is slowly pushing you to the limit, and you don’t even want him to help you. because you think that it’s completely fine, that you can handle everything that you’ve weighed down on yourself.

you think that he’ll be upset with you? the truth is, art will never leave you alone with your pain, and much less judge you for it — if anything, art will make your pain his own, too. he’s ready to absorb it, erasing the line between your difficulties and his own, because as far as he’s ready to share his bed with you, he will always share your worries, your anxiety, your bad days and overwhelming feelings.

“bunny, come here,” he whispers into your hair, already pulling you into his arms, shielding your trembling figure from the world, from all these people passing by his car — he kisses your soft hair, your rosy cheeks and lowered eyelids, wiping your tears away with his warm lips. his thumb catches a hot salty drop right in the corner of your eye, brushing it away before it rolls down your reddened skin. “that’s okay, don’t worry… no, don’t apologize, sweetheart. we’ll figure it out, i promise”

he’s rubbing your back with his firm, calloused hand, grounding you, silently promising you safety and comfort you desperately need, the same quietness and slow pace of life you miss so badly. he whispers that he’ll take you home now, that the restaurant can wait, that you can order takeout later. at this moment, you know that his home is your home, and nothing else matters anymore.

once you get there, he runs you a hot bath and ends up kneeling on the tiled floor, running his fingers through your shampooed hair and massaging your scalp with his fingertips — you’ve already calmed down enough to speak to him and tell about your day, detailing every single thing that has happened to you. he mutters his little “you did nothing wrong, sweetheart”, “they’re just a bunch of stupid kids” and “you’re still my genius” in your ear, occasionally smiling at your choice of words; to be honest, you can make him smile without even trying, and when you joke? he’s giggling, of course he is.

afterwards, you put his old shirt from one of those tennis events and his boxers on. he leads you to the large couch in the middle of his light, spacious living room, and you both settle in the mess of pillows and a blanket that he’s brought from the bedroom; you rest your head on his chest, while he’s looking at his phone screen, quietly listing what you can order for dinner — as always, he’s the one who does it, because he knows how difficult it’s for you to decide what kind of food you would like to eat.

“you aren’t listening, are you?” he notices with a slight grin, and his voice requires this attractive hint of hoarseness. he traces wet hair on the top of your head with his lips, lazily drawing invisible patterns, finalising them with a firm kiss — more like an attempt to immerse himself into the scent of your (his) shampoo.

you’re half-listening, with your eyes blissfully closed, but you’re smiling at his question — it seems like food is the least important part of being next to him right now; you put your hands under his shirt, drawing small circles on his toned stomach with your fingertips, and you know that it was calming both of you down.

“i love you, art” you whisper against his chest, sending these words right to his heart — literally and metaphorically.

“i love you too, bunny” he adjusts his position to kiss your cheek — gently and lovingly; it always feels even more intimate than making love, because at these moments he touches your cheeks like priceless gemstones, or the finest silk.

“you know that i can do anything for you, right?” his tone changes, but it’s barely noticeable, because he’s still so soft with you, treading carefully to not scare you away from him. “i know how much you value your studies. just focus on it, and i’ll help you with the rest”

you shift in his arms, only to look up at him, resting your chin on his broad chest — you seem uncertain, as always. art’s already got used to it, because you’ve never liked talking about money — his money, particularly.

“i don’t know, art. it’s embarrassing,” you admit, lowering your voice to a whisper, and you feel his hand on the back of your neck, gently massaging your tight muscles — never able to keep his hands off you. “i don’t have enough money, and i can’t give anything in return. don’t mention love, because it won’t be enough”

“love is always enough, y/n,” he doesn’t give you a chance to belittle yourself, to underestimate the value of your love. you both know that you saved him, that you healed him with your very presence, your shy smiles and and the way your cheeks flushed when his lips first touched yours. “i want you to be here, to do things that you love, to not worry about money”

art knows that money can’t buy happiness, but ever since he met you, he wishes to have a chance to buy this precious piece of pure joy, to have it on the palm of his hand, to give it to you without a second thought — and when he’s ready for such things, does money really matter? do you really have to worry about it, when he only dreams about you putting your clothes in his wardrobe, leaving your makeup products on the sink in the bathroom after getting ready for your morning classes, marking the edge of his favorite mug with your lipstick?

you’re so quiet that it almost feels eerie, as if you’re not with him anymore — but then you finally break this foreign silence.

“we can try,” you whisper, and you both smile at the same time — his boyish grin, again. ”i'll call the landlady tomorrow”

trust me, just by looking at his face, it’s obvious that at this very moment he already starts thinking about rearranging his entire house to make it the perfect place for you — dressing table, secluded corner for your bookshelves, maybe even entire room just for you… well, give him some time to think about it, and he’ll make you the happiest person in the world.

thank you for supporting this idea! i hope that the result isn’t too disappointing :( just needed some emotional support from dilf art calling me a bunny, please don’t judge me for trying 🐇

[edamameimei]

everything you wanted

"you're just thinking it's a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me."

pairing: daniela avanzini x reader (childhood best friends!au)

synopsis: after an unexpected accident shakes their world, your friends make it their mission to carry out what seems to be your 'final wish.' however, what they discover goes deeper than anticipated.

feat: winter from aespa, soobin and yeonjun from txt

so much angst im so sorry. there are points where it's kinda fluffy, but do not be fooled. loosely based off the kdrama 'move to heaven,' more specifically, episode 5 (ifykyk). CW: character death, kissing, swearing

wc: 4271 words

now playing: we hug now - sydney rose

It was any other night for you. 

After consuming a copious amount of caffeine, you are finally done studying. You look at your watch, sighing tiredly when the screen displays 2:00 AM. You rub your face with your hands. What you thought would be a short study session became much longer than anticipated. You didn’t realize how behind you were. 

You slowly stuff your laptop into your bag, zipping it up then swinging it over your shoulder. You yawn as you make your way toward the library exit. When you walk outside, you can’t help the quiet, ‘fuck’ that escapes your mouth. 

It’s a torrential downpour tonight; your measly hoodie was the only thing you had.

You put your hood on, shaking your head as you walk quickly to your apartment. It was only a couple blocks away but in this weather, it might as well feel like years. You keep your head down as you walk, shivering with every step. You’re relieved when you finally get to the crosswalk that leads straight to your apartment building.

You step out onto the street, not thinking to look both ways. It was late and your brain was fried, having any rational thoughts at this point is impossible. 

But as you keep your head down, your eyes trained on your feet, you don’t notice the headlights getting closer. You don’t hear the rev of an engine or the music that blasts loudly from a vehicle. You just wanted to be in bed already.

You don’t notice until you hear the ugly screech of the tires. 

You look up, your eyes immediately widening when you realize. You raise your hands, the world going silent in a blink of an eye. 

You meet Daniela Avanzini in the 8th grade.

You were tasked with tutoring the younger student due to your above-average knowledge of the subject she was struggling with. The only thing you know about the girl is that she’s quite loud, very sociable, and is terrible at science– things you are not. 

You sit in the classroom waiting for the girl. Your nose is in yet another book, so entranced by the story that you don’t even notice when she walks in. You only look up when you hear the chair next to you being pulled out. When you see her, you immediately freeze. 

She was undeniably the prettiest person you have ever seen. 

She holds her hand out, smiling widely, “Daniela Avanzini.”

You grab her hand and shake it. It almost feels like a promise. “Y/n L/n.” 

Your closest friends stand at your apartment door, a sad silence surrounding them. 

It felt wrong. Going into your apartment with you nowhere to be seen. 

But, after the funeral, your parents asked them to go through your things. They asked for your awards, certificates, medals, but nothing else. The rest is junk. It enraged them to think that’s all you ever were to your parents and even after death, it’s still the same. You often complained about them, telling stories about how they pushed you to be just like them. But you were nothing like them. You were just as hard working, that much was obvious. But you had your goals set on something else. It wasn’t medical school nor your research in the labs. But it was something you kept to yourself, never once sharing with your friends. 

And they are determined to figure out what that was.

Winter leans down, removing the mat lying in front of your door. She picks up the key, shaking her head with a chuckle. “For a genius, what a stupid place to keep a key.” Soobin laughs and so does Yeonjun. They watch as Winter unlocks the door. At the same time, they all realize that you will not be inside waiting for them. You will not be three energy drinks in, studying at your desk. You will not be lying on your couch, cozied in your blankets with a book. You will never be in this apartment again and it doesn’t make sense because it’s yours. 

Soobin walks in first and the others follow suit. They stand in the hallway, taking it all in. After a few moments of silence, they walk into your room. They’ve been in your apartment almost a thousand times but this time it felt unknown. What usually feels homey now feels desolate without its warm presence. The feeling intensifies when they walk into your room.

The bed wasn’t made. It was as if you were there this morning. 

The thought almost makes them want to turn around. The desire to leave everything untouched becomes unbearable. At least then, there would be evidence that you were there. It wouldn’t matter how long ago, you would be there and you would be alive. 

Your desk was littered with papers, some crumpled up while others had words scratched out with a pen. The trashcan was filled with coffee cups and energy drink cans. Yeonjun walks over to the nightstand, spotting your ID badge. He picks it up and stares at it for a moment. 

Y/N L/N. 4TH YEAR PRE-MED INTERN. EMORY MEDICAL RESEARCH CENTER. 

His lip trembles as he looks at your ID photo. “We were gonna graduate in three months…” He shakes his head and pockets your ID, wanting it as a keepsake. It’s a weird thing to have sentimental value over; but grief does that unfortunately. Yeonjun turns around and walks back toward Winter and Soobin. They found an empty spot on the floor to sit, not wanting to sit on your bed. Yeonjun sits next to them and takes a deep breath. He lets out a shaky sigh. “Well. This is really fucking weird.” Winter laughs. She tries not to let the tears brimming her eyes to fall. She looks down at her lap and whispers, “What now?” 

Soobin shrugs his shoulders. He leans back, propping himself up with his arms. He looks around your room with a sad smile. “We find what we’re looking for.” 

You are known as an academic weapon to your teachers and peers.

You aren’t a natural by any means. It takes a lot of sacrifice to be as smart as you are. Other kids your age are going out and having fun while you are at home, studying for an exam weeks away. The determination was built into you, wired this way by your parents who believe in nothing less than perfect. You had a destiny to fulfill and you were dedicated to it. If it meant long hours of studying at the library, in study hall, or at home, then so be it.  

But your favorite study spot by far is on the bleachers. 

It sounds ridiculous because it is. It doesn’t make sense for you to like it so much. It’s the noisiest place to be, especially after school. The constant yelling from the football team, the shrill of a whistle every five minutes, the cheerleading squad repeating the same routine over and over again. The bleachers were an overstimulating nightmare. 

But it gives you the best view of Daniela Avanzini, your best friend in the entire world. 

You learned more about the Latina through the many tutoring sessions in middle school. Even after she began to improve in science, Daniela insisted on still meeting with you. You learned she was very dedicated to dancing and performing. She wanted to become a star. For the first time, your life wasn’t consumed by formulas and medical terminology. You secretly lived vicariously through the girl, seeing her chase a dream that was all hers. You had no dreams. 

You just had to get into medical school. That’s all you knew. 

After some convincing (and her not willing to let go of you when you were desperately trying to make your way toward the school’s library) you finally made use of the time waiting for Daniela to finish cheer practice. You wouldn’t admit it, but after a couple of weeks, it has become one of your favorite places. Watching Daniela cheer became a new hobby of yours. She shined on the field, her bright smile lighting up the student section even when their football team loses yet another game. The feeling you get watching her is the same when you attend her dance competitions. You feel proud to be her best friend. And you even feel special when you are always the first person she runs up to when they’re over. 

Daniela never lets you forget how important you are to her. 

And in return, you’ve never missed a football game when she started on the team last year. You haven’t missed a cheer competition nor a dance competition. Every single thing Daniela participated in, you were there. She always urged you to do the same, to join an activity so she had something of yours to go to, but you always had the same excuse. You were just too busy. And why should you? You’d miss the way Daniela looks up at you in the bleachers after practicing well. The way she smiles as if looking for approval. And you’d always smile back because she always does well. 

After practice ends, you always wait for her outside the locker room. When she comes out, she makes a beeline toward you, interlocking your fingers immediately. She would always look up at you with a smile, her dimple evident in her cheek. She asks, “Did you like what we did today?” And even if it’s always the same thing, you always nod, squeezing her hand gently, “Of course I did, sunshine.” The nickname never fails to make her giggle. You called her that once during one of your tutoring sessions in middle school, and she never let it go. 

She pushes your glasses up on your face, leaning up to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. When she pulls away, she giggles, grabbing your hand again. She pulls you toward your car. “Come on, make yourself useful and get me ice cream!” You roll your eyes, allowing her to drag you. You playfully respond, “What do you say, sunshine?” 

She giggles again. “Please make yourself useful and get me ice cream?” 

You didn’t need the please. You just wanted to hear her laugh again. 

Your friends return to Soobin’s apartment after digging around your apartment for hours. 

They sit on his couch and in front of them on the coffee table is a locked box. They found it hiding amongst your old medical textbooks underneath your bed. They were always curious about this box. They’ve watched you put things in it before but your friends always respected your privacy, never asking about it or bringing it up. But they knew whatever was inside held the answers to their question. 

The only problem is the lock on it. 

Yeonjun suggested picking the lock (“We don’t know how to do that.” “YouTube is our best friend, you know?”) and Winter says to break it open (“How do you intend on doing that?” “Just… Smash it open?”) but Soobin feels it would only be right to figure out the combination. When he says this, Yeonjun raises his eyebrow. “Are you serious? We don’t even know what’s in here. And you think we can just figure out a combination?” Soobin sighs. He knows it sounds stupid, but he already feels bad for invading your personal life like this. After a few seconds of silence, Winter picks up the box. Soobin reaches his hand out, scared she may try her idea, but she pushes him away, fiddling with the lock. “Trust me! Let me try something…” 

The two boys watch Winter work on it. Their eyes widen when they hear the lock click open. She pulls it off, surprised as well. Yeonjun leans over, the shock evident in his voice, “How’d you figure it out that fast?” 

Winter shrugs, looking down at the box in her lap. “I tried their phone passcode. 0701.”

It’s your senior year, and your feelings for Daniela have evolved to a point where they have become distracting. 

Your parents have noticed your lack of focus on your studies. Being the child of two well-known doctors in Atlanta made it even more difficult for you. There was a title to uphold and a pressure for you to be just like them. Before meeting Daniela, it was something you’ve accepted. You had your entire future figured out before you were even born. After meeting Daniela though, the free spirit that she is, made you realize there’s a lot more to life than the expectations your parents set for you. 

There were days where you’d stay longer in study hall, attempting to study for your AP classes. But it would be immediately forgotten once Daniela joins you. On the days where she isn’t at cheer or dance practice, she would join you wherever you are. She’d sit next to you, taking out her homework or the latest book she had begun reading. She would put her glasses on and get lost in her task, while you took glances at her shamelessly. 

It always confused you on why she’d spend all her free time with you when she had her own life to live. 

When you arrive at school in the mornings, you’d find her standing at her locker talking to her friends from cheer or class. The moment she spots you, she’s ending the conversation and attaching herself to your hip. No one at your school understood your friendship with Daniela. You were always so quiet, so timid. Daniela was energetic and everyone knew her name. But no one would ever see one or the other, they always saw you and her. And that’s how it always was. 

Until one morning. 

You walked into school expecting to see Daniela at her locker. However, you spot her on the other side of the hallway. She stands with a boy you recognize from the football team. You watch as they interact and your stomach drops when she places her hand on his shoulder. You see them laugh together and you have to will yourself to look away when you see her light up at whatever the boy says. You walk quickly down the hallway, avoiding her eyes. You don’t stop when she calls your name. You just keep going, ignoring the stinging in your chest. 

It goes on like this for a week. And then two weeks. Then suddenly, you’ve stopped keeping track of how long it has been since you talked to Daniela. You have exams and projects to focus on.

You walk out of study hall, your eyes on your phone as you walk toward the exit. However, you bump into something– or someone more like it. When you look up, your eyes widen. 

It’s Daniela. 

She has her arms crossed and she is glaring at you with that intense look in her eyes. You check your watch, noticing she should have been on the bus to go to the game 15 minutes ago. You’re about to say something but Daniela pushes you, successfully knocking you back a couple steps. You look at her surprised. The Latina steps closer to you, jabbing a finger into your chest. “What the hell has gotten into you lately?” You look away from her, your voice shaking slightly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” She scoffs, crossing her arms again. Her tone comes out even harsher than before. “You’ve been avoiding me. I thought you were just busy with everything but you haven’t even answered my texts! You won’t even look at me anymore, what the hell is going on?!” 

You look at her, exasperated. “Dani, I don’t need to always–” 

She cuts you off, yelling, “Don’t call me that!” Her words make you roll your eyes. You try to walk away but she grabs your wrist and stops you. You turn toward her, your tone firm, “Let me go, Daniela.” But once the words leave your mouth, you regret them immediately. Your eyes soften when you see how hurt she looks. Tears are threatening to spill from her eyes and her lip trembles. She whispers, her voice cracking, “What did I do wrong?” The desperation in her voice breaks your heart. Knowing you’re the reason makes you feel worse. You shake your head, taking a deep breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sunshine.”

She wipes her eyes and you want to reach out and wipe her tears for her. She looks up at you, her eyes glistening. “Then what’s up with you? You’re supposed to be my best friend…” She shakes her head and looks down at her feet. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/n.” 

Her words knock the wind out of you. Without a second thought, you grab her by the waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She doesn’t respond at first. You begin to think that you’ve ruined everything, that you’ve lost Daniela completely. You’re about to pull away but she grabs your shirt and pulls you closer. Her lips move against yours desperately and it makes your knees weak. 

For the first time in your life, you have something worth fighting for. 

On top of everything lies an envelope. 

Yeonjun grabs it. He takes a deep breath and opens it slowly. His hands shake as he pulls out two pieces of paper. 

One is a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. 

The other is a concert ticket. 

Winter takes the concert ticket from his hands, studying it. She can’t help the giggle that escapes her lips. “Katseye?”

Your first semester at Emory is a nightmare. 

After years of being able to breeze through any assignment and project, you now find yourself struggling to keep up with the demands of what it takes to be a pre-med student. 

You’re consuming more caffeine than you ever did in your life, there are days you’re not even sure if you ate anything besides a granola bar you found at the bottom of your bookbag, and amongst all of your fellow pre-med colleagues, you feel somewhat inadequate. 

You’re sitting at your desk in your dorm when you hear your phone begin to ring. You want to ignore it knowing your exam is in the morning, but your eyes briefly land on the name. You grab your phone, answering it immediately. You lean back in your chair and smile. “Hey there, sunshine.” 

“I’m outside.” You sit up, your eyes wide and your heart beating out of your chest. Your smile gets wider as you stand. “Are you serious?” She giggles, responding, “Come outside and find out.” You speed walk toward your door, your hand on the door knob but Daniela stops you. “Nuh uh. It’s cold out here, put on a sweater.” You roll your eyes, groaning, “How do you know I’m not wearing one?” The silence on the other end is the only response you get and it causes you to sigh, quickly grabbing one of the hoodies you threw on the ground earlier. You sprint downstairs and hear Daniela laughing on the other end at your excitement. You run out the door and spot her immediately. 

You run toward your girlfriend, wrapping your arms around her waist. You spin her around and her loud squeals cause you to smile even wider. When you put her down, you lean in, kissing her softly. She places her hands on your cheeks, deepening the kiss. You pull her closer as if you were scared this was all a dream. After a few minutes, she pulls away, looking at you with stars in her eyes. You kiss her dimple before pulling her back for a tight hug, burying your face in her shoulder. You murmur, “What are you doing here?” 

She giggles, running a hand through your hair. “To see you, dummy.” You pull away slightly to look at her in surprise. “You drove almost an hour to see me?” She nods, wrapping her arms around your neck. She leans in and kisses your nose. “I missed you…” You pull her in for another tight hug and chuckle. “I missed you too, sunshine.” You hold her close, your worries disappearing. You’re about to ask her to come inside but she speaks up, saying, “I do have something to tell you.” You pull away, your arms still around her waist. You notice the excitement in her eyes and tilt your head in curiosity. “What’s up?” 

She takes a deep breath. She speaks softly,  “Do you remember that audition I was telling you about?” You light up at her words, nodding quickly. “Yeah! Did it go well?” Daniela bites her lip and nods. You hug her again, shaking her excitedly. You remember how nervous she was for her audition, but you knew she’d do well. She always does. 

However, you notice a shift in her mood. You pull away, placing your hands on her shoulders. You look at her worriedly. “That’s a good thing, right?” Daniela looks down when she hears your words. She whispers, her voice barely audible, “I’m going to California.”  

Soobin continues sifting through the box and pulls out a stack of letters that are neatly kept together with a rubber band. Yeonjun and Winter lean closer to him, watching as he pulls the rubber band off with caution. He goes through the letters and notices they are all addressed to you. They’re all dated and signed off by the same person. 

‘Your Sunshine.’

Yeonjun grabs one of the letters. Unlike the others, this one was mailed to you. He opens it, taking it out of its envelope. “This one is from three years ago…” Winter looks at it, her eyes scanning for anything important. She sits up straighter when she reads the words ‘Dream Academy.’ She reads the whole paragraph aloud: “I know you’re not happy about me going to Los Angeles. About me being on Dream Academy. But this is everything I’ve ever worked for. I can’t give it up for anything, I’m sorry. You have your dream and I have mine.”

Soobin looks at her with a raised eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?” Winter grabs the envelope that contains the two tickets. She holds it up, waving it around, “Y/n was going to Los Angeles–” Yeonjun cuts her off, adding, “Yeah? They got a job at the UCLA Medical Research Center there… That wasn’t that surprising.” Winter rolls her eyes, continuing, “They weren’t just going to Los Angeles for a job, dumbass. They were going for whoever this is.” She opens the envelope, taking out the Katseye ticket. “And I think it’s someone from this group.” 

Yeonjun leans back against the couch, chuckling. “You’re joking right?” Winter shakes her head. She looks back at the letter, putting the pieces together. “Dream Academy was the survival show that created Katseye… It just makes sense.” And no one can deny it, it certainly does make sense. But it all seems so far fetched. If anything, they could be putting together a story that doesn’t exist at all. They sit in silence, not knowing what to do with the information in front of them. Winter sighs and puts the letter down. She looks at the two boys with a determination in her eyes. 

“There’s one way we could try… Seeing if I’m right.” 

Daniela breaks up with you over the phone. 

It wasn’t a long phone call. But it did enough to crush you. 

She tells you that the distance is too much to handle. She tells you that she needs to focus on training. She tells you how she can’t be distracted. 

When the phone call ends, you can’t help but feel you’re back at square one. 

You sit in your dorm, taking a glance at your anatomy textbook. You push it off your desk, tears spilling from your eyes. 

An hour later, they move their investigation to Winter’s apartment.

They sit in her room, waiting patiently for your phone to charge. It was given to her by the police when they came to break the news of the accident. Your driver’s license still had the address of when you and Winter lived together in your second and third year at Emory, which led to her being the unfortunate one to know what happened first. 

She was also the unfortunate one to identify the body.

The sound of your phone turning on fills the silence of the room. They turn their heads, looking at it. Your lockscreen was all of you together during a trip you all took last spring. You’re all smiling widely, holding each other close. Even through the cracks on the screen, the photo still emanates a happiness that they are afraid of never getting back. 

Soobin grabs your phone and looks at the others, his hands shaking. They watch him unlock it ‘0701’ and swipe for your contacts. He sighs in relief when he sees you haven’t blocked the contact he had been looking for. 

‘Sunshine <3’

“What if they pick up?” He whispers, looking up from your phone. Winter shrugs and keeps her eyes on her lap. She speaks quietly, “I guess we’ll see.” Soobin nods and looks back down at the contact. He taps on it, putting it on speaker for everyone else to hear. 

To their surprise, the person answers on the first ring. 

“Y/n? Are you okay?” 

a/n: i literally have no clue how this idea came to mind considering I watched the drama like two years ago but hey! heartbreaking content! i lowk don't recommend watching it bc it is so sad and it took a lot of mental energy for me to finish but it was so good. watch it if you'd like some context, esp episode 5 but u rlly don't have to.

also, ik this was pretty long so there will be a part 2! stay tuned!

requests are open

[mommyslittlebird]

Prelude

Stepmama!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Things with your mother had never been good, but when you truly couldn’t take it anymore, you turned to the only place you had left.

Word Count: ~2k ish

CW: MOMMY ISSUES, leaving home, references to past/current abuse.

A/N: Please leave your comments and thoughts on this! I’m not really sure where I want to take this series yet, and I would love to hear what you all want to see!

Prelude to Mama

———————————————————

You weren’t exactly sure what would be the final straw in the relationship between you and your mother, but you had always imagined it’d be something big. You always thought there would be one final moment, when she did something crazy, like maybe she would make some threat on your life or chase you out of the house with a knife or set all of your things on fire.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

There were no threats, no shouting, no one even raised their voice. It was just like any other Thursday afternoon, really. You were going through the cupboard, looking for something to eat for dinner. As usual, they were largely empty aside from some dry pasta, some stale potato chips, some cereal that would require milk you didn’t have, and some various unlabelled cans. You grabbed the cereal. You could make something work. You always did.

Your mother came into the kitchen snacking on a bag of Blue Diamond almonds. She shook the bag and held it out to you. “Do you want some almonds?”

You froze briefly. You were allergic to nuts. “No thanks. I'm allergic, remember?”

She tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “No you’re not. Since when are you allergic to almonds?”

Since second grade. You had eaten some at a birthday party and went into anaphylactic shock in a bouncy castle. You had to be taken to the hospital. You ruined the whole party. You cried everyday for the rest of the school year because no one wanted to talk to the weird kid who had to get a shot in her butt cheek at a birthday party. You never got invited to another one. How could she not remember?

You looked at her silently for a long while. This wasn’t worth fighting over. You couldn’t expect her to remember everything about you. But the longer you looked at her, the more it seemed like she might not know anything about you at all. She knew you as her daughter, of course. She knew you as a good student: quiet, reserved, always well-behaved. She knew you as someone smart enough to do taxes, handy enough to fix the broken things around the house, resourceful enough to make dinner even with an empty cupboard. But none of those things were really you, they were all things you did for her.

Did she even know that there was you outside of her?

You had given her the opportunity to. You’d given her many opportunities to. In a lot of ways, that made it worse. You had opened your heart to her only to be told she didn’t want to see it. And here she was, looking at you like she didn’t even know you had a heart to open.

You started to feel dizzy, nauseated by the woman standing in front of you. At first, you couldn’t possibly comprehend that you had come out of her. You seemed so separated that it was impossible that the two of you had ever been connected in any way. Then, it seemed the opposite, that you were never really separated at all. It was now as it had been before you even came into the world: you were a part of her on every level.

And the worst part was, you couldn’t even bring yourself to be angry with her.

Just as you were an extension of her, she was an extension of everything that had happened to her. You could see it swirling inside of her: a maelstrom of trauma, pain, and mental illness. She was just as much a victim as she was a perpetrator. She wasn’t a monster, she was just a sick woman who never got the help she needed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally answered.

She shrugged and walked away. You calmly set the cereal back in the cabinet, swallowing your hurt and trying to make it dinner. You leaned forward to rest your head on the cupboard. What were you doing here?

Clearly she didn’t care that you were here. So what was holding you in this house? Why were you choosing this life where nothing was ever clean, there was never any food, and only other person around was a woman who couldn’t even remember your nut allergy.

The room felt like it was shrinking in on you making it hard to breathe. You felt incredibly tiny, yet like you were still taking up too much space. You had to get out of here.

You didn’t even put shoes on before running out of the house, grabbing your keys and throwing yourself into the driver’s seat. You could hardly see the road through your tears. You were in no state to be driving at all, really, but, miraculously, you made it safely across town to the home your dad lived in with your stepmother, Wanda.

Your father, as usual, was away on a business trip. You didn’t know your stepmother that well, but she was a kind woman that you figured would be welcoming. It was your house as much as it was hers, after all. Anything was better than what you were running from.

Going to your father’s house on a week he wasn’t home wouldn’t have been your first choice. Then again, you weren’t exactly in a place to be picky. It was nearly midnight by this point and it was pouring rain. Your father’s guest room would at least have a warm, dry bed for you to sleep in, which was more than you would get anywhere else. You doubted you could even find a vacant hotel room at this hour, not that you had the money for that anyway.

Wanda opened the thin curtain in the dining room when she saw the bright headlights. The driveway was long and far from the road, so headlights were rare, especially this late at night. Her heart jumped to her throat when she saw it was your car. The front door was open before you were even on the porch. You stumbled inside, soaked in cold rain and tears.

“Honey, what happened?” she gasped, running to grab a towel to dry you off. She grabbed a nice fluffy towel, scrubbing your hair dry. She wrapped it around your shoulders, trying to get your frail body to stop shaking. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing but a small squeak came out. You were crying so hard you had to hold onto the banister to stay upright. She wrapped an arm around your waist, bracing you against her own body.

She slung your arm around her shoulder, trying to help you up the stairs. “Shshsh, baby,” she cooed, cradling your head and kissing your temple. “Let’s get you wrapped up and warm. You're gonna be okay. I’ve got you.” She eventually got you up to the guest room, the room she had long considered to be yours anyway. She sat you down on the edge of the bed before turning to grab some spare clothes from the wardrobe. She placed them in a folded pile next to you and knelt down in front of you, placing herself on your level.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe here. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you,” she soothed, rubbing your knee gently. “Just take a few deep breaths for me. Do you think you can tell me what happened?”

“M-mom…” was the only word you could choke out.

She nodded in understanding. “Something happened with your mom?”

You nodded and blabbered, but she could see you were just getting frustrated with your inability to speak.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Take your time, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda reassured, trying to quell your rising frustration. “Did she hurt you?”

You shook your head. “N-no. It was… well it was stupid, really. She… well, I was hungry… and she gave me… al-almonds.”

“Almonds?” Wanda’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. She rolled up your sleeve and pushed two fingers into the skin of your wrist, as if she was checking whether or not you were alive in front of her. Her other hand went up to cradle the side of your head, pressing her thumb to your cheekbone. “You didn’t eat any, did you? Do you have your EpiPen with you? I have an extra in the closet. I can…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I didn’t eat any. I’m okay. I just… I can’t believe she forgot. I mean I guess I can’t expect her to remember everything about me, but… I don’t know… this felt important.”

“Honey,” she started, tone growing a bit harsher. She wasn’t upset with you, but you could feel the anger radiating off of her. “She could’ve killed you. That isn’t just something that slips your mind. That’s carelessness. A carelessness that could have cost you dearly. God she shouldn’t even be eating almonds in the same room as you! Agh!”

You jumped a little bit. She felt a twinge of guilt. The last thing you needed right now was someone to scare you even more. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

“I know,” you sniffled. “I just… I know she didn’t mean to hurt me. She just forgot…”

“My love,” she started, cradling your face again, “do you know what these sheets are made of?”

You shook your head.

“Cotton. And it’s washed with hypoallergenic laundry detergent. Because I know my baby has sensitive skin, and polyester and scented detergents make you itchy. And you don’t stay here very often, but when you do, you deserve a nice soft bed that doesn’t break you out,” she explained. “I know you may not think of me as your mama, and that’s okay. You don’t have to. But know that I’d sooner forget my own name than forget you take your coffee with two creams and a sugar. It comes to me as natural as breathing. Because that’s what mama’s do. They love. They care. And they never forget.”

“But… she’s… she’s sick,” you stammered. “Her head… she’s… she’s in so much pain Wanda.”

She squeezed your hand. “Her pain is not a crucifix, sweetheart. You don’t not need to martyr yourself on it. She’s hurting you.” She lifted your head, forcing you to look at her. Her voice was quiet, regretful, even. As if it pained her to admit she’d let you live with her for so long. The more you spoke the clearer it became that this problem ran much deeper than almonds. Bile rose in her throat as she imagined what you had been through, even just in the year she’d known you. She should’ve seen it sooner, but she would not let you suffer any longer. “Baby. Please.”

You wanted to argue back: tell her that it wasn’t that your mother was bad, she just had a harder time being gentle and loving. Her head didn’t always work right. That’s why she treated you the way she did: not because she didn’t love or care about you, but because she was sick and broken.

You wanted to tell her that you weren’t weary or afraid of your mother, just that sick part of her. It wasn’t her; it was different. But then you took a long look into Wanda’s eyes. You felt her hand, soft and warm against your face. And you weren’t weary. And you weren’t afraid. There was no monster rippling under the surface, no eggshells under your feet. There was just Wanda. Your mama.

You fell forward, off the bed and into her arms. She caught you, pulling you against her chest and cradling your head into her shoulder while you cried. She gently pet your wet hair, soothing you and rocking you in her arms. “I know, baby. I know,” she whispered, kissing right next to your ear. “You deserve so much better, my love. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything she ever did and didn’t do. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I would’ve come, if I had known. I will always come for you, I swear. But you don’t have to live like that anymore. I’m gonna take care of you, angel. Mama’s got you.”

You grabbed her shirt, balling it up in your fists like you were afraid she’d fly away. She rocked you, adjusting to sit on the floor with you in her lap. She cried too, remorseful and guilty for every second she let you rot in that house. She cried for the evenings you had gone hungry, the nights she hadn’t cradled you in her arms, and every biting action that had made you believe you were anything less than a miracle. It would never happen again. She would never let it happen.

You felt so small and frail in her arms. What kind of person could hurt a little angel like you? She wanted to burn down the other half of the city just thinking about it. She would drain every ounce of blood from your mother’s miserable veins if I could replace even a drop she took from you.

She rubbed your back and kissed your head, cooing words of reassurance and praise until your sobs turned to sniffles.

“Mama…” you cried softly into her neck. Her heart nearly lept from her chest. That was her. She was your mama.

She smiled, looking down at you. She lifted your head to rub your nose against her’s. “That’s right, baby. I’m your mama, and I’m never gonna let you go.”

[undead-moth]

I'm an English Composition teacher at a university, and I completely prohibit the use of generative AI/LLMs in my class. I'm adamantly opposed to their use, so don't get me wrong when I say that this study is bunk science and should not be taken seriously.

Methodology

The study relies on self-reporting. All of their data is based on surveys done by participants, who were asked to record when they perceived themselves to be critically thinking. Even setting aside that any of the participants could have lied, how objectively can they assess themselves? Worse yet, what does their perception prove? It's not only unreliable, it also doesn't prove anything.

2. Meaningless units of measurement

"Critical thinking" is not, and can't be, a factually defined concept. Whether or not someone is critically thinking, or capable of critically thinking, is essentially a matter of generally agreed-upon opinion.

As you can see here, they are still using the word "perceived" because there is no other option. It is impossible to quantify someone's critical thinking.

Quality is also a matter of perception.

They even admit in their limitations section that this caused problems while surveying participants and may have contaminated their data. Some of their participants didn't understand that just because they were able to do something easily, or quickly, does not mean they were able to do so because they were critically thinking with ease, which goes back to my first point. I doubt this is the only example of participant misunderstandings. This is, frankly, beyond a limitation. Even if everything else about this study was airtight, this would make their results meaningless anyway. If your participants have a different understanding of what critical thinking is, or what it means to critically think than you do, and they are providing your data, you can't meaningfully conclude anything from the data.

3. Recruitment

The way they selected participants was by recruiting people who regularly use generative AI/LLMs. Not only does this mean that there's no control, but we also don't know anything else about these participants that may be affecting their preexisting critical thinking skills. This contributes to there being no legitimate way of speculating if generative AI/LLMs is influencing how much or how little they're using critical thinking when they use generative AI/LLMs and when they're not.

4. This study proves nothing, but more importantly, this study wasn't even on what they are claiming it was on.

The highlighted portion here is quoted by the 404 Media article above, and it is taken out of context. In the introduction, they explain that an "overreliance" on any form of automation has historically been theorized to have the potential to lead to "atrophy."

First of all, even if this is true, this study didn't follow these participants over time, nor were they required to use generative AI/LLMs exclusively for every daily situation that might require critical thinking, which would be the only way to ensure "overreliance" and the only way to determine if "overreliance" led to "atrophy."

They are hypothesizing that using generative AI/LLMs could potentially "atrophy" critical thinking skills in the event someone "overrelies" on it.

They even compare "overreliance" on generative AI/LLMs to writing, printing, calculators, and the internet - none of which have been proven to "atrophy" critical thinking skills and given that the alternative to generative AI/LLMs is literally writing, which they implicitly argue doesn't atrophy critical thinking skills, I think it's fair to say their hypothesizing here isn't objective.

Plus:

"Overreliance" has the same issue "critical thinking" has. It's a matter of generally agreed-upon opinion. How do you measure overreliance? What constitutes overreliance? Based on the definition above, isn't it possible for people to accept incorrect recommendations or make errors of commission while not "overrelying"? If so - and it is so - how can you ever know if "overreliance" is truly at fault, or even at play?

This also doesn't account for the fact that many other daily situations require critical thinking skills, and many other daily situations don't require critical thinking skills. Even if someone became "overreliant" on generative AI/LLMs, that would not mean they aren't critically thinking regularly in other daily situations, including daily situations that require the exact same critical thinking skills generative AI/LLMs are hypothetically enabling people not to use. If someone uses generative AI/LLMs regularly, does that stop them from reading in their free time? No, obviously not. So...couldn't that mean that even if someone "overrelied" on generative AI/LLMs, that they could still prevent "atrophy" elsewhere in their life? There's also the issue that even if generative AI/LLMs enables users not to critically think, that really doesn't in any way prove that will lead to "atrophy." I would argue that folding laundry doesn't require critical thought, and most people fold laundry regularly - yet it has never led to "atrophy." Doing something that doesn't require critical thinking regularly doesn't by default lead to an inability to critically think, especially if someone is critically thinking in other areas of life - which, most people, whether it seems like it or not, are, and every day.

And this is important to stress entirely because they are arguing that only by becoming "overreliant" on generative AI/LLMs could critical thinking skills "atrophy." They are not, even hypothetically, arguing that just using generative AI/LLMs itself "atrophies" critical thinking skills, which makes Emanuel Maiberg's (author of this 404 Media article) choice in title outright negligent misinformation.

There is no current evidence that using generative AI/LLMs "atrophies" critical thinking. There is some - unprovable - evidence - based on self-reported surveys - that generative AI/LLMs might - because confounding variables are not accounted for - enable someone to do work that typically requires critical thinking without having to critically think - no different than a calculator.

I am not even remotely of the opinion that generative AI/LLM use is comparable to the calculator, but that does not change the fact that all this study proved is that generative AI/LLMs might not, in all instances, require users to critically think, and that does not prove anything.

Here they pretty much admit that it is entirely hypothetical that using generative AI/LLMs could lead to "atrophy." They argue that anyone who doesn't exercise their critical thinking skills regularly can lose them. (This, by the way, we already knew.) They reason that it's possible someone who "overrelies" on using generative AI/LLMs might not be exercising their critical thinking skills regularly, and therefore it could enable the "atrophying" of their critical thinking skills.

This reasoning relies on ignoring confounding variables, which makes it unsound.

Additionally, even if what they are hypothesizing could possibly happen, it would not mean there is anything innately about generative AI/LLMs that causes critical thinking "atrophy." It would only mean that someone who never exercises their critical thinking skills loses them, which we already knew, and was true long before generative AI/LLMs could arguably help enable - not cause - enable people to lose critical thinking skills.

I'll end this firstly by saying that those of us, myself included, who have an ethical objection, and a practical objection to generative AI/LLMs, (I personally still believe that generative AI/LLMs make it so that someone who hasn't yet developed certain critical thinking skills can avoid ever having to develop them, which is I suppose arguably an adjacent line of thinking to this study) firstly need to keep an eye out for their own confirmation bias - I know how tantalizing the title of that 404 Media article is. I know when we see a title like that, we feel very vindicated in our stance - but we have to be vigilant. We have rational and justified objections to generative AI/LLMs that I believe will in time be scientifically and/or factually reported - but this study isn't one, and many won't be. We can't fall prey to misinformation or anti-scientific thought just because it says what we want to hear.

Secondly, I would encourage everyone whose first thought when they read that title was vindication to consider that the people who conducted this study, consciously or unconsciously, may have an ulterior motive for arguing that generative AI/LLMs cause critical thinking "atrophy." Science is never conducted, nor accepted, in a social vacuum, and I would honestly bet that virtually all studies aiming to prove, or worse, claiming to prove - as this one does - that critical thinking "atrophy" exists, are trying to create a scientifically-supported case for "degeneracy," meant to justify eugenics. This is also something we need to be vigilant about.

One of the common mistakes I see for people relying on "AI" (LLMs and image generators) is that they think the AI they're interacting with is capable of thought and reason. It's not. This is why using AI to write essays or answer questions is a really bad idea because it's not doing so in any meaningful or thoughtful way. All it's doing is producing the statistically most likely expected output to the input.

This is why you can ask ChatGPT "is mayonnaise a palindrome?" and it will respond "No it's not." but then you ask "Are you sure? I think it is" and it will respond "Actually it is! Mayonnaise is spelled the same backward as it is forward"

All it's doing is trying to sound like it's providing a correct answer. It doesn't actually know what a palindrome is even if it has a function capable of checking for palindromes (it doesn't). It's not "Artificial Intelligence" by any meaning of the term, it's just called AI because that's a discipline of programming. It doesn't inherently mean it has intelligence.

So if you use an AI and expect it to make something that's been made with careful thought or consideration, you're gonna get fucked over. It's not even a quality issue. It just can't consistently produce things of value because there's no understanding there. It doesn't "know" because it can't "know".

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.6

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut, p in v, multiple rounds, no protection don’t be like them, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 5k (this one is just purely smut)

MASTERLIST

< previous

being more than friends with rafe while at tannyhill proves extremely difficult. you’re both not great at hiding it and ward very pointedly says that you’re not allowed to visit each other’s rooms. so naturally you have to get creative, rafe “drops you” to school most days, you “hang out” at the country club. being that you had two decades of pent-up frustration to make up for you capitalize on any private moment. and really even though he’s put you in this situation you’re thankful ward has tinted windows on all his cars even if you thought it was shady before. 

the first time rafe dropped you to school he had his hand on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing at the plush of it. warm palm easily encompassing it and large fingers absentmindedly caressing. he’d done it without much thought, you’d been holding hands and his hand just rested against your thigh so easily. its such a simple thing but your entire world flips on its axis. you’re thrown head first into your desire before you even know it. you had worn jeans that day but even still you swore your skin had lit on fire. there was absolutely no hope for attending class when he pulled into the parking lot to reach into the backseat for his rain jacket before handing it to you. you hadn’t even processed the words, “it’s gonna rain later,” before you leaned over the console and kissed him. rafe made a small noise of surprise, a hum from the back of his throat, that sounded so deep and sweet you couldn’t help but want more. his hand went to the back of your neck, pulling you into him. the angle was too awkward for how close you wanted to be. you’d already done the estimation in your head before when he parked, there was enough space. rafe made that noise that you were getting addicted to as you straddled his lap and sat down. the weight of you on his lap was nothing short of euphoric, his hands instantly roaming your hips pulling you closer by your ass, this time it was your turn to be surprised. you’d been a bit worried you were too heavy for him but the way rafe’s lips were curling into a smile assuage any doubts. his thighs are so muscular under your own and you wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin. your hands found his face and angled it down towards you, smiling at how pliant he was in your hold. rafe was sure he’d get hard if you moved even an inch and as much as he wanted nothing more than to move this to the backseat he still had enough rationality to know your first time shouldn’t be in a car.

your lips are on his before he can think too hard, his hands massage the fat of your ass, pulling you as close as possible. you’re right over his bulge and if you keep it up it’ll be impossible for either of you to ignore. but there’s no way you’re stopping not when even coffee breath is sexy to you. you’re biting at his lips hungry and rafe can’t help but give in, swirling his tongue with yours. the press of your tits against his chest isn’t helping his increasingly hard situation. he has to stop this before he loses his mind.

“don’t you have class?” he says it between kisses, you’re relentless. 

“don’t care, i’ll make the next one.” you pepper his face with kisses. rafe shudders as you flick his ear, kissing him sweetly. you can feel him hard between your legs, thick and solid and definitely bigger than anyone you’ve had before. you know it’s mean but it feels like payback for how turned on you’d been the whole car ride. although it would’ve felt great youre begrudgingly glad you didn’t wear a skirt, how embarrassing it would’ve been if he could feel how wet you were. 

“fuck can’t have our first in a car,” he mumbles and you shift your hips infinitesimally, he holds them still, giving you a look of warning. it only makes you want to act out more. 

“i don’t mind,” you look him dead in the eyes as you say it and rafe might just come in his pants from that alone. how would he survive you? 

“don’t say that shit baby,” he throws his head back against the car seat, his voice rough like it physically hurts him to hold back. and it does, he’s never been so hard from so little. your body hums at the pet name, you want to listen to him because of it, you’re like putty in his hands even if you’re the one who initiated this.

“okay okay we won’t,” you don’t make any move to move off him though, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“okay just-you know what let me close my eyes,” he’s trying to will his boner away, in fact he’s trying to not come in his pants from any slight movements from you. something about him being in so much agony because of you isn’t really making you want to stop. you press kisses to his jawline and neck, to his pulse point. his cologne mixes with his body heat and you want to shove your nose into the column of his neck.

“rafe you smell really good.” you’re practically purring it into his ear, pressing a kiss to the skin. 

“oh god shut the fuck up.” there’s no hope, he’ll just have to be blue balled for the rest of the day. his eyes snap open as he pulls you back by the back of your neck and you grin victoriously into the kiss. 

and then there’s the country club. thank god for those extra changing rooms otherwise you would have traumatized a lot of parents. you snuck away from topper and kelce to fool around and rafe had you shoved against a wall, out of sight from everyone, hands roaming as you did the same. it was a shame you couldn’t get his shirt off because you really couldn’t stand seeing the outline of his pecs and biceps through fabric. rafe pulled back for air, huffing into your shoulder as you did the same into his chest. he was curled around you, if anyone saw you two they wouldn’t even be able to see you. his thigh was wedged between yours, dangerously close to making contact with your core. if he did you couldn’t trust yourself to grind against him. it was safe to say the restrictions around you weren’t helping your infinitely growing desire. 

it feels like it’s been ten years-it’s been four days-when you finally get the call that your place is fully repaired. rafe was out with ward when you heard so you hightailed it back home, taking as much as you could from tannyhill in your rush. you and rafe had made dinner plans and he agreed to bring whatever you had at tannyhill over when he picked you anyways. being home was nice even if it felt a little empty without rafe or the cameron’s. you hoped now that you weren’t under ward’s watchful eye rafe could stay over more. you were missing a couch and some other fabric chairs after the flooding but your rooms upstairs were untouched. you clean up and air out your space, lighting some candles. the smell of wood and repairs eventually fades and it feels normal again. you even bake some cookies so your kitchen doesn’t feel so barren. by the time it’s evening you’re rushing to get ready. you knew what you were gonna wear, you had it all planned out as soon as rafe asked you out. a baby blue satin slip dress that cinched at the waist and was low cut enough to show off your curves. you looked and felt damn good in it. you put your hair up and did your makeup to withstand whatever the night brought on. you spray on rafe’s favorite perfume and are putting on your pearl earrings when the doorbell rings. you answer it with one hand and do an obvious once-over of your man. rafe looks perfect, as usual, white dress shirt with slacks and a bouquet of flowers that look fake from how pretty they are. 

“hey handsome.” rafe cannot believe he got so lucky. he knows you’re beautiful, you’re always beautiful, but the sight of you so dolled up just for him has his head spinning. he enters your space, but he doesn’t even notice anything around him because all he can see is you. you finish putting on your earring and hug him. 

“hey you look amazing” his hands find home in the curve of your waist, pulling you closer. 

“thanks, i just need to grab my purse-“ you’re about to move to leave but rafe makes a noise that is somewhere between a grumble and a whine. you don’t move, instead looping your hands around his neck and letting him relax into your arms. he noses along your neck, you smell good enough to eat.

“how hungry are you?” he murmurs it into your neck, kissing the spot under your ear. 

“not that hungry, by the time we get the food and everything i think i will be though,” you replied thoughtfully, he 

“im fucking starving.” he presses a kiss to your neck, the skin is so soft and unmarked and it’s irresistible. his whole body refuses to let go of you, it's like the air around you is thicker, he can’t seem to move away. he’d dreamed about how you taste and he knows your lips and your breath but he wants more. he wants to taste more. 

“i can make you something real quick.” you’re still not catching on to how you have affected him with one look alone.

“nah not for that.” a nip of teeth along your jugular make you suddenly all aware. 

“oh-we could always move the reservation,” you’re so cute, rafe thinks, always so eager to please and he can’t help but wonder how much it extends. 

“or order in.” his nips turn into bites, kissing over them and you crane your neck for him to have better access. your legs are starting to feel weak from how intentional he’s being with every touch and word. they’re all coalescing into a fire in your core, you’re not wearing underwear so you’re really testing the limits. 

“or order hah i-in.” he doesn’t think he can handle another second without having you, it’s been hard to hold back the past week and it’s impossible now that he knows there’s no real obstacle. you can scream his name and no one can stop you and the thought makes him clutch you a bit tighter. 

“where’s your room baby?” he pulls back to look at you and you blink at him slowly before intertwining the fingers around your waist with your own and leading him up stairs. he follows your lead, enjoying the view of you going up in front of him. you hadn’t given him a choice when you put on this dress he realized. 

your room is far cozier and colorful than his, trinkets and memories on every wall and he sees himself in a few pictures and keepsakes. there’s no hiding your personality and he loves it automatically. he remembered your childhood bedroom was so devoid of anything you actually liked because your parents didn’t like it. you watch rafe take it all in, he looks so much bigger in the space than you feel but he somehow still fits in. you’d been itching to tell him about your room and have him in your space and there’s one thing still bothering you.

“i got a place with a guest bedroom cause of you.” it blurts out and you regret it as soon as you say it. rafe’s head snaps towards you in shock.

“what?” you may have completely ruined the mood. you hurry to explain. 

“i know it’s kind of stupid, i didn’t even know if you cared about me back then but still i don’t know i just always thought we’d-“ rafe thinks he might start crying. you tend to make him feel like that, emotional. maybe it’s because he’s never cared about anyone like he’s cared about you. the jarring realization that you care about him just as much for just as much time has his heart soaring out of his chest and he can’t hold back any more. the words will rip their way out of him anyways.

“i love you.” his voice comes out low like a whisper, like a promise. your mind blanks for a split second before it all snaps into place. it’s as natural as breathing when you open your mouth.

“i love you rafe.” rafe crosses the space to kiss you, sweet and gentle and it solidifies any room for doubt in either of you. the kiss naturally progresses into something needier and rafe’s hand slips down your face to your neck before slipping a strap of your dress down your shoulder. you gasp into his mouth before pulling back and unbuttoning his shirt. you had to even the playing field. 

rafe is trying not pass out from the sight of you desperately undressing him and pushes you back by your hips until you fall back on the bed. he takes over the rest throwing his shirt to the side. your eyes hungrily roam his chest, the low light of your lamp is enough to solidify that rafe is way too hot to wear a shirt ever again. you sit up to slide your hands along the divers of his abs, tracing the lines before smoothing over his pecs and pulling him down towards you by his neck. rafe shudders at your touch, wedging himself between your legs. your dress is nearly off you with one more touch of his hands and you pull back. he’s being far too hesitant.

“you don't think…” your eyes narrow in a silent question, one that he picks up easily.

“i dont know.” and you nod your head, that explains it.

“i’m not, are you?” you can’t gauge if he’s disappointed or not. 

“nah and i don’t care by the way, i might not be your first but i'm definitely gonna be your last,” your head spins at the statement. he pushes the skirt of your dress up, you panic a bit because you’re completely bare under it, he feels you stiffen and stops. 

“i’m just a bit scared.” you whisper it into the air and maybe scared wasn’t the right word but you’re suddenly very aware of every inch of your skin and how rafe looks like an angel sent from the heavens.

“we don’t have to-“

“no i want to i just-you probably have super high expectations.” rafe’s eyes narrow at your words, he can’t believe that you’re simultaneously the smartest and dumbest person he knows.

“i love you every part of you, you could never disappoint me by being you.” rafe doesn’t want to pressure you into anything but he needs you to know that.

“okay.” you unzip the side of your dress, making it easier for him to pull off and he kisses your forehead. your eyelashes fluttering from the sweet affection.

“that being said, i might come just from seeing you naked.” and there’s goes that cute moment.

���real fucking romantic.” you shove against his shoulder and he laughs, you silently thank him for loosening you up.

“what can i say my girl’s really fucking hot.” your stomach flutters at his words and the dopey grin he’s wearing. you need him so badly you don’t care about your insecurities any more. 

“as long as you can get it up again we won’t have a problem champ.” you tease him back after a moment of ingesting his words. 

“yes ma’am.” everything he says is getting you hot and bothered and finally he takes off your dress. his eyes don’t even know where to look because every part of you is perfect. your stretch marks, your tummy, your breasts, oh and oh god rafe was joking but now he might actually come. your pussy is bare and although he can’t see it properly it’s so cute. his heart is already racing so fast and it’s somehow picking up speed. his head feels a bit faint as all his blood rushes south—“fuck i think i might die.” he whispers it so seriously you can’t help but laugh, he hasn’t looked you in the eyes since you took your dress off and the way he looks like a man starved has you squirming under him.

“shut up-“ you don’t know if you can handle him staring without so much as blinking much less touching you.

“no you’re-what the fuck.” it’s all he says before kisses you and loops your legs around his waist. you feel his bulge against your bare cunt and if he wasn’t wearing black you knew you’d see a remnant of you there. in fact if he doesn’t do something you’re gonna start dripping onto your sheets.

“rafe-need you” your words come out broken as he barely lets you pull away for air. kissing and grinding aren’t cutting it any more and the heavy thick weight of him between your legs is nearly torture. the words are like a zap of electricity to his brain and he unbuckles his pants and has them off in seconds, only in his boxers now. the way you whined his name is replaying over and over in his head and he just can’t get enough. he’s back in his spot and trailing kisses down your neck and then your breasts. one of his hands pinches a nipple while the other dips between your legs. you buck into him from the sudden stimulation—lips attach to your nipple sucking and biting at it, his teeth grazing along the sensitive skin. he’s sloppy with it, drooling all over you with zero worry for the marks he’s leaving. his hand between your legs teases the soft skin of your inner thighs, never quite where you need him. the presence feels like the lump in your throat, unyielding and attention-seeking. you whine his name again and he actually thinks you might have found a way to mind control him. his thick fingers ghost your folds, finding them absolutely drooling. they’re so puffy and messy he almost coos at how desperate you must feel.

“you’re so wet, baby.” his mouth is back on your neck, groaning the words into your ear. his tone is gravelly and rough, still sweetened by his love for you and you writhe for him to touch you properly. he actually laughs-the fucker-at your response before his ringed index finger presses into your opening. you’re nearly dripping into the palm of his hand and when the cold metal of his ring catches on your entrance you huff out in shock.

his finger is so much larger than yours and it’s starting to scratch the itch you feel but it’s not enough and rafe knows it, he adds his middle finger and this time it’s a stretch—your poor pussy is hugging him so tightly he thinks you’ve never been fucked properly before, his fingers curl into you and feel around for the fleshy spot he knows will make you cry. he knows he’s found it when you clench around him, gooey walls closing in on his fingers. “that’s it, sweet girl” and while rafe knows he should stretch you out more he can’t help himself. he’s been hungry, starving, for days, for years. your eyelashes flutter open as his fingers are pulled out, he wants to lick them clean but why not try straight from the source. you don’t even register what’s happening before rafe is putting the backs of your thighs against his shoulders and squeezing between the plush of them. 

“oh!” it hits you when his tongue swipes up the length of your pussy. rafe moans at the taste, heady and sweet, it’s so good he thinks if he wasn’t in love now your juices might be a love potion. one taste is enough for him to pull your thighs down, shoving himself into your cunt and you moan at the force. his tongue is everywhere, swirling between the mess you’ve made on your legs and your folds, flicking against your clit and delving into you teasingly. he presses a finger into you as he sucks on your clit, biting at it and sending your mind into black and white for a second. then he’s delving into you and pulling anything he can out of you, finger hammering into you and his tongue swirling instead slowly in a mind-numbing contrast.

“so sweet,” you hear him moan into you, his dreams didn’t hold a candle to your actual taste. you’re bucking and writhing into his mouth but his hold on you is firm, he doesn’t care if your thighs squish his head either because he’s too drunk off you to care. you can feel yourself getting close as he curls his finger inside against your g-spot your poor pussy quivering at the action and before you can hold back any more your hold snaps, you’re cumming into his mouth before you can help it crying out his name like a plea. it’s violent and overwhelming and your hips are bucking into violently but rafe needs to drink you up, he needs to taste you when you come. the way you milk his tongue has him desperate to feel you around him. you sound so wrecked saying his name and he wants to pull it out of you again, wants to look you in the eyes when you say it. when he’s sure you can’t give him any more he releases his hold on you and pulls away. the lower half of his face is glistening and you’re almost ashamed but you can’t help but admire how depraved the sight is. you want to thank whoever made him so good at eating pussy because you’re never letting him go now. rafe looks positively fucked out and you can’t imagine you’re any better. you tug him in for a kiss tasting yourself on his lips. you still feel desperate for more, you need his cock and you don’t care if you have to beg. 

“rafe if you don’t fuck me so help me-”

“relax princess, i told you i was hungry.” he says it without any shame and you actually can’t hold his eye contact. you’d only ever imagined him talking to you like this and the reality is so much harder to handle. he pulls his boxers off and then intertwines a hand with yours, pressing it next to your head. you can’t help yourself when you look down, being met with what is undoubtedly the biggest dick you’d ever seen. it’s unfair how pretty it is. long and thick with a vein running down the middle and cropped brown hair at the base. there’s white precum dribbling out of the mushroom head and you’re equally intimidated and turned on. you let out a shaky exhale and the monster cock twitches at your attention, “fuck don’t stare like that-“ rafe groans at the way your eyes widened at the sight of him. you’re not even trying to hide your reactions. despite how you feel you, you’re childishly putting on a brave front.

“why not? it’s mine isn’t it?” yeah rafe is gonna die. he just groans again before shoving your legs up and out until they’re framing his hips. it is yours of course it’s yours, he’d let you do anything you want to him. your bravado is once again swept away when his tip is gliding against your entrance, far wider than anything you’d ever expect. you’re not even sure if it’ll fit. you nod at him to move and he pushes into you, a gasp leaving your lips. the stretch burns and it’s unlike any pain you’ve had before. this is tinged by pleasure and you try to relax but you’re still a bit worried about all the inches and girth past the tip.

“so tight i-“ rafe is addicted sure he’s always been in love and it’s always been a bit too intense for anyone to understand but the way you feel around him, warm and snug, has him going fully insane. no way he’s letting you go.

“t-too big.” you shudder under him, rafe can’t look down because if he sees it he knows he won’t be able to survive it. in fact he’s so close that if he doesn’t focus his absolute best he might just come.

“can’t talk like that i’m actually gonna-“ and he does in fact come. he comes just from putting the tip in. thick gooey ropes pump into you and the added lubrication makes it easier for him to slip in a bit, the urge to plug you full is impossible to ignore. there’s something pathetic about him coming just from this and it’s so inexplicably sweet that you’re moaning his name. “don’t say anything.” rafe is trying to damage control. you can feel him still hard inside you and his come is already slipping out of you, what a shame you think.

“come on big boy who said anything about stopping.” the nickname makes his dick twitch inside you and a sick smirk curls his lips. you’re just as far gone as him. he eases into you and the stretch is unimaginable. you’re unbelieving that anyone can even reach that far, you feel like you’re being molded to him, even the vein along his length is a dent inside you. when you think he’s done, you can feel him in the back of your throat and he’s nestled against your cervix, you realize he hasn’t even bottomed out. “it doesn’t fit.” you sound as heartbroken as rafe feels. he pulls out and pushes back in experimentally, still being stopped at the same spot. the thrust is enough for you to see stars, the feeling of being eased in replaced by the full hammering thickness and length of him at once. 

“pussy’s too small for me—fuckkk that’s okay i’ll make it fit hmm?” rafe is mindlessly murmuring to himself, he pulls your hips up, wedging a pillow under them for a different angle, this time he gets further and finally his balls press against you. you’re shaking from the stretch and he has to clench his jaw to not move again. when you’re not clenching down like a vice he finally moves again, slowly easing in and out, halfway down his length. he refuses to pull out all the way, he thinks he’ll have an aneurysm if he isn’t inside you all the time. “so perfect s’like you’re made for me, fuck i love you so much.” it’s much more manageable and the slow drag of him inside you has you getting worked up again. rafe is close too but he has been for a while—actually right after coming.

you pull him down for a kiss, the angle of him leaning down presses him further into you and you gasp into his mouth. “i love you rafey, you feel so good.” he’s pressing against your most sensitive spot and rafe thinks this might be his favorite position, kissing you and fucking you deep and slow. he can feel your heartbeat against his and your hair that was up before started to slip out more and more he curls a strand around his finger. when it becomes too much you’re panting into each other’s mouths, desperate to catch you breath but not enough to stop. you’re drenching him in your sweet juices and they mix with his come to form a circle at the base of him.

“come on baby, pretty girl, you’re doing so well.”  a few more torturous drags of his tip against your g-spot has your walls fluttering and clenching on him, he comes inside again and you can’t believe he’s still hard. you’re not tired though yet and you start to think rafe might actually go all night. you shove against his shoulder and he pulls out but then you shove again and get him onto his back. his eyes go wide as he realizes what you’re doing, you straddle him and wince a bit as his come spurts out of you. your clit bumps against his toned stomach and the sick mess of your juices paints his skin white. rafe watches it happen, it’s undeniably obscene but he’s gonna think about it for the rest of his life. he props a pillow under him as you move down until his length is nudging against your hole. being on top has its perks but the sensation of him filling you is even more overwhelming that before.

“fuckkk.” he shuts his eyes at the sensation, even now you’re still tight as you lower down onto him. without the pain you can feel how he fills you, vein catching on your entrance and his tip still has to shove its way. you take your time, eventually bottoming out. you grind your hips against him, the new angle makes him feel even deeper and you’re both panting from the stimulation.

“this is where you are rafey.” you take his hand and press it to where you feel him. he blinks rapidly, moaning at the words, his fingers push at the spot on your stomach, amazed by how far up he is. he really should be careful with you, his poor little baby was getting skewered by him. but then you’re the one teasing him—brat

“you tryna kill me?” rafe’s other hand spanks your ass and you jolt at the feeling, you don’t let it show that you like it but rafe can feel you clench, can feel how you get wetter. oh he can’t wait to test your limits. you start bouncing on him slowly, moving your hips at the pace that’s comfortable. eventually though your knees feel shaky and you lean down into him, your weight fully against his chest. rafe presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before hammering up into you. it’s a far more brutal pace than before, slamming his hips up into you and it’s nearly launching you off the bed. you scream his name and rafe can’t stop pulling the sound from you. your cunt feels like it might be bruised from his pace but the coil in your stomach is building regardless.

the bed shakes from his thrusts as the room is filled with rapid rhythm of plap plap plap and the pornographic moans from both of you. rafe can’t stop praising you and you can only repeat his name. the pressure is too much for your poor pussy building and building with no end in sight. one particular thrust that he pulls you down to meet by your hips snaps the band inside you, the dam breaking all at once— you’re splashing his hips and stomach with squirt and he fucks your through it, pulling as much out as he can. if rafe’s chest wasn’t a mess before he’s actually dripping come onto your sheets now. you’re clenching him so tight and the added lubrication feels like he might just be shoved out of you. he fucks into you until he can’t any more; until he pulls one more orgasm from you and can finally plug you full. rafe thinks that your timeline is so fucked up that getting you pregnant wouldn’t even be that bad, he wants that with you so why not start now? at least you should practice every night. you’re completely worn out on his chest, panting and clutching onto him as you regain strength. rafe even now loops his arms around you and holds you close.

“you’re never using that guest bedroom.” you say it in a croak, you may have lost your voice from screaming his name. rafe laughs and he can’t agree more.

“i was never planning on it.” he kisses your forehead adoringly, like he didn’t just rearrange your vital organs and gently lays you down beside him. you’re so grateful that you were able to come to obx and that in the end your best friend forgave you. because now you truly had him forever. what came next you’d face together.

a/n: it’s over :,( but i really enjoyed posting this it’s been in my drafts for a while <3 i’ll pry go back and edit this since i didn’t check much for mistakes my first run-through, also pry post a fluffy short epilogue!!

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis @emmiesummers

[paxtito]

cough drop coloured tongue

pairings: tara x reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 3109

warnings: some swearing, nothing really

summary: you catch the flu and tara is gobsmacked (in a horny way) at how much your voice has changed

requested by: @burntoutghost

It started as a scratch in your throat—nothing major, just an annoying little itch that had you clearing your throat more than usual. You chalked it up to the cold weather, the dry air, or maybe even talking too much with Tara the night before.

By the next day, though, the scratch turned into something heavier. Your limbs ached, exhaustion creeping into your bones like an unwanted guest. You still went to class, still tried to act normal, but every blink lasted a second too long, and focusing felt like trying to see through fogged-up glass. Chad had side-eyed you in the hallway, wrinkling her nose.

“Dude, you look rough,” he had said, leaning away as if you might infect him with a single breath.

You had only groaned in response, leaning against your locker for support. Tara had texted you sometime around lunch—Meet me after your last class?—but your response had been delayed, fingers sluggish over your phone.

Feeling kinda shitty. Might just head back to my room.

Tara, being Tara, immediately responded.

Shitty how?

Idk, just tired. Think I’m getting sick.

Do you need anything?

You stared at your screen for a moment, lips twitching at the concern in her words.

Nah, I’m good. Just gonna sleep it off.

That was a mistake.

By the time the sun had set, the fatigue had turned into full-body exhaustion. Your head throbbed with every movement, and a tight congestion settled into your chest, making every breath feel like a chore. The tissues started piling up that night—just a few at first, crumpled on your nightstand. You slept in fits, waking up shivering one minute and burning up the next, twisting the blankets around you in a frustrated haze.

Tara called again in the morning. You ignored it. Not on purpose—you had barely registered the sound over the pounding in your skull.

By the second day, the fever had fully taken hold, and the sickness dragged you under like a riptide. Your phone was somewhere beside you, buzzing every so often, but lifting your arm to check it felt impossible. Tara’s name kept lighting up the screen.

And then, eventually, she called.

You groan, rolling over with a sluggish hand to grab it. She’s already called three times. Probably worried.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you croak out, “Hey.”

The other end of the line goes silent for a second. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Holy shit.”

You frown, rubbing your temple. “What?”

Tara clears her throat. “Uh, nothing. You just—you sound different.”

“Yeah, no shit. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you mumble, voice thick with congestion, deeper, rougher than usual.

Tara definitely makes a noise at that. Something small. Sharp.

You barely register it, too focused on the pounding in your skull. “Sorry, I didn’t text back. I think my body’s literally shutting down.”

There’s another pause. Then, a suspiciously unsteady breath from Tara’s end.

“Babe,” she starts, voice an octave lower, almost sultry, but you’re too far gone to notice. “You—uh—you should really drink some tea. Might help… with your throat.”

“I tried,” you mumble, head sinking into the pillow. “Burned my tongue. Fuck tea.”

Tara lets out a strained laugh. “Right. Yeah. Uh—so, how sick are you exactly?”

“Very,” you groan. “I can barely move. Why?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, her voice is softer. “No reason.”

You sniffle, rolling onto your side. “I probably sound disgusting.”

Tara, who is gripping her phone a little too tightly, lets out a nervous chuckle. “No. Not at all.”

You hum in response, already halfway to passing out again. “Mmm. I miss you.”

Tara lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Miss you too.”

You’re out before you hear the way her voice lingers.

You come back to yourself slowly, your eyes fluttering open as you hear knocking at the door. It takes a moment for your brain to register the sound, still fogged up with feverish haze. You groan, rolling onto your back and blinking against the sunlight filtering through your curtains.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. "Hey, you awake?" Tara calls out, voice muffled by the door between you.

You open your mouth to respond, but it comes out as a strangled croak. Your throat feels like it's on fire. "Yeah," you rasp out, voice barely above a whisper. "Just a sec."

You heave yourself up to sitting with great difficulty, bones creaking in protest. Your room spins a little as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You sit there for a moment, head hanging between your shoulders, until the dizziness passes.

Shuffling to the door, you unlock it and crack it open. Tara stands on the other side, a look of concern etched on her face. She's holding a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of food.

"Hey," she says softly, brown eyes searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

You give a weak smile. "Awful. But better than yesterday, I think."

Tara frowns slightly, stepping into your room and shutting the door behind her. She sets the tray down on your desk and comes to stand in front of you, reaching out to feel your forehead.

"You're still so hot," she murmurs, frowning at the heat radiating off your skin. "I brought you some soup and tea. Figured you might need it."

You lean into her touch, nuzzling her palm. "Thanks," you mumble, voice rough and gravelly. "You didn't have to do that."

Tara shrugs, sliding her hand down to cup your cheek. "Of course I did. You're sick, dummy."

You huff out a weak laugh at that. Tara takes a step closer, until you're sharing the same air. You notice how her gaze lingers on your face for a long moment before flicking down to your lips.

"How about you sit down and eat something before the soup gets cold?" Tara suggests, voice a little strained. She clears her throat, pulling back and gesturing to the desk.

You sink back down onto the bed, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid jostling your aching body too much. Tara watches you with a mix of concern and... something else. Something you're too out of it to fully recognize just yet.

Settling yourself against the wall, you pull the tray onto your lap, eyeing the steaming mug of tea and bowl of soup. Tara sits down beside you, close enough that your legs are brushing against each other.

"Thanks for bringing this," you murmur, wrapping your hands around the mug. The heat seeps into your chill-prone fingers, and you sigh at the small comfort. You take a sip, wincing slightly at the heat, but welcoming the way it soothes your raw throat.

Tara watches you, lips pressed together. You glance at her and catch her gaze lingering on your mouth, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She clears her throat and looks away.

"Feel free to stay as long as you want," you offer, voice a low, rough rasp. "I could use the company."

Tara swallows hard, nodding. "Yeah. I... I want to be here for you."

You frown slightly, noticing the way her voice dips, the blush deepening. She's acting strangely, but you're too focused on not falling back asleep to think much of it.

"How's your throat feeling?" she asks softly, inching a bit closer to you.

You shrug, taking another sip of tea before answering. "'S okay. Better than yesterday. Still hurts though."

Tara nods, eyes flicking down to your lips again. She's quiet for a long moment before speaking.

"You sound... different," she says, voice barely above a whisper. There's a hitch in her breath at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah, I know," you rasp out, voice low and gravelly. "Guess it's from the sickness."

Tara swallows hard, and you finally notice the way she's looking at you, really look at her. The flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the quick pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

"Guess so," she breathes out, eyes still locked on your face

You study Tara's face, noticing the way her chest is rising and falling a little faster than usual, the flush that seems to be spreading down her neck. Something about her demeanor is setting off alarm bells in your foggy mind.

"Because you're acting weird," you point out, voice a low, concerned rumble. "And you keep staring at my mouth."

Tara's eyes fly up to meet yours, widening in surprise. She swallows hard, a visible gulp in her throat. For a moment, she looks flustered, at a loss for words.

"I... I didn't realize I was..." she starts, before trailing off. She clears her throat, looking away. "I'm just worried about you. You're really sick, and I want to make sure you're okay."

You narrow your eyes, not entirely convinced. "Tara, what's going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Tara takes a deep breath, and when she turns back to you, there's a new intensity in her eyes. A heat that makes your stomach flip, even through the haze of sickness.

"It's just... your voice," she says softly, slowly. "It's... really sexy like this. All low and rough..." She blushes deeply, looking mortified as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Your eyes widen, finally understanding the undercurrent of her behavior. A slow smirk spreads across your face, even as your cheeks flush with warmth.

"Oh, I see," you murmur, voice a low, husky rasp. "Well, I am a little bit dying, after all. Guess that's making me extra irresistible, huh?"

Tara's eyes widen, and she lets out a shaky laugh. "I... I didn't mean to be so blunt. That was really inappropriate of me to say out loud."

You shrug, taking another sip of tea. "Hey, no worries. I'm just happy you find me attractive, even when I'm a gross, sick mess."

Tara bites her lip, glancing at you from under her lashes. "You could never be a mess to me. Sick, yes. But never a mess."

You both end up sprawled out on the bed together, the TV flickering in front of you. Tara keeps shifting, tossing a pillow behind her back, before leaning forward to grab the remote and flip through channels.

You're too tired and fuzzy-headed to really pay attention to the screen, but you can feel the restless energy rolling off Tara in waves. She's practically vibrating, and you glance over at her with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, you okay?" you ask, voice a low rasp. "You seem... tense."

Tara startles, glancing over at you. She forces a smile, but it's strained at the edges.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures you quickly. "Just... wanna find something good to watch."

You shrug, sinking back against the pillows. "Whatever you want. I'm too out of it to care much."

Tara nods, but she's still fidgeting. You notice her eyes flick down to your lips again before darting away. There's a heat in her gaze that wasn't there before, and you suddenly feel a little warm under your blanket.

You're about to comment on it when Tara suddenly sits up straight, pointing at the TV.

"Hey, they're playing one of your favorite movies!" she exclaims, grabbing the remote. "Want me to put it on?"

You squint at the screen, trying to make out the title. It's one of those cheesy horror flicks you love, the kind with a campy plot and over-the-top kills. You smirk slightly.

"Sure. Why not," you rasp out, shrugging. "Might as well enjoy it, since I'm stuck in bed anyway."

Tara nods and hits play, flopping back down on the bed beside you. She's a little too close, her shoulder brushing against yours. You glance over at her and notice her gaze is glued to the screen, but there's a faraway look in her eyes.

You're about to ask her if she's sure she's okay when she suddenly turns to you, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and her cheeks are flushed.

"Hey..." she starts softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

You frown slightly, noticing the way her breathing has picked up. "Of course. What's up?"

You blink slowly as Tara turns to face you fully, her brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. Even through the sickness fogging your mind, you can sense the shift in the air between you, the electricity crackling like a live wire.

"What's on your mind?" you ask softly, voice a low rasp. Your words come out slower, more deliberate than you intended. Maybe it's the fever, or maybe it's the way Tara's gaze is burning into you, but you feel suddenly self-conscious, hyper-aware of every movement.

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. She's looking at you like... like she wants to devour you whole. It's a look you've seen before, but never this intense, this hungry.

"I was just thinking about... well, your voice," she says quietly, almost hesitantly. "It's just... different. Really deep and rough and... sexy. Even more so than usual."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you feel your cheeks heat under your sickly pallor. You're pretty sure you'm blushing, and the realization makes your head spin.

"Oh," you murmur, at a momentary loss for words. "I guess the sickness is doing weird things to me."

Tara nods, and you notice her tongue dart out to wet her lips. "Yeah. I guess it is."

There's a charged pause, and you're suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you. Tara's knee is brushing against yours, her shoulder pressed to your arm. The heat of her is seeping into you, and it's making your head swim in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

"And I was thinking..." Tara starts again, a little breathlessly. "Maybe... maybe you could read to me? Like, from that comic you like so much? I want to hear more of your... voice."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink slowly, trying to process her request. You're not sure if it's the sickness or the way Tara is looking at you, but you feel like you're drowning, pulled under by the intensity of her gaze.

"Okay," you breathe out, voice a low rasp. "If you want."

You start to read from the comic, your low, rough voice filling the room. But as you flip through the pages, you can't help but notice that Tara seems distracted. Her eyes are glazed over, not really focusing on the illustrations. Instead, she's staring at you, her gaze heavy and intense.

You pause, glancing up at her with a frown. "Everything okay? You seem... elsewhere."

Tara blinks, coming back to herself. She shakes her head, a little smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your voice is just... really nice. It's hard to focus on anything else."

You feel a blush spreading across your cheeks, and you duck your head, focusing on the comic pages. "Sorry. I don't want to bore you."

"No, no, not at all," Tara assures you quickly. She's quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voice a little hesitant. "Can I... can I be honest with you?"

You glance up at her, eyebrows raised. "Of course. Always."

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she seems to steel herself. "I just... I really want to kiss you right now. Like, really, really want to."

Your eyes widen, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. "Oh," you breathe out, at a momentary loss for words. "Tara, I... I'm really sick right now. I don't want to get you sick too."

"I know," Tara says softly, reaching out to touch your cheek. Her fingers are warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "I just... I can't help it. You're just so... you're irresistible like this."

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I appreciate it, but... I don't want to risk it. Especially with how bad this cold is."

Tara nods, a little sadly. "I understand. I do. I just... I wanted you to know how much I... I want you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel a wave of emotion wash over you. Tara is looking at you with such raw, naked desire, it's overwhelming. You cover her hand with your own, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice a low rasp. "That means a lot to me. More than you know."

You blink slowly, trying to process Tara's bold words. A small, surprised laugh escapes your lips, turning into a cough as it catches in your sore throat. Tara looks a little sheepish, but there's still a determined glint in her eye.

"A little peck can't hurt, right?" she asks hopefully, a small smile playing on her lips. "And then, once you're all better... I'm totally jumping your bones. Consider it a promise."

You gape at her for a moment before a slow, stunned grin spreads across your face. "Wow, you're... wow," you rasp out, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay. One little peck. And then... I guess we'll see what happens when I'm feeling better."

Tara grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. She leans in slowly, and you feel your heart start to race as she gets closer. Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

Softly, gently, Tara's lips brush against yours in the lightest of kisses. It's over in an instant, but it sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless. Tara pulls back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Mm. Can't wait for that promise," she murmurs, her voice a low, husky rumble.

You open your eyes, blinking up at her dazedly. "Wow," you breathe out again, still trying to process the moment. "That was... wow."

Tara chuckles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger on your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

"Get some rest," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "You need it. And then... then we'll see about that other stuff."

She leans in to press another feather-light kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, pulling you with her until your head is resting on her shoulder. You feel yourself starting to drift off, lulled by the warmth of her body and the promise of things to come.

[vxlvted]

Han being a munch fic?

pussy drunk!han

a/n: i’m glad you guys like these so much! 🙏 and ty for almost 1k on my last one wtf?!! TY!!

pussy drunk!han is the type to start off confident, teasing, smirking like he has all the control. but the second he actually gets a taste of you? it’s over for him.

he’ll press open mouthed kisses along your thighs, murmuring about how good you smell, how soft you are under his lips.

“You missed me, huh?” he’d tease, fingers barely brushing against you. the moment you buck your hips slightly, trying to get more friction, his smirk fades because he realizes just how desperate he is too.

the first taste always makes him groan. deep and guttural like he’s ben starving for this. and he probably has.

his hands can’t stay still. they roam everywhere—gripping at your thighs, smoothing over your stomach, tracing every curve like he’s trying to memorize your body by touch alone. he’ll squeeze at your hips, fingers digging into your skin, unable to control himself.

he’s not shy about making a mess. In fact, he wants it to be messy. his chin dripping, his chubby cheeks flushed, mouth never stopping for even a second. he’s incredibly sloppy. that’s the best way to describe it. he starts off with slow kisses, savoring every movement, but the second he gets into it, it’s all tongue and desperation

at some point, he starts whimpering. not even just quiet moans, actual whimpers, like he can’t handle how good it is. he gets so lost in it that he forgets about everything else. he’s gripping on your thighs gets impossibly tighter and his moans get louder against your pussy.

“you taste so good,” he mumbles, constant profanities coming out his mouth. he doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, barely coherent, his voice rough with arousal.

he gets needy. shaky hands, blown pupils, licking his lips whenever he pulls away to breathe but he doesn’t want to stop.

he tries to pace himself, but he literally can’t, whining in response to the way you moan out his name. you’d have to pull his head up, fingers practically digging into his scalp, making him look at you because he’ll get so lost that sometimes he forgets to come up for air.

oh, and you can’t even attempt to pull away. absolutely not. even when your legs start to tremble around his head, even when you whine about how you can’t take it anymore, your voice hoarse from the constant moaning.

“I’m sorry baby… just one more,” he breathes against your clit. it’s probably like the fifth time he’s said that.

if you try to close your legs because you’re too sensitive, he pries them back open, soothing you with slow strokes of his tongue before diving back in. he won’t stop until you’re completely spent. shaking and breathless.

he wont immediately come back up. instead, he stays here, nuzzling against your inner thigh, pressing lazy kisses along your skin like he’s in a trance.

when he finally pulls himself up, he looks genuinely drunk. His eyes glazed over, lips glistening and swollen, hair messy from your tugging.

“You good?” you tease, running a hand through his hair. he just nods slowly, licking his lips like he’s still tasting the remains of you on his tongue. he’s still staring at you like he’s not done yet. And honestly? he’s not.

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