#let us all shut up more often & more vigorously

[elephantbitterhead]

Having finally been driven to blacklisting content, I'd like to take this moment to say that no annoying/overexposed/boring/formulaic/etc. musician will ever be as irritating to me as their fans and their haters are.

[rafesangelita]

farmer’s!daughter!reader surprising rafe with her cheerleading costume!

warnings: cowboy!rafe, sexual innuendos, unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl, use of the name ‘daddy’ (just once), pet names, slight praise, cream pie

a/n: you can find the halloween costumes for all my !reader’s here <3 thank you for your req!

“okay! you promise you won’t laugh?” rafe sat up against the headboard of your bed, waiting in anticipation as you hid from him behind the bathroom door. “i promise, ‘darlin, just come out.” he watched as you stepped into his view, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. there you were, the prettiest girl he has ever known in a cheer costume get-up. “..well?” you smiled, shimmying the pom poms at him as an amused expression took over rafe’s features.

“woww,” he nodded approvingly, “do a spin for me, doll face.” you giggled, bending over slightly for him to get a full view of your ass peeking out of your shorts. he clenched his fists at the sight. you were just too dang perfect. his eyes ran down your form, a deep breath leaving his lips when you stepped closer to him. “does this cowgirl like reverse?” he raised a brow at you. leaning down, you pressed a kiss to his lips before whispering; ‘mmhm, she loves it..’

shortly after you said that, rafe had you bouncing on his cock, his large hands squeezing the flesh of your hips where he fucked into you with vigor. “fuck, baby,” his forehead rested on your back as you moved on top of him, “riding your favorite cowboy, hm?” you cried out, nodding even though he couldn’t see your face. “mm, f-fuck— yes, ray!” he grunted, fingers snaking down to stroke your sensitive clit. your nails dug into his thighs, your pom poms long forgotten on the floor.

you looked so sexy, your needy pussy swallowing him whole with every deep stroke. “goddamn, you’re taking it like a fuckin’ champ.” he landed a hard smack to your ass, shushing you when you cried out at the stinging sensation. “nghh— you feel so good, sweetheart, holy—” you sat back on your hands, grinding on him slowly while resting your head against his chest. “wanna make you cum so bad, daddy.” you whimpered, letting him litter your neck with wet kisses.

rafe couldn’t think straight. with the way your cunt had a death grip on his cock, he found it nearly impossible to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. balling one of your pigtails around his fist, he yanked you down, using you as leverage to thrust into you at an unforgiving pace. your tits bounced with every snap of his hips, your hand holding onto the nape of his neck for balance. rafe felt your walls flutter around his length, a telltale sign that you were going to cum soon.

“s’my little slut gonna cum?” he rasped in your ear, the pads of his fingers rubbing mercilessly on your swollen bud. you hiccuped, a gasp leaving your lips when he licked a stripe up the column of your throat before kissing you sloppily. rafe groaned inside your mouth, the build up of his peak beginning to take effect. “please! want you to fill me up..” you whined, his large arm wrapping around your torso to keep you close. soon enough, you were shaking in his embrace, your thighs threatening to shut around his hand.

“doing so good, baby, m’gonna fill you to the brim.” he bear hugged you against his chest to keep you still, spilling inside of you as you squeezed around his length. he was panting against your skin, trailing kisses up your shoulder. “m’tired now.” you mumbled, letting rafe take what was left of your costume off. “i know we don’t celebrate halloween, but damn we need to do that more often.” he laughed tirelessly, stroking your cheek.

[mondaymelon]

— pocky for the malipo ⭑.ᐟ

⟶ ( kinich x gn!reader )

— in which... hey, does this even count as a kiss...?

— speedran this filler post for pocky day + kinch's birthday.. its single day too LMAO the coincidences are simply uncanny ..

— starts out w mualani + kinich for context , fluff !! reader likes sweets,, ...tw... use of the word orbs..

“awwww, c’mon!! it’ll be fun, i promise…”

mualani jumps up and down vigorously, her expression slowly growing more and more dejected. “the traveler told me all about it- this otherworldly tradition, y’know, with those little sweet stick thingies, they even gave me a box! it’d be a reallll big shame to waste ‘em, and wouldn’t it be super cool to do?”

recently, mualani had grown very invested in the idea of some date called “pocky day.” these sorts of random hyperfixtations happened just about every other day, but this time the obsession lasted a linger longer than most, all because of some eavesdropping on the traveler, who offhandedly mentioned it in some conversation… anyway, now that the day itself had arrived, 11/11, she was more excited than ever.

“just onnncee..! pretty please, kinich… xilonen? sharky??” seeing that no one here was willing, except for sharky, who wagged his tail in approval, mualani let out a wail.

kinich stared at her with a tired gaze, sighing slowly. “well, i don’t see how-”

“oHHH my aRCHONS, kinich, how are you so BORING?? when i contracted with this stupid guy, YOU, i thought itd be a little more fun than rotting in a cave ALLL day long but APPARENTLY not!!? live a little uGHHGH, you emo little ‘oooohh look at me im so distant and mysterious’ shut UPPP…” ajaw popped out of nowhere, face red and pixelated hands waving back and forth angrily. “c’mooon, surely you aren’t stupid and blind enough to see that this is the literally PERFECt opportunity to smoochy smoochy kiss kiss that one person you've been OGLING with those  big ORBS of yours huh????”

kinich opened his mouth to say something, but then paused. mualani watched with bated breath, squeezing sharky in her hands in anticipation, eyes sparkling, gaze screaming “oh????”. 

“...well… i guess… hmph, even someone like ajaw makes a point sometimes, huh…?” kinich coughed into his fist sheepishly, a barely noticeable blush dusting his cheeks. “though, i���m not ‘ogling’ them at all, ajaw- it’s- well, i’m just observing them. for a commission.”

“suuuUUUReeee palllll, whatever you say- YOU REALLY DIDN’T THINK I’D SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT, DID YOU??? BLABLABLA LALALA I’m RIGHT AHAHAHH THATS RIGHT IM RIGHT IM-”

kinich swatted ajaw out of the air, in the way one would with a buzzing fly. he flew through the air, disappearing into the horizon with a sparkle.

“...ahem. mualani, i’ll be heading out now.” kinich turned around calmly, as if he hadn’t just committed battery. "if i may, could i get one of those ‘pocky’ you were talking about? i’ll repay you.”

"hehe... no need for repayment, just tell me how it goes later!" mualani, smug and beaming, handed over one of the boxes.

..and so the time had come.

"kinich?" glancing up from your work, you flashed him a smile. "what's the matter?"

well, it wasn't as if the saurian hunter didn't see you out often- he did. this little nook you had in the scions of canopy was, as kinich put it, "on the convenient way back" for all of his missions, and so the male found most evenings swinging by (pun intended).

no, him coming wasn't the issue here. but kinich had been uncharacteristically.. avoidant of your gaze. for the past five minutes he had been there, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame like they do in those inazuman light novels, he'd been staring at a crack in the floorboards. and to make matters more concerning, he had something strange in his hands too: some sort of box that he kept flipping around with his fingers.

"hey. kini'. we're both not great at words, so just tell me and get.. well, whatever it is. you wanna say over with." at the mention of his nickname, kinich perked up, clearing his throat.

"ah, that..."

ohh, so there was the problem. the eerily quiet atmosphere was because ajaw wasn't present... pause, now you were even more worried. kinich had somehow gotten ajaw off his ass?? unthinkable????

"is it an emergency? fuck, are we all going to die? tell me this type of thing earlier, kini', i need to pack all my-"

"what? no- i, mualani.. she, no, there's this holiday, today. the traveler mentioned it, and i thought it'd be fun to try out.. you like sweets too, so. here." kinich unearthed some sort of... stick? was he really trying to feed you sticks? c'mon now, you weren't that stupid-

"i can read your gaze. it's not like that. here, it's chocolate, just- hah..." kinich sighed, eyebrows pinched together, wearing the expression of someone watching everything go wrong. "give it a taste?"

you eyed him skeptically, before taking the stick out of his hands and taking a bite.

"...sweet."

"yeah?"

"not a stick."

"...yes."

"...give me another."

"not so fast, we need to play the game first." kinich took one of the sticks and put it into his mouth, all of a sudden looking a lot more... guilty? you couldn't quite pinpoint the expression on his face, something you'd been doing with a 30% success rate (the highest any natlanian had ever achieved). "whoever gets the last bite wins."

"...i'm just supposed to. eat the other end?"

"what, you can't?" the slight teasing edge in his voice reminded you of ajaw (just the slightest) and you immediately became exponentially irritated.

"hah, who said that? bet."

"..."

oh, so now he chose not to break eye contact.

"...a-hey, we're getting a little close, aren't we.."

"...if you wanna break it off, lose."

"...fuck, you-"

you grabbed him by the cheek, pushing yourself forward and, admittedly, forcefully touching your lips against his. whether by the suddenness or whether by the fact that you two had, well, "kissed," the esteemed malipo kinich let out what sounded like a sputter and fell backward, hands barely catching him from falling to the ground. sitting himself down, he looked up at you with flushed cheeks, mouth slightly open, and the edge of his lips smudged with chocolate.

"bleh. i win." sticking out your tongue, you motioned with your hands. "the whole box, it's mine now. winner takes all, or whatever they say in mondstadt."

kinich's gaze was observant, and under it you felt your face slowly begin to warm, realizing what you had just done.

"not so fast." kinich stood back up, recomposing himself in a matter of seconds.

"one more round. you caught me off guard."

(a/n) and then reader and kinich smoochy smooch smooch kiss kissed and single day was no longer single and happy birthday kinich really did become happy for kinich fuck when am i going to find me a partner <- has unrealistic expectations

context notes!! :

ajaw purposefully left kinich alone so that he could do his.. idk if you can call it flirting. pocky game w you. best wingman ajaw we all cheer (in reality he was tired of seeing kinich act all lovey dovey whenever you were around and found the tension suffocating so he decided to take matters into his own hands)

taglist (comment to be added / send in an ask on my sb): @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu-archive, @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling, @aioniela, @avensuersa, @dainsleif-when-playable, @umiloa, @intpessimistic, @keiiqq, @intpessimistic, @eutopiastar, @matcha-mintea

[chris-prank]

I think about Esteban often.

Can we please have more smut with him?

I got you 😉

CW: NSFW, cock warming, slightly teasing, no condom, receiving reader/bottoming

Since its GN reader, their body is described neutrally.

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Esteban was looking up at you with anticipation. You were on top of him, using one of your hands to position his cock as he laid down on the bed. You kept teasing him by rubbing his glans against your hole without ever putting it in. Wanting to speed things up a bit, he bucked his hips in a moment of impatience, making his tip kiss your entrance.

His eyes being shut tight, Esteban couldn’t see your eyebrows furrowing in response to his little disobedience. To his surprise and initial delight, you sank yourself completely onto his cock. Esteban’s back arched as the sudden warmth, his hands gripping the bed sheets so vigorously that the tip of his fingers was turning white.

He let out a guttural moan, his eyes filling with tears."Y-yes...mmmf! It feels so n-ngh good... you're so so t-tight..."

Esteban’s hips continued to twitch upward thinking that you would follow his movements. But instead of ravaging him for not following your instructions, like he expected, you just stayed there. A low whine escaped his lips and he gave you confused puppy eyes. You look back at him with an unbothered expression, as if what you did was perfectly understandable.

“You wanted to be inside me so badly, so there you have it.” You said in an innocent tone.

His eyes widened.“N-no! P-please, I am sorry!” I won’t do it a-again nfff… I-I promise.” He whimpered, dropping his back against the pillow, trying to focus on restraining his lower half from moving again.

You weren’t listening to his pleas, as a grin played on your lips. You then sensually cascade your hand down your chest and to your groin. You started to play with yourself, teasing him over the fact that he couldn’t join in the fun. Esteban whimpered once more, his body taunted by your little show.

Your inside were extremely warm, so having the taste of such an intoxicating feeling without being able to have the full experience was torture. Not to mention that every time a wave of pleasure came over you, your gummy walls would slightly clench around his shaft. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore, in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the feelings he bit one of his fingers, hoping the pain would distract him.

After what seemed like the longest two minutes of his life, you gently cupped his cheek, taking pity on him. Esteban automatically kissed your inner palm and stared up at you with half lidded eyes.

“Are you ready to behave now?” You cooed.

“Yes! I-I’ll b-be… Aah… so good.” He whined, nuzzling his head against your hand.

Without warning, you moved your hips up and down in a rhythmic motion, the room getting filled with the sound of flesh hitting flesh. A cry of pleasure broke down his throat and his body shuddered under you. You could feel something filling your insides other than his cock. You looked down and evidently a white substance was leaking out of your hole. While you were stunned into silence, Esteban hid his face with his hand. Only one of his eyes was visible to you between two of his fingers.

“M’sorry… Felt s-so w-warm and good…” His facade of shame slightly broke as he followed with, “I can… always make it up to you in oth-others ways.”

･*:.｡..｡.:*･*:.｡..｡.:*･

Esteban is a little bratty freak that loveee to act all timid and embarrassed, but he (not so) secretly wants it 🤭

(Sorry for everyone that I haven't answered your ask yet, don't you worry I am working on it!)

[hoseoksluna]

STRAWBERRIES | jjk ft. jhs

pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x oc (feat. soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi & spectacled boy)

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 7.8k

summary: when your ex-boyfriend's fury burns you whole, you just might need to let hobi in to pour water over you and save you.

playlist: strawberries

pinterest board: j. / taglist: join

warnings: jungkook is nasty and mean and rly needs a trigger warning, oc is lost in her negative emotions and goes through a lot, sadness, crying, shame, longing for death, minor physical violence, oc and hobi take puffs of a shared vape <3, mental and emotional suffering, fighting, belittling, mentions of sex

note: this was an absolute pain to write as i'm not used to writing this genre of jungkook and i hope it's the last time i did skfskfsk, nah i'm just over exaggerating. i'm so happy i got this done in time. two updates in one week! wow. how did i do that? i hope you like this part. prepare yourselves for this jungkook and i'm sorry in advance..... that's all im gonna say. pls, validate me! asks, comments, anything. pretty please! i love you, my babies. big mwah.

You can still sense the ghost of his touch on your shoulder blades as you’re laying halfway on your tummy upon the crumpled bedding of your mattress. Your phone lights up and shuts off like the flickering of stars and all you can do is watch the wane and the rebirth, numbly, with the knowledge that death will never come, not when you’re still a living, breathing person because Jungkook is not the type of individual who gives up. Not easily, that is. 

Hobi left but an hour ago while you slept. Kissed you goodbye. Murmured onto your forehead that he would see you again and you merely nodded amidst the magnetic pulling of your dreamland. Couldn’t peel your eyes open due to the heaviness of your tiredness, which didn’t steal, in all peculiar truthfulness, all of your attention, however. You carried on your shoulders a question way heftier. A question of how your body is still able to submit to slumber, when your blood curdles beneath your skin, when it’s so icy that you’re shivering on top of the duvet. 

And the question didn’t leave when you woke up to your empty bedroom. It thumped, vigorously, against the nape of your neck. The very place Hoseok clutched when he poured his affection and admiration all over your body. 

You wish he hadn’t left. You believe he would’ve possessed your burden, pretending it was his all along. Believe he wouldn’t need to know the alpha and the omega of it. Would pout his lips the way you’ve learned he often does, take the pain from you as if it were a backpack filled with stones. And it does feel like that, your mistake. Your torso is swathed with a double rope, whose end is tied with a stone that you’re cradling in your hands. 

A few hours ago, you cradled Hobi’s face in your hands while he kneeled for you, and now you’re anticipating the death that will never come as your stomach hurts. 

But the memory of his touch is soothing. While your imaginary wings are flaccid and lackluster on the bed, his invisible hands are the force that pumps blood, feebly, into its membrane. Still warm, though a little less firm. It’s as if he were here in the flesh. 

Your body is asking for him, emotionally, however your mind is forbidding you from conveying your need for him to him. Logic is whispering to you that he’s spent the entire day with you, canceled his work meeting because of you. You couldn’t possibly ask for more of his time, for more of him when he had already given you more than enough. 

And besides, you can’t let your attachment reach this unhealthy depth. It triggers you, reminds you of the very thing that spliced your heart open almost a month ago. You don’t want to wander there, nor do you want to be pulled there if you were to ever let go of the reins. You can’t afford Jungkook’s life to entwine around your world again. Not when Hobi diligently dug a grave for it, threw its flesh down and covered it back with the soil, his straining muscles the very force that made you forget about… everything. 

You can’t do that to yourself. And most importantly, you can’t do that to Hobi. 

It’s the latter that propels you to fight. That gives you strength to raise the top half of your body onto your hands. You don’t give a fuck about yourself—you know full well that your life is cursed. Nothing good has ever come out of the events that creeped in until Hobi came along. And you don’t wish to break him out of a selfish intent. You don’t wish to break him because of him. He’s a pure angel, a saint with an honorable heart, a God that has his eye on you. You wouldn’t take it well, if the bane of the ambrosia of your life were ever to touch his lips. 

He’s here, and that’s stable. He’s here, and that’s the reason why you need to protect him. From yourself, from the poison, from the rotten apple of your ex-boyfriend current persistence in entering your space all over again. 

You don’t want to eat that spoiled fruit anymore, and so you simply won’t. 

This decision has shifted the atmosphere because your phone is no longer going off. You sigh a breath of relief, running your fingers through your hair, and you get up, a Virgin Mary that has become a warrior for her God, and you begin to dress yourself. 

You need some fresh air. 

Clothing yourself in a matching outfit—a  light wash baggy jeans, a cropped white tank and a denim jacket with your Nike’s, you grab your phone and keys and drift out into the night. 

Your hair has dried while you slumbered and it ripples in the gentle wind of autumn. The street is lit in a darkly yellow tone, also dried from the morning’s downpour and you stop in the middle of the road, where Hobi drove past while you teased him. You breathe in the freshness of the air in effort to inhale your God, in effort to bring him into your system and your chin quivers with weakened emotions, with a weakened wish that he was here with you, holding your hand, giving you the last bit of strength you need. You know his warmth would smooth out your blood, boil it to a temperature that would cook up your joy and bring it to your heart on a silver platter. Bring it to your mind and calm the hurricane within, feed it so it doesn’t wail anymore. 

And with another sigh, you will yourself to stop. Will yourself to stop needing. You will stumble and you will fall if you keep going down that road that has never shone brighter, that looks nothing like the one you’re standing in the middle of. And as inviting as it is, you close your eyes to get rid of the blessing reaching out for you—only to discover that it’s waiting for you there, too. A circle of light, of fire amidst a cloud of pure, pitch-black darkness. 

You want to scream, and much to your neighbors’ dismay—you do. 

It’s a singular, loud stream of your frustration, swaddled with the pulsating energy of your affection. And then your shoulders tremble. And it’s your tears that are louder than that murmuring watercourse in their very silence. 

You head to the convenience store down the street with your teardrops dotting the ground as if it were the rain. You don’t want your neighbors to detect it was you, who caused the disturbance, and tell your parents. You have enough fire in your orchard, you don’t need another filling of oil. 

You ask the very drowsy guy behind the counter for a strawberry ice vape. His round eyes, behind thick rimmed glasses that make them look even bigger, are barely kept open as he reaches for it with a flabby hand. Your eye catches the glint of a myriad of plan B’s right next to the shelf scattered with packs of lung burners and your heart constricts, a rivulet of emotion cascading down your cheek, caused by the fond recollection of Hobi’s intimate desire and you break—terribly, terribly break. Fruit trees crack in you, collapse to the ground with a horrendous thud and the berry bushes… they wither until they’re mere wisps of blackness. A picture of devastation. 

The boy blinks twice when he turns around, regarding you, and he asks for your ID, only to startle when you glare at him. He tells you the price and you pay with your phone, thanking him and saying your curt goodbye. 

One he doesn’t reciprocate. 

You probably gave him the fright due to the tears marring your pallid cheeks. You hope he isn’t there the next time you’re in the mood to douse your lungs with chemicals. 

Your hands are shaking as you’re tearing up the unnecessarily sturdy packaging. And your tears resume in their outpour when your manicured nails make your life harder than it already is. The tape folded over the top of the rectangular box is too thick and you hurt your nail beds when you claw at it. You have to use your teeth and the fucking thing finally gives in. 

You furiously throw it out in the bin. 

Feel an incoming calmness when you take a deep puff. And you do it over and over again until your cursed world spins, the plump swirls of smoke mingling with the night, never fully connecting. Not like you and Hobi. 

And your world tilts on its axis once your phone lights up in your hand and there’s no picture to be found on the screen. 

Your heart hammers, threatening to fling out of your throat. 

Hobi is calling you. 

And the thing is, you don’t really believe it. 

Your vision swims as another onrush of dense tears blurs the letters of his name. You stare down at your phone, dumbly, sobbing and not caring at all that the spectacled boy can hear you. 

You don’t know who does it—who swipes your finger across the screen and allows you to hear Hobi say the pet name that stole your soul. Who anoints your tears with strawberry-scented mollification while you fail to comprehend that the person you willed yourself not to need in order to not hurt him the way you were hurt somehow heard your cries and answered them like the God he is. 

Because it couldn’t have been you. Not when you’ve become a lifeless sculpture in the middle of a yellowly-lit street. A modern, urban art—awakening ugliness in anyone’s first impression. 

Not a sculpture of the angel you saw at the museum, the one Hobi took your picture with, though. 

You're a sculpture of a road kill. A wounded, small animal, laying on its side with its guts out. And Hobi places them, with gentleness you’ve never felt before, back inside, stitches your belly closed and picks you up, carrying you in his arms. All because he repeats the pet name—with a slither of panic this time.

He acknowledged that something is wrong, validated it. 

And somehow, it snaps you out of your vapor of numb sadness and shame permeates your body, cold sweat coats it—something beyond it, too. Something that makes you shiver so hard that your teeth begin to chatter, preventing you from speaking, your tongue twisted, lifeless. 

A reality check. 

You sent a filthy video of yourself getting rocked from behind to your ex-boyfriend, in which you screamed that your most intimate parts belong to another man. 

You’re not Virgin Mary. You’re Mary Magdalene. 

You don’t hear your pitiful crying fits, but Hobi does—and it is through his inhale of a trembling breath and his words that you perceive that you’re baring your ugliness to him. 

“Pup, what’s wrong? What happened? Why are you crying?” 

You squeeze your vape in your small fist, sensing those words doing something in you—something that untwists your tongue and lets you breathe like him, though in painful, quick staccatos. Your frail legs hurt, not able to withstand your tremor, and they give out. You fall onto your bum, the impact and the gravel shooting a spark of pain up your spine and you whimper, your tears soaking your neckline. 

“Hobi,” you call out, the last vowel breaking, teeth chattering, cacophonously. “I made a mistake. A terrible mi-mistake.”

He coos, sorrowfully, his loud breath still trembling—a strong rope nonetheless that you want to hold onto. That cord wouldn’t lead you to your death, wouldn’t scrape your hands with its harsh texture, wouldn’t be wrapped around a stone on the other end. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” he says and guides you to do it. You inhale the night air with him, feeling like there isn’t enough of it to appease your lungs, and you exhale. 

Somehow it halts the river of your cries and you do it again. Hobi lets you, patiently waiting on the other side, encouraging you and praising you. This time, it doesn’t sprinkle you with the sultriness of sin. No, you sense it cleansing you, giving you the kind of newness you stumbled across in his car this very morning. Your palm, the one that clutches your vape, opens and it rolls onto the ground. You grab it and when you wrap your fingers around it, you perceive that you do the motion around that newness. And your heart, your submission—they’re not letting up. Not again. Not when it’s him. 

“That’s it,” Hobi praises, a hint of calmness in his tone. “Can you try and tell me what happened?” 

You nod your head, even though he can’t see you, the newness gracing you with strength that spreads feeling into your legs and you stretch them out. Blood pumps in them and you can sense the direction it’s traveling to. You tighten your grip, open your mouth to talk. 

“I sent the video to the wrong person,” you utter, and along with your grip, your lungs tighten as well. No sobs escape you, no tears. Only gravely stillness, nothingness while your shame stands behind you, menacingly, a demon set out on destroying you, the curse upon your life a bracelet around its wrist, a knife in his hand, to which it’s attached. 

Hobi doesn’t say anything for a moment and you can sense his shock, its cold tendrils the ice that courses down your legs. An agony forms in your heart, stretches out an arm of regret and strikes against your ribcage, pangs of guilt and self-disgust seizing your body. 

“I’m so sorry, Hobi, I thought I sent it to you,” you continue, your voice splitting, though no external expression of it is evident on your countenance. It’s as if you were telling him the most ordinary of a thing. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, taking a puff of your vape. It is only now that you can taste its strawberry savoriness and it suffuses your lungs with a mockingly sweet, feigned fume. 

Hobi hears you exhale and you hear him swallow, dryly. An exchange, most redolent of the one you’ve done many times earlier. 

“What are you smoking?” he asks, and it catches you off guard. You didn’t expect him to yell at you, nor did you expect him to scold you. Truth be told, your fragile state of mind didn’t let you expect anything of him, any sort of outcome. Yet this question still surprises you. It flattens lukewarmness upon your skin and you feel like nuzzling your face into it, needing more of it. 

You take a deep breath. “I bought a strawberry vape. Scared the guy in the store with what I looked like.” 

Hobi laughs through his nose, barely. That’s the real sweetness you know. The original one, from God himself. “I’m sure he thought you were beautiful. Should I beat him up?” 

The same sound leaves you and lightness descends upon you. You welcome it in, without a fight, and the sigh you let out is of a serene kind, at last. “Not at all and besides, I almost did it myself. He asked for my ID.” 

Hobi coos, the endearment prolonging—wafting through your ear down your throat until it clings to your heart. You snivel, your inkling to nuzzle into the apparition of him lining your body growing bigger until you submit to it. You graze your cheek upon your arm, propping both of them onto your lifted knees. Feel his caress, but faintly. It should be enough, but it isn't. Could never be. 

You open your mouth again to tell him to come get you, despite the fight rising in you, but Hobi speaks first. 

“I don’t blame him that he did. You’re just my little pup. But my adult, little pup. I’ll talk to him.” You hear a shuffling in the background and your breath hitches in your throat, your heart joining it, ascending. “Where are you? I’m getting in my car.” 

Your mind, where the war is coming from, wins. That quickly. Reminds you that if you face him and tell him what you’ve done, you’ll ruin everything. Ruin the connection, ruin the affection he carries for you. 

You’re hasty as you scramble your words, but as your heart descends back into your ribcage, it throws you a lifeline. It all happens in an instant and distaste pools on your tongue from the rapidness of it all. You never liked it, and you never will. 

The lifeline of your new life, created by Hobi, changes your words, but leaves the intention untouched. 

“Can I tell you who I sent it to?” you ask, taking a puff to relax the electricity of your nerves. The strawberry flavor only heightens it, though. Out it must go, then. So you can forget about it the moment you see his face. 

The shuffling halts. “You can tell me in person,” Hobi says, lightly, but you shake your head. You know he means well. Know that he wants to reassure you with touch, but it’s a risk you can’t afford. Not when the wrong kind of neediness is at stake.

“I don’t want to talk about it when I see you,” you push, pursing your lips, finding them in a serious need of a chapstick. You begin to nibble on the flecks of skin that stick out. “I want to focus on you. I want to forget.” 

No ounce of a lie in your words, though your intention still remains hidden. Rightfully so—him leaving you because of the storm of your mental state and issues is another risk you don’t want to have staining your hands with blood. 

You hear him sit down. Hear him play with his keys—and the clanging sound is oddly comforting. “All right. Tell me, then.” 

“I sent it to someone from my past,” you start with great difficulty, pause afterwards because a light pours in from behind. The squeak of breaks, the impatient buzzing of a running car. Your mouth dries, your torso turns around. A silhouette exits the vehicle and as the person emerges from the darkness and steps into the bright lights that it’s emitting, the name that slips past your lips is more of an acknowledgement of his presence than a disclosure of information. “Jungkook.” 

Jungkook stops right behind you like the demon of your shame did, with his hands in his pocket. You don’t feel warmth radiating off of him. You feel coldness, a wintry coldness so akin to the one that troubled your body before Hobi called. He zeroes his gaze down on you, piercing your irises with a fury that causes the fine hair on the nape of your neck to rise, painfully. The muscles of his forearms are clenched, oscillating as he drums his fingers on his thighs in the cocoons of his pockets. Your breath trembles, terror prickling you profoundly until it cuts your skin open and you whimper—you whimper with a sob.

“Who’s Jungkook?” Hobi asks, softly, and you close your eyes to incarcerate your tears, curling your lips under your teeth, terribly fearful that Jungkook can hear him. 

Cursed, your life is.

He shows no sign that he does—merely burns with that fury, patiently waiting for you to end the call. Your heart stills, ache replacing it, and you think it’s been wounded so much that it can barely work anymore. 

More than ever, you feel like that Mary Magdalene, face to face with the devil that tempts her to return to her vomit like a dog. 

Hobi calls your name, panics, and it’s another lifeline—this time thrown over your torso by his own hands. You have to fight, you have to stand up to this hell and walk the fuck away from it. 

“Baby, I gotta go. Please, hurry. Please,” you pule, stressing the last pretty word to divulge to him how grave the situation is that you’re in. Hobi lets out a breath, lowly and shortly, and it’s such a relief that he understood your vague message, that you can hear him scurrying to his feet and that comforting sound of his keys clanging. 

“I’ll be there in a few, pup. Tell me where you are. Are you safe? Do you have your keys?” Hobi spews, massaging your heart with his care and there’s no ceaselessness to your tears. 

“Down the road, like less than a minute away from my apartment. And I don’t know. And yeah, they’re in my pocket.” 

A bang of his door closing. Jungkook begins to tap his foot. You scowl at him, despite your fear. He doesn’t stop. You withdraw your gaze.

Hobi’s breath quickens. “Pull them out and use them when you need to, okay? Have them ready in your hand.” You nod, doing exactly as he says, without a thought spared. “Walk to your apartment building, I’ll meet you there. You got your keys in your hand?”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay, pup, I’ll be there soon. Do you want to stay on the phone with me?” 

You do, but you can’t. 

“I’ll go to my apartment now, Hobi. Thank you.” 

You don’t allow yourself to hear what he says next. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you hang up with a heavy heart. Your sudden, miserable aloneness enfolds around you, rigidly. But not as rigidly as Jungkook’s cold hand around your arm. 

The heaviness in your heart grows as its drum speeds up. 

“Get up,” Jungkook grunts, hauling you up onto your feet, awkwardly, causing you to drop your vape onto the gravel with the strength and hastiness he uses to do it with.

You stumble before you catch your balance and Jungkook doesn’t let go of his deathly grip on you until you do. Then, before your blurring sight, he bends at the waist and picks up your lung burner, skimming his eyes over it. Hands it to you with a scoff, his touch icy cold as he grabs your wrist and places it onto your palm. You sob, with ugliness that scars you, with such intensity that Jungkook’s narrowed eyes round and you pull your gaze away. You don’t want to see it. Tug your arm away from him, rubbing your wrist to get rid of the ghost of his fingers there, disgust flooding your bloodstream underneath. 

And even though he seemingly softened at your tears, it’s gone as quickly as it arrived. It didn’t touch his fury, not at all. 

“Baby, huh?” he seethes with gritted teeth, letting go of you so harshly that you almost stumble again. “Your pussy is his, huh?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, rivulets of tears rolling down your cheeks, pain compressing your entire body. It’s at this moment that you will death to take you somewhere far, far away from him, because you’re too frozen on the spot to run away. 

“You’re covered in hickeys and you’re smoking that shit again. Was it really that good? Did he fuck you so good that you had to send it to me in spite? Did he fuck you better than I ever did?” 

Your sobs gain that same agony that prevents your lungs from inhaling. And when you open your eyes, all you can look at is your shadow and his, yours blackened so much that it digs a hole in the gravel, his furling with flames. 

And along with death, you will a little strength into your anguish. 

And most unbelievably, it slinks in, and your following words come as much of a surprise to you as to him. 

“Stop.”

His shadow stills, his tremor following suit. 

“You have no business talking to me this way,” you continue, your throat constringing, and you take a big puff of your vape—to spite him rightfully this time. It loosens the tightness and you open your mouth, not finished with your outpour. 

But Jungkook stops you. 

“I have no business? You crushed my fucking heart.” 

Your head whips and the sight of him causes your pain to rise in levels. Palms outstretched towards you, his posture slouches and the breaths he lets out are wretched, the sound of a tumultuous sea at night. One would think he’s the one being inflicted great emotional violence on, not the other way around. 

Jungkook raises a finger to his heart, licking his lips before he flattens them, as if the utterance of something so private, so fervent took all of his strength. He pants and you know it’s due to the fact that he can’t catch up to the thoughts rushing in his brain. And you wish you didn’t. You wish you didn’t know him so intimately. 

“This fucking heart has never stopped being yours,” he confesses and cringes at his choice of words, triggered. Your stream of anguish is silent as you take them in. “And you crushed it. Ruined it.”

There was a time, one that used to be nearly endless during those weeks in August you spent at the beach, healing from the breakup, when you longed to hear that confession. Prayed for it. Sough it when you grazed your fingertips along the sand. And now that it’s here—now that you’re tasting something so great, greater than your entire being, something so burnt as he voiced out your tendency to cause ruination—you wish you never heard it. Wish you never had the ears that carried that message to you. 

And there’s nothing you can do. Not as darkness swallows you, confiscating any bit of strength you had left. Your eyes sting from their downpour, face features droop. Your pain is an enormous stone and you can’t carry it. You can only chase away the heft. And you do—you take a puff of your vape. 

One that he rips from your mouth and throws it out in the bin, preventing you from doing so. You don’t yelp, you don’t claw at his arm—you merely watch him rid you of your only salvation for the night, watch him exert his power over you all over again, bursting your indignation into flames. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you ask, your voice deathly, uncannily placid, carrying no tendril of the offense and anger you feel. Adrenaline courses through you, asking to be let out. 

And you just might. 

Jungkook turns around and spits on the ground. “Don’t smoke that shit.” 

It’s not hurt, what the expression of his arrogance produced. It unlocked the door, which kept your adrenaline and your darkened emotions at bay, invited them out. 

And so you lash out, using that freedom. 

You slap him. 

And he takes it. Without moving an inch. Still as a grand statue. You yearn to demolish it to smithereens, so you can never see him again, and you strike at his chest with your keys in between your fingers, pushing him. Affected from the force, it causes him to unwillingly take a step back and it feels fucking glorious until you catch stars flash in his eyes. 

“You’re hitting me because I threw out your fucking vape?” he asks, his voice coated with a dark bitterness that deepens it. His brows furrow, grimness casting a shadow over his face, hiding the glitter of the stars. “I’m laying my heart out to you. I’m here in the middle of the night because of you and this is what you care about? This fucking thing that harms you is more dear to you?” 

You push him again, fuming. Jungkook grits his teeth, takes your wrists and holds them in the air. You fight against it, but he won’t budge. Tightens his grip. And you’re a bird, locked in a cage—but you still have your voice. 

“I’m hitting you because I hate you,” you mutter, burning him with the vapor of your anger through your narrowed eyes. “I’m hitting you because I hate the way you think you’re still entitled to have a say in my life. And it doesn’t even matter whether I have a man or not. You let me go and the moment you did that, your control over my life? It went fucking bye bye.” 

You let him forbid you from smoking in the past. Needed it at the time, needed a father’s hand—and you liked it because you never had it. Never had a male care about you, about your health, about your actions. Your father never spared you a glance, never gave a fuck about you. He always had your mother handle you, blaming her for the way she raised you. 

But during those weeks you healed, being alone by the sea helped you unattach yourself from that, from needing Jungkook to tell you what’s right and what’s not. The moon doesn’t tell the sea which shells to wash up onto the shore—it does it by itself, handpicks them, makes the decision. And the more time you watched it deliver it to you and you collected them with gladness, the more you understood it. 

You’re never letting him have that power over you again. You’re your own person, carrying an armful of your right and wrong decisions—your own possessions. And so you will smoke if you want to. You will bring a man home on the first date. You will fall in love. And you will speak up. 

You twist your wrists, unrelentingly, until he lets go. You will win, not your mind, not your heart. The raw, brutal, unabashed you. 

You take a step back away from him, feel your blood rushing to the places of your body parts that he held, quick to recover them. “You don’t get to dictate my life anymore. You have no place in it. You didn’t have it then when I was by myself, and you most certainly don’t have it now.”

Jungkook takes in your words with a parted mouth, a red mark forming over his cheek, the light shunned from his eyes. The glorious feeling returns, blooming thin, translucent tissues of happiness in you. 

“Hoseok is his name, isn’t it?” he chunters, placing his hands back into the cocoons of his pockets, tilting his head to the side. 

Hearing him say his name is a taste of spoiled milk and bile springs up your throat, your guts longing to empty themselves out. You stifle it, you have to, clutching your stomach, feeling so horribly faint. Your hatred for him blossoms like that poison ivy you dealt with earlier in the morning. 

“Keep his name out of your mouth,” you spit, scowling at him, clutching your stomach harder—just like Hobi did when you brought him home. A sliver of nostalgia forces you to look behind you, in case you catch a glance of his car, but the street remains empty and sullen. 

“You can hate me as much as you want,” Jungkook mutters, his words swiveling your head back to face him, and your guts ripple. “Yell at me. Hit me. But don’t send me videos of you getting fucked. That’s not fucking right.” 

You bare your teeth, seething. “I made a mistake.” 

Jungkook nods. “Yes,” he hushes. “Yes, you did.” 

You shake your head. “No, you don’t understand.” Confusion pinches his brows, creating a wrinkle in the middle and he lets you continue. You lick your lips, your face dry from the way your tears have seeped inside. “I thought I sent it to Hobi. I was too tired, I didn’t see. I didn’t do it on purpose.” 

Jungkook scoffs, running his tongue over his bottom lip swiftly, mimicking you. “Don’t fucking lie to me, little girl.” 

You mewl, painfully, at the pet name. It’s as if he sank a dagger in the middle of your sternum. Weariness descends upon you and you rub your eyes, wishing you had your strawberry vape, your salvation, in your fist. And you find no traces of any grit, any determination to convince him that you’re being truthful to him. 

You turn around halfway. “Go home.” 

Jungkook opens his mouth, but the squeaking sound of brakes causes him to close it right away. You know it’s Hobi and the knowledge is more satisfying than the dose of chemicals Jungkook threw out. Relief washes over you, bringing along lightness and something that is kindred to joy. You don’t care that Hobi is about to see your ex-boyfriend. You don’t care about anything at all—you’re just so grateful that he’s here. And you’re willing to let go of your walls, of your war that you tend to be so submissive to. You’re willing to let yourself go and let Hobi take you, handle you, take care of you. 

You need it. As much as it pains you, you need him after this encounter with Jungkook. 

And when Hobi calls your name and you pivot on your feet to watch him walk, hurriedly, to you, your legs do give out after all. Because he’s caked in blood, a trickle of it flecked and dried on his brow, illuminated by Jungkook’s headlights. You land, awkwardly, on your bum and your wrist, wincing in pain, but it’s not his hands that lift you. 

It’s a pair of hands that you know to be cold and, despising the sting of it, you shriek, pushing him away. The motion leads you to stagger into Hobi’s arm that he opens for you, his chaste, feathery touch grounding you, giving you the sense of home, even when the look he gives Jungkook is anything but warm and friendly. 

“Hobi, what happened? Are you okay?” 

You take his shiny, sweaty face into your hand. Your eyes could fall out of their sockets due to how beautiful he is, even bloodied, alarmed and bestial. You need to know what happened. Need to clean him up. Take him home. 

But Hobi doesn’t answer you. Doesn’t look your way, only acknowledges you with his scalding touch. Stares down your ex-boyfriend with such contempt that you’re surprised the man is still standing. 

You’re so pulled in, so focused on him and his unwavering expression of detestation, which flatters you and soothes you, that you don’t notice that Jungkook is leaving. Hobi snaps his fingers at him and beckons him to come back. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Hobi barks, his fingers lowering and hooking around the middle belt loop of your jeans. 

Jungkook returns to that space of light, the black tank top he’s wearing making it seem like he’s hollow on the inside. Perhaps he is, he did hand over his heart. Wasn’t affected by your fragile state of mind, by your tears. Wounded you to the point that you will take days to recover. Only a person of complete nothingness would be able to do that. 

“I saw you at the museum,” Hobi continues, brows wrinkled. “Who the fuck are you?” 

You should speak. You should take this elsewhere, but you can’t. Not when you feel so small, like a little girl hiding behind the leg of her father who’s dealing with the boogeyman. And you’re reminded that this has happened before. 

Only the roles were reversed. 

In the wine-tinged room this morning while you were confronting Jungkook and his companion found him. She asked the same question, though the hostility she showed you could never be compared to Hobi’s unkindness. He emanates respect while she’s a condensation of insecurity. 

“I see you’re the Daddy from the video,” Jungkook laughs, humorlessly, dipping his chin before he lifts it in a very evident effort to reach not only Hobi’s height but his supremacy as well. He will always wish to overpower—it’s in his nature. “Trust me, you’re not the only one she called Daddy. Long before you came along, it was all I heard from her—”

You blink and Jungkook’s face is in Hobi’s hand. 

You gasp. You’re a witness to Hobi protecting your dignity as he squeezes his cheeks until Jungkook moans, pathetically, in pain. And all you can think about is how long he had that coming. For throwing out your vape, for his arrogance and now for the way that he spoke about you.

You don’t feel a slither of pity for him. 

No—your joy, fully, forms. 

“If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I won’t hesitate to unable to you talk,” Hobi says with concerning seriousness and you shiver, grazing your fingertips along your collarbones after you fold your arms over your chest, touched, flattered, loved. A line of tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, but you hold them back. You don’t want to cry anymore—you’re sick of it. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” 

Jungkook’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t say anything. Hobi waggles him before he lets him go and you swear you caught a tinge of whiteness scattering along his knuckles. Your mouth dries. 

“Now you’re dismissed,” Hobi finishes, turning around and grabbing your hand, tugging you back home. 

Your legs follow him, but your vision doesn’t. It remains fixed on Jungkook, on his heaving chest, on his reddened cheeks, embossed with Hobi’s fingerprints and the lines of your hand. His eyes are smothered with stars, a skyful of them, ones that expand until there’s no darkness left. 

And you’re witness to regret taking shape in them. 

And something about that tells you that this isn’t the last time you see him. 

Hobi had been in a car accident on his way to rescue you. He tells you of it as you’re cleaning him up with a lukewarm, wet cloth and your arm gets stuck in the air, unable to move, as you comprehend the life-threatening danger he underwent because of you. Another driver bumped him from the back while he was slowing down at the yellow light, wanted to race on the almost empty highway. Was under the influence, Hobi found out when he stepped out of his vehicle to grapple with him. Deemed it wasn’t worth it, especially when time was pressing down on him, and with a little manipulation and an installment of fear, the silly guy agreed to pay for everything and Hobi got his number. 

You wonder at how he managed to get back inside his car and drive when he hit his head on the steering wheel. You worry that he has a concussion. Suggest to take him to a hospital, but Hobi only shakes his head, reassures you he’s fine and once you completely clean the blood off of his brow, you can see a thin but bulbous scratch right beneath the fine hair, surrounded by violets and pinks. A different bruise from the ones bestrewn over his body from your mouth. 

Your heart aches. This is all your fault, the repercussion of your neediness, the finished work of your ruination. 

You grow solemn, your features drooping again, but Hobi isn’t blind to it. Cups your chin, lifts it, fondles it with his thumb. Pouts ever so slightly. Why is it a relief that you feel bursting in your chest amidst your lingering pain is something you can’t really understand. 

But he’s God. No wonder he’s able to mount such strangeness in you and make it work. 

“Did he hurt you?” Hobi whispers, cradling your other hand on your lap. He’s sat in your armchair, with you on his thighs, in the very corner of your dark living room, lit up coolly and solely by your antique lampshade. It’s where you read your poetry, where you recite it to nobody else but you, where you recharge your battery when your world exhausts you. The fact that Hobi chose to sit here instead of your couch speaks volumes, has a great meaning that you’re too weary to decipher and romanticize, but you like it. A lot. To the point that you’re comfortable enough to answer his question, despite the fact you looked forward to Jungkook’s absence in your alone time with Hobi.

“The way he spoke about me was the same way he talked to me,” you say, your voice coated with milky sadness. Your eyes instinctively drop to his hand holding yours, to his fist wrapped around your fingers. “He didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t send it to him on purpose.” 

Brusqueness clouds his eyes, but he remains gentle with you. “You don’t have to care about what he thinks, whether he believes you or not. You don’t have to prove anything to him. Your one word is enough,” Hobi says, drifting his hand down your arm until it winds up at his other one intertwined with yours and you sob, tearlessly. It’s precisely what you needed to hear without knowing it, the final touch to the closing chapter that had so abruptly opened. You carry it into your minuscule heart, sinking it there, letting it permeate its entirety, and you nod your head. “Did he hurt you physically?” 

You lay yourself down on his chest, on his bloodstained blue shirt, on his heart that you missed and Hobi locks you in, taking his hands and wrapping them around your form. You could fall asleep like this, forget and become the happiest girl in the world. 

“Not that much.” 

His heart quickens and you regret your words. 

“What do you mean not that much?” 

You’re quick to fix your mistake, not thinking it through. 

“He was rough with me. My legs gave out on me before he came. He found me on the ground and he lifted me up. Then held my wrists when I hit him—”

“You hit him?” 

You stammer, jumbling your words, deciding on just one. “Yeah.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, squeezing your arm, and this is the death you longed for. 

Never in your life had you ever experienced praise from a man in a non-sexual context and not gotten lustfully affected by it. The purity, the newness is so healing, so consequential that you can’t help but to stroke his clothed ribs in side to side motion, in appreciation and even a faint smile of fondness curls your lips, one that Hobi can very well see from above. He caresses the trace of it while it is still there, causing your smile to blossom, and you sense the orchard in you gaining life. 

“You went through so much emotional suffering today and yet you’re still able to smile. All because I praised you. You react so beautifully to it,” Hobi comments and you blush, his thumb skipping over to it, giving it the same attention, collecting it like keepsakes. You’d wonder at it, too, if you haven’t already acknowledged yourself, intimately, with his sovereign power of erasing past events. 

And you tell him, peeling your torso off of his chest. 

“It’s your doing. You make me forget about everything when I’m with you. It’s like it never happened at all. I don’t know how you do it.” 

Hobi smiles, the corners of his glimmering eyes crinkling. “If it’s my doing, then it’s yours, too. You should know how you do it.” 

You soften into liquid and it’s your heart that quietly weeps now. “You remember the poem.” 

He nods, gliding his hand up and down your side. “How could I not? It’s all I can hear in my mind. I kept hearing it on my way home and then on my way back to you.” 

That alone takes the unfateful events of the night  off of you like a layer of clothing, dressing you in strength. You need a giant puff of your vape, just to recuperate from being drowned in the sea of your past longing for this. And you reach into the pocket of your jeans, only to be reminded of what happened to it. 

It feels like a distant memory. So much had occurred that it slipped from your mind. You frown. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You purse your lips. “I thought I still had my vape.” 

“You don’t?” 

You shake your head. “He threw it out.” 

Hobi seems as offended by the information as you were when you watched it happen. And as much as you bonded over your sexual desires, the same connection clicks over this. 

“He’s such a dick. Let’s get you a new one.” 

He pats your bum and then you’re on your feet, tugged back outside, with a smile quivering your lips. And this time you follow him with your vision, too. Your eyes sail over his strong imaginary wings, on which the pink dominates the black, and you feel your own being upheaved, slowly gaining the vigor that they lost. 

And Hobi scares the spectacled boy in the convenience store. Not with his stained shirt, but with the way he provokes embarrassment in him by asking him if he wants to see his ID as well, staying true to the words he said to you over the phone. The boy didn’t even so much as peek at you, too afraid to do so. 

It made you laugh. 

Hobi double checked with you if it were the strawberry flavor that you wanted, and you changed your mind. Picked the blackberry one because you never had it before. Could use another dose of newness. 

He opens the packaging with you, struggling at first, but then he immediately uses his teeth. You smile so hard that your cheeks hurt. 

Smile even as he places it between your lips, but you can’t take a puff, can’t drop the presence of your happiness, even when he encourages you. That is until he inhales it first—you’re so struck by the beauty of it, of him that the muscles in your face let up. The smoke twirls around the feathers of his wings, adding just the right amount of white into its art, and you yearn to fall asleep on them. 

“Can you stay over tonight?” 

“Only if you take a puff.” 

He carves it between your lips and this time, as you’re so mesmerized by him, you wrap your lips around it and suck; suck in that heady, hefty, colorful flavor that pools warmly in your throat, blowing the smoke around his neck while he kisses your forehead. Takes you back inside. Dresses you in your pajamas. Lets you smoke in bed with his wings swaddling you and your little childhood bows-adorned bunny plushie. Lets you put the vape in his mouth as he strokes your hair. 

The night birds begin to sing and into their song your phone dings. You know who it is long before you prove yourself right. 

But it’s not a text message that disturbed their music. 

Jungkook sent you a picture. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist | READ part one | READ part two

[melanieph321]

10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 4)

Kenan Yildiz x Reader - Deal Breaker Part 2/3

18+

PART 1 PART 3

Summary - Reader meets Kenan during dinner at her house.

Enjoy! 🤭

Dinner went accordingly, with your dad and the investor conversating vigorously over empty plates.

You made the motion to get up and help your mother clear the table ahead of the dessert, but to this, you were immediately sat back down with a stern glare. Your mother made it very clear that she wanted you to continue entertaining the investors' son. Kenan was his name.

What you had gathered about him from what had been said around the dinner table, was that the two of you were almost the same age, Kenan surpassing you by two years. He also played professional football, which was pretty cool for anyone growing up in Italy. Except Kenan didn't grow up in Italy. Because of his father's job, his family constantly travled the world. Kenan has played football for teams all over Europe, and on top of that, he was more than easy on the eyes. At least that's what your mind gathred after two glasses of red wine.

Your parents often let you drink during these dinners. Perhaps because they knew how tormenting it was for you to keep up an act in the same way that they did.

"So, Kenan...?" You smiled, alerting the boy's attention, drawing it away from the deal that was going on between his dad and yours. He was happily surprised to be addressed by you. "Care for a tour of the house?" You suggested.

"Sure." He nodded.

It may have seem like a kind gesture of you. However, you were simply following a script. Your dad's twitching leg told you that he was about to close the deal with the investor. Hence, your cue to remove any distractions from the table. The distraction being you and Kenan.

You only gave him a brief tour of the house. The red wine left you too drowsy to give him the full experience of your arrogantly large home.

"And this is our dining room upstairs." You told him, as the two of you lingered in the door frame. "We rarely eat in here, but as a child, my friends and I would throw sheets over the table and make this room our own imaginary camp ground."

"How sweet." Kenan smiled, his eyes as piercing as his father's. He didn't quite smile with his lips, but with a combination of his lips and eyes, which slightly intimidated you.

"Shall we return downstairs?" You said, shutting the door behind you. The two of you were left standing in the hallway with a path of closed doors, making up the way towards the stairs.

"What about your bedroom?"

"M...my bedroom?" You swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. "You want to see my bedroom, right now?"

"If you have one," Kenan grinned, a grin that reminded you of Marco. It was mischievous and daring. Ultimately, the sexiest grin that you had ever come across. Perhaps that's what made you do it, seeing as Kenan was obviously your type. You were obviously his type, too, by the way his lips clinged to your neck as soon as the two of you were confined inside of your bedroom.

"Slow down." You gasped.

Kenan raised his head, his hair tousled from your hands. "Why?"

Your eyes widened, your body pressed to the door. "Well, you don't want our parents to hear us, do you?"

He grinned. "Baby, you're the only one of us making noises."

You gasped. But before you could throw back an equal degrading insult, Kenan found a way to shut you up himself, sticking his tongue into your mouth.

You made out against the door, occasionally banging on the wood as Kenan's legs between your thighs jerked you upwards, his hips thrusting against yours.

Things were getting heated, quickly, and by the time you sat on top of him on the bed, the two of you had managed to strip yourself of your clothes, leaving the two of you to stare at each other in only your underwear.

"Do you have condoms?" Kenan asked, his hands squeezing your hips.

"No. Do you?"

"No."

"Great. Then I guess this is as far as it goes." You made the montion to get off of him. However, Kenan's grip around your waist tightened, his piercing gaze looking up at you. "Stay. I like you on top of me."

You chuckled, but made a grind of your hips to please the bulge in his underwear that teased your clit.

"Mmmm. Just like that." Kenan purred.

You continued to move against him, the pleasure it gave you potentially building up for an orgasm. Kenan, however, wasn't kidding when he said that he liked having you on top of him. His groping hands went under the lace of your bra, cupping your breasts in his palms as you moaned and groaned with the sensation.

"That's it baby, finish for me."

"I'm.....I'm...."

"Come for me baby. Come for me hard."

You grinded your hips against his dick with a burning force. It would be your first time coming in this way. Marco would've never watched on while you reached your climax without him. Kenan, however, took pleasure in seeing you lose your mind on top of him. How you spirald from a class act as a faultless daughter to a promiscuous and reckless deal breaker.

"Fuck." You groand, regret washing over you along with the shame. Kenan, on the other hand chuckled against your neck.

You lay slumped down on top of him, his hard dick still twitching between your legs. Somewhere under a pillow, your phone vibrated.

"Aren't you gonna get that, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me that." You snorted and pushed off of Kenan to lay on your back beside him. You searched for your phone and didn't bother to see who the caller was as you picked up. "Hello?"

"Y/N, it's me." Tati's voice sparked through the other end.

"I know." You muttered, judging by the hour.

"I'm outside, where are you?"

"Not coming. We've been over this, Tati."

"Dammit, Y/N. Arctic Monkeys. Say it with me. Arctic. Monkeys."

A grin spread on your lips. Her persistence was indeed admirable.

"Please, Y/N, if you don't want to go because of Marco. Please go because of me, your best friend."

"Are you trying to reverse psychology me?"

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Ugh! You are unbelievable."

You laughed, for a second forgetting that you weren't alone.

Kenan had gone to pull his pants back up, the bulge no longer visible. He watched you where you lay on the bed, half naked with a phone pressed to your ear.

"Erm....Tati, I've got to go."

"Thirty minutes." She said. "I'll wait for thirty minutes and then I'm heading for the concert by myself."

"Have fun. " You cheered and hung up the phone.

There was an akward pause between you and Kenan as the memories of your previous occupation dawned on you. Nevertheless, Kenan was the first one to break the silence.

"I think the desserts ready."

"Right, fuck."

You jumped out of bed and rushed to put your clothes on. As you scrambled for your things like an escort in Vegas, Kenan took the liberty to interrogate you about the phone call you just took. "Was that your friend on the phone?"

"Jupp, my best friend. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it sounded like she wanted you to meet her outside."

You paused, your dress halfway pulled up to your stomach. You regarded Kenan in the same way he regarded you, curiosuly, slightly tempted. "Haven't your mother told you how rude it is to eavesdrop?"

"My mother is dead."

"Oh."

You batted your eyes at him. Baffled.

"Forgive me, I had no idea."

"That's because I didn't tell you." He grinned.

"Is that funny to you, making people feel akward about your dead mother?"

"A little." He shrugged.

You scoffed and continued to put on your dress. The blue ribbon for your hair had been ripped off and tossed into a corner somewhere. You had to come up with a lie as to why you took it off. Perhaps that the draft on your shoulders was getting a bit cold.

"So what does she want?" Kenan asked, his eyes never leaving yours as he watched you get dressed. What a dick he turned out to be.

"Who?" You frowned.

"Your friend."

"Oh." You didn't feel like explaining, but didn't so anyways. "Well, she got us tickets to see this band, Arctic Monkeys, they're called. They have a show playing here in Turin tonight."

"Cool."

"Yeah. However, I'm not going."

"Why not?" Kenan watched you struggle to zip up your dress, stepping up to help you himself.

You turned around, a bit surprised by his kind gesture, wondering if the bad boy, good son, was all included in his act. The same act that everyone in this house was taking part in tonight.

"My ex is going to be there, and I don't want to see him." You admitted, just as Kenan finished zipping you up.

He chuckled in response. "Well, that's stupid."

You turned around and noted the smug look on his face, and just as you were about to give him a piece of your mind about guys like him, a knock on the door interrupted you.

"Kid's, desserts ready!" Your mother squealed.

You looked to Kenan, and he looked to you, the glance you shared laced with amusment.

"I guess that's our cue." He grinned and grabbed your hand before reaching for the door.

PART 1 PART 3

DON'T MISS - 10 DAYS OF REQUESTS

(DAY 1)

(DAY 2)

(DAY 3)

[zoros-bandana]

Hi there :)

Since you ask me to think about another request, may I have a Zoro with his female s/O having some time together away from the crew? They are in a not so secret relationship, since everyone noticed how they act to each other, but they're still trying to keep it a secret.

It might be a little suggestive if you want/can, but s/o isn't in a smuty mood since she mostly just want the quality time she can't have with her boyfriend on the Sunny.

Thank you ☺️

Love u 💚

(*sanji voice* “gaby-sWan!!!” 😍😍😍) My dearest angel hello I'm so glad to finally do a request for you! (I hope this request isn't too boring for you I was after a really like soft and chill almost sleepy vibe. I will also get to doing the other request once I have caught up to that part) I truely love seeing your icon pop up in my notifications it truely makes my day. Love you sweetest 💚

Alone

SFW

Zoro x fem reader

Warning: slight suggestive touching, suggestive themes

Summary: wishing to usher your boyfriend for some alone time, you meet him in the quiet of the aquarium bar, soaking up the little time of remaining day.

Word Count: 1,300

"What took you so long?"

You huffed at Zoro's tone, shutting the door to the aquarium bar, leaning against the cold wood. Your head pounded in agony, exhausted from defending yourself against your friends in a bid to escape their brutal attacks and questions.

"I got cornered" you admitted, blinking slowly as you opened your eyes. Looking down you met the eye of Zoro, an all but empty mug of beer gripped firmly in his hand. He had made no attempt to come to you, comfortably situated in a slump that arched him to look smaller than he was.

"Was it curly brow this time?"

You nodded. "And Nami"

Using the door as a lever you rocked forward, finally taking a step towards your partner. Your movements dragged, slowing your steps in hopes to exaggerate your feelings. "They wanted to know why you had your arm around me at dinner"

Zoro lazily sat back up, spreading himself out. He chugged down the remaining bitters of beer before setting the mug aside, tapping his lap for you to sit upon.

"Tell 'em it was because I needed the space"

"I did" you confessed, flopping into Zoro's lap. "I don't think they were overly convinced, though"

"Well, that doesn't matter. You're here now" Zoro reached around your waist, guiding your body to turn, facing towards the aquarium to your left. You let your head fall to his chest, once again shutting your eyes, the sound of his breathing soothing you instantly. Keeping you close his hand squeezed comfortably, falling back into the chair to recline.

His left hand found its way to your legs, drawing aimlessly over your skin in swirling patterns, almost grounding himself. There were very few occasions where you could be alone together, the feeling almost strange and overly quiet. The rest of the crew would stay above ship after dinner, occupied by various group activities and stories, however, tonight felt different. You craved being with Zoro.

Your friends' voices rung overhead, laughter, and the sound of clattered footsteps led by your captain no doubt. You had exchanged a small whisper to Zoro before dinner of your plan, using tonight as an excuse to have him alone; taking as much of him as you could.

A lingering fear would often cloud your head of his disappearances, knowing how vigorous Zoro could lose himself into training, unsure just how much time you would spend with him that day. You never wished to keep your relationship a secret, and for the most part it wasn't, but the overbearing nature of your friends played a role in how reserved Zoro was; especially with his feelings for you. It was easier to tiptoe around the blatant proposal of an overly affectionate and love-struck couple than face endless teasing from your friends. You both craved one another, and found, as much as you wished to fight it, being apart made you crave these moments more.

Zoro bowed his head down, nuzzling into your hair with a long inhale. He groaned quietly, letting your scent be absorbed fully as if to remember you. "Mmm, you smell so good"

"You would too if you took a shower more often"

"Maybe if you joined me?" Zoro teased without skipping a beat. His hand wondered up, tucking under the hem of your skirt to rest at your upper thigh. The pad of his thumb ran over your skin, fanning in to pick at the edge of your panties.

The contact made you snap your head up, meeting the smug look on Zoro's face. His lips were cracked into a smirk, tipping higher on one side than the other. The grey in his eye was clouded with lust making it hard to determine whether he was serious or pulling your bluff.

"Fine" you shrugged, playing along. "But I bet you wouldn't last five minutes crammed in there with me"

"Crammed?" Zoro laughed, a melodious and heavy tune. "Oh, baby you're sized like a bug next to me. I think you're the one that will struggle"

"But what happens..." you lifted your hand to mimic the action of turning a tap. "When I set the temperature to the hotter side"

Zoro shuttered, recognising your love for hot showers as a searing burn over his back. "Mmm, fine you win"

Letting his hand come away from under your skirt, Zoro retracted himself from advancing on you, reaching instead around your back. His hands moved you to face him, spinning you to squat your legs over his, keeping you as close to him as he could manage. He smiled at your small chuckle, amused by your voiced pleasure of victory.

His body was warm, soft, towering around you like a fortress. Being with him like this, so vulnerable and kind, you felt like you were the only two alive. It was clear in moments lie this how much he cared for you - loves you - willing to keep you safe and grounded in the storm of your life. He was no longer stiff and irritated as he appeared with the crew, easing into a life with you that make him seem relaxed, almost as if the life he knew before you was a distant dream.

Unable to control himself Zoro bent down, his movements too quick for you to process. In a heated rush his lips collected you in a kiss, his arms wrapping tighter to pull you up to him. Even though his lips were dry and cracked, there held a balance in the way he moved, completing you.

He tasted sharp, bitters of beer mixed against the sides of his mouth, curling into a lopsided grin as he felt you. There was still a hint of clumsiness to his kiss, familiarising himself with affection he was deprived of for so long. The edge of his tongue would scuff your lip, hesitant to explore anything beyond surface level, already so comforted by how your lips hugged him back.

"I'm so happy with you" his lips grazed softly, tickling your skin as he moved to your ear. His voice was low and raspy, whispering as if someone was close by, unwilling to interrupt a small moment.

His fingers found the hem of your shirt, tucking under the fabric to brace your skin. The heat on the pads of his hardened fingers moved you to fold with his body, embracing yourselves to become one. Your arms whipped around his neck, holding tight, letting his face linger in the crook of your neck. "I'm happy with you, too"

Zoro was silent to that, taking in everything he felt in that moment. He was at peace, so happy, he hardly realised the weightless effect of the alcohol that burned his throat earlier in the day. He wanted to stay here, like this, soaking you up in the most pure and simplest form. He adored the slight patter of water as it sloshed too the left of you, tangling dances of fish that weaved through the water. The slight bow in the ship as it motioned over the waves, creaking like an old friend retelling stories of the past. The way you felt in his arms, your heart over his, beating at a steady pace. How your hair tickled his skin, leaving notes of you that would last longer than this moment; but he didn't care.

For right now, all he wanted with this with you.

"Promise me nothing will change with us, Y/n" Zoro requested, letting your voice mumble back in inaudible grunts. He could feel the pressure of his feelings fading, understanding how important he was to you as much as you were to him. He didn't need to hide behind his glass walls, turning over the bitterness he had for others. It was you after all that made him complete, deeply and truely fulfilled with the life he feared would never happen.

"I love you too much for that"

[devilandacat]

The Things You Do To Me

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut

word count: 821

i cannot stop thinking about jesse.. it's so bad.. ALSO!! i need more jesse shit in my life so here's this

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:··:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

You and Jesse had been apart for a few weeks. Touring along with his band had taken a lot of his priorities, causing you to be stuck at home alone. You would often plan accordingly with his tour dates in order to go visit him, but with where this part of the tour was taking place it just wasn't possible. 

He had finally made it to the shared home his bandmates had found to stay while they were away and placed his bags down in the room he chose. He was exhausted from today's shows, so after his shower he shot you a quick "I miss you" text, and plopped himself on the bed. His screen lit up with a mirrored response before it began to ring.

He picked it up and was greeted with that voice he missed oh so much, that voice that immediately made all the stress of his day wash away. You began to explain all the shit that's happened throughout your time spent alone, when he happened to glance at the bottom of his screen, where it briefly showed the sweatshirt you were in. It just so happened to be one of his that you slipped onto your side of the closet a week prior to him leaving.

Something about the way you looked tonight had him missing you more than usual, especially after an accidental pan down to reveal the sweatshirt was in fact all you were wearing. He became restless as his mind began to fill with thoughts of what the rest of you looked like. There was a silent, sharp exhale that whispered out of him as he tried shifting positions to keep himself in check, but it was no use as he found himself palming the bulge that had been forming just below his briefs.

After hours of being occupied with the rambling of your day, you hadn't seemed to take notice of his desperate attempts to keep cool, so the minute he found the opportunity to explain he was “just tired from work”, you shared your goodnights and hung up the phone. 

He clicked it off and tossed it to the side of his bed while the view of you in nothing but his sweatshirt danced through his mind, as he carelessly dragged his hand down until it reached the waistband of his boxers. It only required a slight tug before his dick popped out with a slight slap on his stomach. 

He leisurely wrapped his hand around it while concurrently swiping up the bead of precum that had started to leak down the side with his thumb and rubbing it around the tip. A grunt began to rumble erupt from his throat as he started to slowly pump his hand along the length, before picking up speed, causing his eyes to shut.

The dark behind his lids soon formed into the shape of your body before leaving him to the sight of your bare bottom half to race through his head. He was so lost in thought that the ding of his phone had him jolt a little, and with a low grumble of annoyance he turned and picked it up.

With one quick glance, he immediately recognized the name as yours and fumbled with his passcode. He stared at the screen, his mouth slightly parting as he began to stroke his cock at a more vigorous pace. You had sent him a photo of yourself, and it wasn't just the fact that you were in it, it was the fact that you were positioned in a way to let him see your bottom half once again, just this time with nothing on. 

He bit his lip hard as he tried to silence the sounds that so desperately tried growling their way out, while his phone soon rested on his hip allowing him to simultaneously view you and himself. 

The way your legs were pressed together showed just how perfectly your body curved around its structure, and he could only imagine just how good you would feel around him.

He felt himself get painfully closer to finishing as he rubbed deliciously fast, filling the room with low grunts and sticky clicks.

Phone still being held in a tight grip, it took just a few more pumps until his mind went blank as he threw his head back, long curls sticking to his neck. After mere seconds, he felt a hot liquid begin to slide down his hand and seep beneath his fingers as he slowed his strokes.

He steadied his breaths as he lifted his phone back up to his face, soaking in the photo of you that was still displayed across his screen, before opening his camera and situating it so he could get a full capture of the mess he just made.

He sent it accompanied with a text that simply read "the things you do to me".

[chaoxfix]

Silver 35? :]

here ya go!

///

The day is saved, Sonic’s friends are all safe, Eggman’s retreated, the rubble is being cleared, and the sun is even coming back out. All in all, a 10/10 adventure, if Sonic does say so himself. 

He thinks so, anyways, until he spots Silver slumped over against a chunk of concrete. 

Alarmed, Sonic skids to a stop and whips a u-turn. 

“Silver!” he exclaims, ducking down until he’s in Silver’s field of vision. Or, he would be, if Silver wasn’t squeezing his eyes shut like he’s injured. “What’s wrong, are you hurt? I thought you said you were fine when Amy was taking a head count-” 

“I’m not hurt.” Silver says it like he means it, but he also says it like he’s barely managing to get the words out, so sue him if Sonic doesn’t believe him. “I’m seriously. You can go home, Sonic, I’ll find my own way back.” 

“Sure, but how are you supposed to return to the future if you can’t even sit up straight?”

Silver groans and rubs his head. “Can you quiet down?” 

Sonic’s ears twitch. He hadn’t thought he was being that loud, but he does, at least, honor the request. “Okay,” he says, quieter. He looks around for enemies that might have snuck up on them, but no luck. “...Why are we whispering?” 

Silver groans and rubs his head more vigorously, at his temples. “Why are you saying anything at all?”

It sounds like Silver is just being rude again, at first. But… he’s clearly in pain. Sonic frowns, trying to puzzle it out. He taps his foot, irritated with himself for not automatically knowing the answer. He’s sure he knows the solution to this one, but what…? 

“Do you have a concussion?” Sonic asks, in a very tiny whisper. He’s not really sure how to treat them, seeing as he has an incredibly durable head and so do Knuckles and Amy, and he’s never, ever, ever let anything get close enough to Tails or Cream’s heads to risk finding out if they’re as durable yet. 

“A concussion-?” Silver finally blinks his eyes open to try and peer up at Sonic in pure confusion, but he’s still squinting in the afternoon light. He winces, then squeezes them shut just as fast. “No, it’s not a concussion. It’s just a headache, I’m fine.” 

Oh. 

Well, Sonic thinks, that’s a lot simpler. 

The only person he knows who gets regular headaches is Vanilla – Sonic always figured it was just something people got when they got old. Silver’s younger than he is, but maybe it has something to do with him being from the future. 

Or, he realizes a beat too late, having powers that stem from his mind. Huh. 

Fortunately, Sonic knows just the thing for headaches. “Wait right there,” he says, in that same quiet voice. “I’ll be right back with just the thing.” 

He doesn’t wait for Silver to tell him not to bother – “It’s no use!” is what he thinks he hears as he runs off, but that could just be his mind playing tricks on him. Instead, he pops into the nearest nurse station and grabs what Cream always gets her mom when Vanilla says she has a headache. 

Ice, earmuffs, water, and an eye-mask. Sonic thinks Vanilla often takes some medication, but he’s not sure what type, and also Silver’s got a pretty horrible immune system so he doesn’t want to risk giving him something that’ll make him feel worse on accident. 

When Sonic returns with an armful of supplies, Silver is laying on the concrete. Sonic can’t help but feel guilty if this really is from Silver overusing his powers. 

Every time Silver comes from the future, it’s always to help with a crisis – or to prevent something bad from turning into a crisis. He might have a personality that Sonic can’t quite figure out – maybe it’s as changeable as that timeline of his, who knows – but he’s still dependable in a pinch. 

Sonic just hopes that these will help him feel better. 

Sonic drops into a crouch beside him, then carefully slips on the earmuffs. “For the noise,” he says, still in a quieter voice than before. Silver looks up at him, baffled, but when he winces at the light, Sonic presses the eye-mask into his hands, for Silver to put on himself. 

“Water will help, and the ice will make it feel a little better too. I made sure the ice pack is extra durable so you won’t prick it open,” he adds, noting the way Silver’s front quills stick straight up. “Just try it, alright? I dunno what fancy stuff you use for headaches in the future, but hopefully this is good enough for now.” 

“We- well, it depends on the timeline,” Silver says, reaching for the ice pack first. He lets out a sigh of relief once it hits his head, shoulders immediately losing their tension. “But… in the one I just came from, this is a lot better.” 

Sonic quirks a smile. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, okay? Unless you’d rather I speed you off somewhere a little less, uh…” He gestures vaguely to the rubble around them both. 

Silver waves a hand, then reaches up and ties the eye-mask around his head. “No, this is perfect, I think this rubble is comfier than the concrete bed I was using before… Thanks, Sonic.” 

Sonic grins and shakes his head in bemusement, though Silver can’t see it. “Happy to help. And drink that water!”

“I will, I will.” To prove it, Silver opens the recyclable plastic bottle, and tips it to his mouth. 

Deciding that Silver’s already well on his way to feeling better, Sonic speeds off. And, just for Silver, even chooses not to leave a Sonic boom in his wake until he’s a few miles away. Just to be nice. 

[merlyn-bane]

BABE!

re: foelu prompts

i would looovveeee to see some spice with cody, obi-wan, and rex sometime after kai 🥺 kind of waxer and boil-esque (you know that scene of the three of them when obi is pregnant lives rent-free in my head) or whatever you come up with <3 you know i am eating it up

just a uh. big fan of those three 🤭

Your wish is my command, beloved 😘😘

Be advised I have not beta’d this at All, lmao.

[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]

~~~

Date nights often include everybody—in the interest of fairness and because Obi-Wan does very much enjoy spending time with all of his partners at once—but of course that isn’t always the case. Sometimes not everyone can make it, and sometimes it’s nice to go as a smaller group or even one-on-one; and of course they take turns enjoying Obi-Wans’ more focused attention.

Tonight was Rex and Cody’s turn. The three of them had decided to go out dancing—Rex had been a few times with Ahsoka and thought it might be a good way to get all of their minds off of their six-month-old and other responsibilities, and was correct—and Obi-Wan is enjoying a very pleasant buzz between the one glass of booze he’s had and the general atmosphere rubbing off on him in the Force, particularly from his partners.

He’s currently laughing against Rex’s mouth as the former troopers attempt to hustle him off of the dance floor and—presumably—to somewhere more private, not bothering to assist with the navigation in the slightest when he could concern himself with kissing instead. Besides, he trusts them to get them where they need to go. Unquestionably so.

He hears a door shut behind them at some point and finds himself in a dark room but really could not care less where, especially with Cody pressing up against his back now and starting to trail kisses along the side of his throat—hands already seeking the waistband of the civilian trousers he’d chosen to wear.

“This is gonna have to be quick,” Cody pants against his skin, the hot air making him shiver.

“And dirty, I presume,” Obi-Wan grins, and is summarily nipped in the earlobe by a former captain for his cheek. He lets out another breathy laugh and helps his partners to divest them all of their clothes—only the bottoms, unfortunately, as they are more or less still in public—and lets himself take a moment to mourn that the lighting is too low to really see them. The two of them are both quite fetching in their outfits for tonight; Rex in a rather tight pair of jeans and an even tighter black t-shirt with his blond hair starting to grow out of the buzzcut he’d kept in the war and Cody in a nice pair of slacks and a metallic gold halter top that made his shoulders look impossibly broader—and rocking his new mustache, which he insists that he’s only ‘trying’ but Obi-Wan suspects is here to stay if for no other reason than that most of his brothers hate it.

Obi-Wan knows the exact moment that Cody has found the plug that’s been nestled securely in Obi-Wan’s ass since his shower that evening, his posture going still as his fingers brush against the gem decorating the base of it when he goes to grab a handful of Obi-Wan’s ass.

“You alright, Codes?” Rex asks between stealing kisses, noticing the pause, and at first the only response is a strangled sound but then Cody is tugging Obi-Wan’s pants the rest of the way down and off with renewed vigor and nudging his legs further apart. 

“Someone,” Cody growls, “apparently planned for this tonight.”

“Aren’t you the one always saying that it’s better to be over-prepared than under—“ Obi-Wan cuts off with an undignified yelp as Rex suddenly spins him around and pushes him up against Cody’s chest, fingers trailing down to check for themselves—

“Kriff,” Rex swears roughly. “Did you want one of us to fuck your ass tonight, sweetheart?”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to swear, this time, as Rex starts toying with the plug. “Well, I had rather hoped to make use of both holes, seeing as there are two of you.”

“And how’s your pretty cunt, cyare?” Cody croons, reaching down to run fingers through the lips of his pussy and grinning when he moans and grabs onto Cody’s biceps for support under the dual assault. “Hmm, well, you’re definitely getting there,” he says, “but I think we can do better.”

Obi-Wan chokes on a gasp as two fingers abruptly slide in and immediately start pumping, aided by the slick that’s already started leaking out of him. Behind him, Rex keeps playing with the plug, always threatening to pull it free but never quite doing so as he starts licking and nipping across Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

“Hey, didn’t Helix say Obi-Wan was going to have to pump and dump if he wanted to drink tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a better idea.” Without further ado, Rex finally, mercifully releases the plug—only to take hold of both sides of Obi-Wan’s wrap top and pull them apart until his breasts spill out into the cool air.

Only for one of them to be suddenly engulfed in the searing we heat of Cody’s mouth before Obi-Wan fully has a chance to process what’s happening, one of Rex’s hands shifting up to cover his mouth to muffle the cries as Cody starts suckling, taking long pulls and moaning.

“Bet that pussy is nice and ready for him now, sweetheart,” Rex grins, as though they cannot both hear the squelching of Cody’s fingers fucking into him, “but I think we should let Cody have his fill first, don’t you?” Obi-Wan nods almost on autopilot, and Rex drags a kiss across his shoulder in reward. “There you go.”

It could be thirty seconds or thirty minutes later when Cody finally releases his other tit from his mouth with a wet pop, but then the former commander is stooping down to grab Obi-Wan around the thighs and lifting him up—

Ohhhhhh, Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’ll ever get over the way it feels when his partners first slide into his cunt.

Cody mercifully gives him a few moments to adjust, licking across his bottom lip before letting himself in to explore his mouth—still tasting of Obi-Wan’s milk, fuck—but then Obi-Wan realizes that it’s all a ploy to distract him and Rex is carefully pulling the plug out, not playing this time, and Cody is guiding Obi-Wan to wrap his legs around his waist and Rex’s cock is at his hole—

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Rex murmurs, taking the tender skin of Obi-Wan’s throat into his mouth and sucking a bruise there, and he draws in a deep inhale from Cody’s lungs and then Rex is pushing in—

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Obi-Wan is not going to last.

They must exchange some sort of signal over Obi-Wan’s shoulder because both of them pick up an easy rhythm at the same time, in tandem rather than in sync, and it is all Obi-Wan can do just to hold on. Force, but he forgot how good it felt to be split open like this, mounted on two of his partners’ cocks at the same time. 

They seem to agree, if the way both of them are panting harshly is any indication. He’s not sure what he and Cody are doing now could really be construed as kissing so much as breathing and moaning into each other’s mouths, but it lights his blood on fire just the same. 

“So tight, Obi-Wan, fuck,” Rex hisses, bringing both hands up to rub and squeeze at Obi-Wan’s breath as though he needs more stimulation. He’s telling Obi-Wan, Force, he swears he can feel them in his fucking throat. Perhaps he should have used another finger when he was working himself open earlier, but he has no regrets.

Over and over and over both of them keep thrusting, one withdrawing just as the other pushes in so that Obi-Wan cannot even chase the rhythm, just has to let them hold him up and take it. Cody suddenly picks up the pace, then, like he’s getting close himself, and Rex follows, and it only takes minutes more until Obi-Wan gives it up with a silent scream that is echoed by shivery grunts as they both finish inside him.

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

So RWBY grimmverse style au, with a lot of the students being grimmified while hunting others to convert, so like, very high functioning zombies. Anyway so yeah Ruined city, numerous grimmified hunters-in-training scouring a city to find more to their numbers, before hearing a loud crash, heading over to find “patient zero” aka Grimm Pyrrha and she’s fighting or was fighting a Cyborg Jaune (Metal Gear Rising Revengeance style) and like they got a little excited and destroyed a lot of the building, so Grimmified hunters-in-training come in and see Grimm Pyrrha with her cloak off, which is not down often, and a Cyborg Jaune standing there in the ruins. So yeah Strongest grimmified hunter-in-training Pyrrha was equalled in power to Cyborg Jaune, with everyone surprised. 

Bonus: If Jaune explains how he became a Cyborg (Like survived an explosion and found a lab to survive in)

I don't know why I just got this sudden urge to ask this.

Thank you!

Pyrrha: Brothers! Sisters! Siblings of All Ages and ability! Our Goddess Has Given us a most Divine Mission!

The tension in the air was palpable, it landed somewhere between the moment before a bar-brawl and when Fans realize their team made the winning shot.

Pyrrha: Bring More Home~ Expand the Family! Unite all under her Glorious name!

Raccous cheering poured forth.

Pyrrha: But They Bring in Machines to stop us, Hurt us, capture and experiment Upon us! We all rememer when Our dearest Silver Angel was Stolen From us! The shame of failure to protect her was Too much for us to bear! We let loose our inhibitions and minds and fell to the like of the Beowolves and Beringel!

Shouts of Anger rung out, curses and swears unintelligible, but obvious.

Pyrrha: Luckily For us, those Machines need be told what to do, which means there is man behind the walls~ They've Backed themselves into corners all on their own~

Pyrrha: So if it's a game of Cat and Mouse, They are sorrowly mistaken about who is what.

Atlesian Airships landed in the distance, others dropping pods of Robots and Androids in the middle of the city.

Pyrrha: So without further ado, *Pyrrha pulled her hood over her head* Let the Hunt Begin~

Cheers of Violence and malevolence ring out from the Grimmified people, as they burst out from their hiding spots.

~Several Minutes Later~

Jaune: How are things looking out there Penny?

Penny: Not Well. We are losing Units at an astonishing Rate. Capturing the Rose family was very good for our understanding of what causes people to become 'Grimmified' and how too help them recover, but it seems that Ruby was very important to the others. They are attacking with more vigor and ferocity than ever.

Jaune: ... Somethings Wrong. Abort the Mission and Fall back.

General Ironwood: Arc, Stay there. I know You can handle whatever they may throw at you.

Jaune: Sir, Respectfully, You have put me in charge of this operation, and I am telling you to give the order to Fall Back. Somethings not Right, I can feel it.

Ironwood: Unless Something Catastrophic Happens, stand your ground. That is and Order.

Jaune: ... Sir, Direspectfully, Shove your Orders Up your Ass. *Shuts Off Communications Device* EVERYONE BEGIN TO RECALL WHATEVER UNITS YOU HAVE LEFT! WE ARE EVACUATING!

Penny: Jaune-

Jaune: Pen, I know what Ironwood Said, but He's not here, and I'll deal with Whatever corporal Punishment he thinks is neces- DUCK!

Jaune Pulls Penny low, a blood red Spear whizzing just above their Heads, Before retracting by Ebony Sinew and Tendons.

Pyrrha: Face the Divine Wrath of her CHOSEN Cowards!

Jaune: *Draws Aurum Exitium* Penny Get everyone out! I'll hold her Off!

Penny: I- Yes Jaune! Stay Safe!

Jaune: *Blocking another strike* I always make it back in the end! MOVE!

Pyrrha: The Fight's over here Huntsman!

Jaune: I know.

Jaune: *Tackles Pyrrha* But it's going this Way!

The two fall from the Atlesian's vantage point, tumbling down into the decrepit city.

Pyrrha: *Throws Jaune through a wall, causing part of a building to collapse* STAY DOWN DOGGY!

Jaune: *Breaking out of the Rubble* You'll have to do better than that!

Pyrrha Threw 'Akouo' at Jaune, who caught - and Pyrrha's heel in his face. He held tight to the Arm-Bound shield, slamming the redheaded monstrosity into the ground, dragging her face across the damaged pavement, before throwing her into the distance.

Jaune: I want to help you!

Pyrrha:*landing Deftly* You Kidnap Us! STEAL US From our home! We want to bring Enlightenment to you, and you meet us with Violence!

Pyrrha launched barbs that shattered against the bulkhead of a shield Jaune carried. He Retaliated with a strike from his longsword, the edge glowing blue with Hardlight Dust.

He whiffed the strike and the sword carved into the ground, Pyrrha Blasting him backwards with her semblance. Blisters formed across the pitch-black flesh, as her soul burning against it's monstrous bonds. She lunged at the stunned Jaune, aiming for the point between his eyes.

This dance of death, seemingly endless back and forth, A tactical mind meeting a being of pure skill, Remnants Greatest Mind's reconstruction of a Man holding against a near perfect amalgam of Man and it's Enemy, An Unstoppable Force fighting an Immovable Force.

Blow after blow, Aura ticking down, Grimm burning away. They stumbled into some old cathedral, standing a distance away from each other. Every breathe was heaved, exhaustion pulling at them. Even Jaune's aura had it's limits, and Pyrrha's arms were covered in open wounds, seeping Grimm-infused blood out of them.

Pyrrha struck first. Jaune Dodged and closed distance. Jaune fired a beam from Aurum Exitium. Pyrrha dodged and closed even more distance. They were in Melee with each other. Pyrrha Jabbed. The hit landed. Jaune attempted to Grapple. Pyrrha barely managed to avoid it.

Her cloak didn't.

Jaune finally saw his opponent's face and he was ... Entranced. Pyrrha, however, was Pissed.

Pyrrha: You ... Dare lay your FILTHY, UNDESERVING EYES UPON ME!

She through her spear once more, letting it truly free from her grasp. It flew through the air, Jaune barely avoiding it in his awe at her beauty. He flung the cloth wildly, the Spear piercing the hood and slamming into the great throne in the center of the building.

With all the rage of a disrespected Goddess, she dashed into Jaune, Stealing the techsword from his grip and pinning him against the chair, trying to press it's endlessly thin blade into Jaune's neck.

He Held against her pushing, forcing Aura into his arms as Darkness enveloped Pyrrha's forearms, more blisters forming on her arms.

Jaune felt his body lock up against her semblance, his own giving him the strength to resist her assault.

The held there for what felt like forever, long enough for swathes of Grimm-dark skin to fall from Pyrrha's arms, revealing the corded, red flesh beneath. Their hands shook. They both knew whoever gave out first would likely die.

Then a thin blade wrapped around Pyrrha's shoulder and pulled her away, Jaune's sword clattering to the ground.

Ren.

Jaune nearly fell to his knees, catching himself at the last moment and sprinting towards his brother- only to catch a glob of Acid in the face.

???: YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!

Another Grimm girl, short, with and arm that looked like a cenitaur had been grafted on. She slammed the chittering apendage into Ren, throwing him towards Jaune.

Nora: It's been a long time since Cuddles had a playmate like you~

Pyrrha struggled to her feet, weariness obvious in those who were near.

Pyrrha: Stay, Nora. *She points at Ren and Jaune* You. Aren't. Going. Anywhere.

Black, staticy figures shuffled in, a Winged figure cascading from above with them.

Sun: Glad I wasn't late to the party. Let's help them join it, Eh Ladies?

Nora: *Glare*

Pyrrha: *Glare*

Sun: C'mon that's funny- Whatever. Bye-bye Huntsmen!

Surrounded and outnumbered, Jaune and Ren faced their fate with grim (heh) Determination. They always had a back-up, and she was arriving right now.

Brilliant green lasers blasted through the ceiling, a ladder falling through from a hovering bullhead. Penny was coming to her friend's rescue.

Penny: Stand down, and allow yourselves to be captured or face the consequences.

The trios stared each other down. A Leader. A friend. A savior in their time of need.

The whirring blades of Floating Array held charges, ready to decimate any attacker, while Sun's clones stood still and were prepared to strike.

The Jaune and Pyrrha started Backing away from each other, pulling their partners, back to their own escape routes. Once they got away from each other the released their bated breathes.

Nora: Pyrrha?

Pyrrha: That wasn't a fight we could win. We kept them out of the city. We've succeeded, even if we lost.

Sun: Man, I was itching for some action. But, we did do good, didn't we?

Pyrrha: That we did, Sun. That We did.

With her cloak in shambles, Pyrrha had no choice than to face the crowd openly. They hardly dared look at her. Sharp, bony spikes that stuck out from just behind her jawline and ears, her face pale with dark red veins running up her cheeks, and to her eyes. Eyes, that unlike every other Grimm-Fated student, were Green.

She was different than the others, And it was obvious. She relished in that fact often, it earned her praise and gifts from their God-Mother.

But in this moment it was nothing but another reminder that she wasn't like her siblings. She knew that man she fought was handsome.

~~~~~

Ren: General Ironwood Won't be happy about this.

Jaune: We failed, but we survived. It's a win in my book.

Penny: I am glad you are alright. Please don't do anything that irrational again.

Jaune: I can't promise you that Penny.

Penny: I- I-

Penny: ... I Know, Jaune. I don't wish to see my Brother be injured anymore than he already has been.

They all fell silent as they watched the city of Atlas come into view, Sat just behind Mantle, a mountain gazing over it's earth-toned buildings. It had been nearly two decades since the theft of the Relic of Creation, causing it to sink into it's crater.

~~~~~

Pyrrha: We kept the city, Mistress.

Salem: And what about recovering your siblings? Was the enemy annihilated as you guaranteed they would be?

Pyrrha: ... They were different this time. Far more of their machines than before, easy enough to take down, but there was ... Retreat before the final Charge was made. I separated myself from the horde to attack their post directly, and was stopped by ... Something between Man and Machine.

Salem: And just what did this 'In-Between' look like?

Pyrrha: He was covered in metal, though I could tell a fair amount was armor and plating on his outside - His legs and left arm were mechanical, with certain thing within him being something I couldn't control, but could feel. His face was mostly free, he had blue eyes and blonde hair tied back.

Pyrrha: He was brutal and savage, yet intelligent. He new how to use the terrain to his advantage, and how to avoid the majority of my strikes, and those he could not avoid he simply took and kept going.

Pyrrha: He was my equal until outsiders interrupted us. A lithe man that wore green, wielding machine pistol that had been locked in combat with Nora. I could not feel him, which means he was either truly at peace in his soul, or his semblance makes us blind to his soul.

Pyrrha: After their arrivals, Sun managed to surround them, but their Machine-Girl gave them the opportunity of escape. They ran like the cowards they are.

Salem: Do not lie to me Girl. You didn't strike at them as they ran, could you?

Pyrrha: I-I- I-

Pyrrha: I am Injured and Exhausted. I Was, and I could not fight anylonger. I ordered our retreat. I failed you. I am Sorry.

Salem: *Grabbing Pyrrha* Apologies are useless. You had your orders, and you Failed them. You are to see Tyrian for your punishment.

Pyrrha: Y-Yes ma'am.

Pyrrha hands Shook. From pain, from fear, from shame, and many delineations of those emotions. But still, she strode to her punishment with haste. Wasting time was worthy of further punishment. She barely managed a nod to Cinder as she passed.

Cinder: Hold it Nikos!

Pyrrha: Yes Ma'am?

Cinder: ... This'll sting, but it'll help.

Pyrrha: What are you-

Cinder: Open wounds will make you weaker in the future. I am disinfecting them, then you may be back on your way.

Pyrrha: The Goddess-

Cinder: What she doesn't know can't hurt us. Stay quiet.

Pyrrha hardly flinched when the Alcohol touched her wounds. She shouldn't have flinched at all, she was so worthless and stupid to think she could've done her assignment right. She was meant to be the best among her siblings, unstoppable and-

Cinder: *Hugging Pyrrha, shaking her from her thoughts* You will be fine. You will be fine. Run, now. I'm sorry I can't save you from him.

~~~~~

Jaune: Yang? How is Ruby doing?

Yang: JAUNE! *hugs Him* She's been improving! Her heart is beating on it's own, and she's been more responsive- I can't believe it. I- I have her back. Ruby's- Ruby's back. Almost. My family, whatever's left of it- we'll be together again!

Yang: But you need to see Ironwood! he's Pissed to the grimmlands and back over whatever you did.

Jaune: I told him "Disrespectfully, Shove your orders up your ass." then shut off my comms.

Yang: *chuckles* Really? Man you must have balls of steel!

Jaune: Nah, At least one of those is still mine.

Yang: Gross.

Yang: ... Still. You should go talk to him. He's not happy.

Jaune: I'll survive whatever he throws at me. Or throws me into.

Yang: Not getting that stuff removed.

Jaune: ... I'll be fine Yang.

And Jaune left the medbay.

~~~~~

If anyone seems out of Character, it's because, well, these aren't the same ones from Canon.

Pyrrha has been more Forcefully manipulated, and the stakes for her are far higher than falling off a pedestal - falling from it means death. She believes the words she says, and feels guilty when she questions it.

Jaune had *Something* happen that made him lose a fair bit of his body. Atlas put him back together at the expense of his freedom, à la Robocop. But he still cares about people and is willing to defy orders to protect them. It's a matter of how far he can bend the rules before he gets broken.

I'll explain more if people ask for it.

[skaruresonic]

hear me out, all right?

I must excise the fix-it plot bunny demons

Surge and Kit were wards of Windmill Village, two of the many kids for whom Mr. Tinker built toys. He created Belle to be a playmate for them in addition to his helper, and promised to adopt Surge and Kit when he finished building a house for all of them to live their happily ever after in. This promise ultimately went unfulfilled when Starline abducted Tinker. This rattled Surge and Kit, who have suffered an unfortunate history of being promised a forever home by prospective foster parents but let down; this reinforced the idea in their minds that they can only depend on each other. They also became disillusioned with Sonic, who promised to check on Tinker but failed to protect him from Starline's clutches. No longer seeing Windmill Village as a home without Tinker in it, they decided to take Belle and hide out in the nearby abandoned Eggman base (echoing when the two hid out in Starline's stolen eggbase after his death). They managed to evade the virus by hiding in the base, sending Belle out to forage for supplies despite her protests (implying the two have a hardening cruel streak). During one such excursion, she was badly damaged by a zombot, which resulted in amnesia over Mr. Tinker and her memories of Surge and Kit. The two of them presumed Belle dead. Later on, during his quest to steal Eggman's things strike out on his own, Starline locates this hidden base and subsequently finds the perfect pair of test subjects. He kidnaps them and forces them through vigorous brainwashing, using their disdain of Sonic and exaggerating their pain to such extremes that they feel nothing but hatred for him. He also "rectifies" their powerlessness by giving them powers which he portrays as "enhancements." This explains why they're such weaklings when it comes to their powers: unlike Sonic, Tails, or even Amy, they did not grow into their abilities and have no natural combat prowess. The cognitive dissonance keeping them from achieving their fullest potential is that they want to survive more than they want to fight. Therefore, their first instinct in a combat situation is to run, presenting an annoying hitch in Starline's plans. This explains why Surge has to fight off panic attacks and will begin to cry when engaging a powerful foe like Sonic, often taking swings through tears. Kit can, of course, use her tears to help her conduct a more powerful electric shock, but he notes that he doesn't like doing it. Surge demands that he does so anyhow, implying she feels her suffering doesn't matter. Ironically enough, their will to live overrides the effects of the codified metal virus that helps heal their injuries. During training, Surge almost dies when she mistimes a jump over a spike pit and gets impaled. This experience, followed by Starline's vehement berating of the pair as "useless," traumatizes Kit. Over time, their hatred of Starline grows as his abusive nature becomes harder to ignore. They really don't understand his obsession with Eggman. Eventually, they come to view Sonic, Eggman, Starline, and indeed the world that failed them, as equally worthless. One day, Surge catches Kit playing with a doll made out of scrap metal. She immediately begins to tremble, though she doesn't know why, and slaps the doll out of his hand. Stop that, you idiot; weapons don't play. Kit offers a feeble excuse. I was just… setting up a combat simulation. Yeah, yeah. You do you, Skippy.

Don't you mean Drippy?

Whatever. Surge keeps her mouth shut about the incident, feigning insolence when Starline later grills her, shoving the footage in her face. What, like you don't have your weirdo hobbies? Leave the kid alone. That's when Surge and Kit conspire to tie Starline to a chair and decides to give him a taste of his own medicine. Hey there, doc. You seem stressed. Welcome to therapy. :)

At first, Kit was as enthused as Surge about payback, but soon grew more apprehensive as Starline's protests quieted. Eventually, Starline falls asleep - Kit notes, because of his insomnia - and much to Surge's annoyance, the two must use this chance to make their escape.

When Starline wakes, he makes a recording believing himself to be Eggman, and the experience as a bad dream foisted upon him by Sonic and Tails.

[himemiya-kun]

Secret Swan (Chapter 4)

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Chapter 4: The Truest Self

Summer

Characters:

• Hajime Shino

• Ritsu Sakuma

• Eichi Tenshouin

• Makoto Yuuki

• Tori Himemiya

<Meanwhile, in the garden>

Hajime: Come on, the tea is ready, let me pour it for you ♪

Ritsu: This tea smells even better than the one I drank at the Tea Party event just now. Ha-kun~ It looks like you are very happy, right?

Hajime: Although I was very happy at the Tea Party event, right now, it’s just the three of us from the black tea department so it’s a rare opportunity for me ♪

Ritsu: But isn't Ec~chan in a particularly busy period of work? Did he keep us here without meaning to catch up with us?

Eichi: Haha, why can’t I have a moment of rest in the midst of a busy schedule?

Hajime: Hey hey hey… No matter what the plan of Eichi-onii-chan is, I am already very happy if I can sit with the two of you and drink tea and enjoy snacks ♪

Ritsu: Alas, Ha-kun~ You are always like this, it is really easy to make people worry.

Let me satisfy Ec~chan’s wishes and talk about things that Ec~chan is interested in.

I’ve heard the rumours about STAR PRO and COS PRO competing for the same clothing endorsement.

Producer is also very busy because of this recent issue, so I don’t see her very much in Yumenosaki.

Hajime: Ah, I've heard of it too. But our Rhyth Lin itself is not very inclined to work in this area, and the seniors seem to be busy preparing for other things recently, so I don't know much about it.

All I know is that Tori-kun seems to be favoured by the brand and is going to participate in the audition. As his friend, I sincerely hope that he can get a chance to get an endorsement.

Eichi: Haha, I will convey your blessings to Tori, he will be very happy.

Although I am very curious about how Keito and Sakuma will deal with such a situation. Unfortunately, as Hajime had mentioned, this incident has nothing to do with Rhyth Lin.

Ritsu: So, Ec~chan, what do you mean, do you think this matter has something to do with our NEW DI? Because the designer of the clothes is Aoba Onii-chan? Or one—

Eichi: Haha, I never said that.

I was originally the kind of character who was often thought to be manipulating everything behind the scenes... This time I experienced the feeling of being manipulated by others, which was quite interesting.

Ritsu: Oh? I don't think Ec~chan really thinks he is being manipulated. You STAR PROs must have taken some unexpected actions, right?

Eichi: Not necessarily. The matter has not been carried to the end, and no one knows how it will develop.

After all, this time it's not just about me, it's also about Lovely Tori... If the situation ends up getting out of control, I will have to put an end to it.

Ritsu: Wow~ Ec~chan just now was so scary~

(I have to say, even though that magician hates people saying that he is very similar to Ec~chan, they are still very similar in some ways.)

(Hmph, I'm slightly looking forward to what will happen in the end. Come on everyone, please let me watch a good show ♪)

<Meanwhile, at Yumenosaki Academy>

Makoto: Was that okay? Acting isn’t really my strong point…

Wow, if Producer is applauding so vigorously, that means my performance should be pretty good, right?

What does Himemiya-kun think? If it still hinders you and Tenshouin-senpai, I need to practice a little more…

Tori: —Hey!? AHHHH don’t come here?!

Makoto: Hime—Himemiya-kun? Hiding behind Producer?!

Hey, Producer, do you think it’s a bit scary to see me perform with such acting skills all of a sudden because it’s different from my usual acting skills...?

Tori: I-I wasn't scared! It's just that Yuuki-senpai completely changed, and I felt very surprised!

Makoto: When you describe it like that, you sound like you were actually frightened…

Tori: Shut up, tarsier! Did you secretly go to special training? Hurry up and tell the truth!

Makoto: Eh, eh? Do you want me to shut up or explain it to you!?

Tori: You are so annoying! I order you to tell me now, now, and at once, all the reasons why you are so good at it!

Makoto: Ahaha, it seems that although some people have graduated, they have left a negative impact on the younger generations…

When I was filming Fist of the Shangri-la Idol, I had a lot of rivalry scenes with Fushimi and Hidaka. Just now I was simply imitating their acting skills at that time…

I remember when I first started filming, I was often intimidated by Fushimi. He was really good, right?

Tori: Hm, imitation… Maybe it's the way...?

Huh? Producer, why did you suddenly pat me on the shoulder? Are you comforting me? Well, then I guess I will thank you.

You said, I am not the only one who was suffering...?

Makoto: At this point, I can be sure.

When I was collecting information in the intelligence department, I met Saegusa, and he was also preparing for this job. Judging from what I got from our conversation, it’s most likely that he’s not the one who is auditioning for the leading role this time.

It seems that COS PRO also encountered some difficulties, which means that they did not underestimate their opponents, and did not underestimate you.

Himemiya-kun has studied how to play this role so seriously, maybe we have already gone ahead of them.

Tori: Yuuki-senpai…

Makoto: Ah, Producer seems to have something else to tell you.

Tori: Huh? Is the content you sent to me through the “Hand in Hand Space” (Note: I'm not sure what this is but the original text says ���手空間) just now the plot plan of the commercial short film?

I hope I get some inspiration from this... I'll meet you in ES's clothing room tomorrow after school.

Well, I see, I will definitely come! Don't be late!

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[realthoughtsrawemotions]

There is an animating force that guides all of us. The emotions we carry inside of us guide and influence our behaviours giving us vigorous and strength. Some people will become deflated and will be very weak when trying to speak or do anything physical. Others are tenacious and vibrant in both their spoken word and their physical actions. Both these individuals have the seemingly the same level of intelligence and resources available yet the outcomes and more importantly the energy are much different. Watch your favourite hockey player in a play off game. They have focus, drive, and passion for what they’re doing. We’ve been fed this lie that emotions make us weak yet the most powerful people on the planet feel the deepest. Not only do they feel deeply they express even more deeply. Both feeling and expressing are often linked with being weak and feminine yet some of the strongest most masculine men feel the most. Our survival mechanism shuts off our feelings though. We form beliefs around them being weak and being a liability to our support and survival. Being seen is akin to being dead. But this isn’t true at all. Being seen is the closest thing we have symbolically to being alive. People energize us whether we want to admit it or not. Others thoughts, words, and opinions of us fuel or deflate us. Our own beliefs can be re-enforce good energy and emotions within but we cannot escape the fact that we are social creatures. It doesn’t mean do everything you do for others or abandon your own autonomy. Simply it just means to not cower away from people’s opinion of you. Don’t act like you don’t like the praise and actually let a compliment fuel you and don’t pretend like insults do nothing to your energy either. With the awareness that we are all highly emotional we can move forward in life living as fully as we can. No holding back or playing coy. Just true authentic expression. Scream and yell when we’re mad, cry when we’re sad, and smile wide when we’re happy. The power lies in our emotions. They influence everything we do and help us accomplish it with grace and power. I can’t remember how many times I held back my mentions wishing that I had just fully went all in on what I was doing. The times where I hesitated and relied on my mind rather than my heart even though my heart had the answers that the mind couldn’t perceive. The times my voice was shaking trying to get the words out and I held back saying what I truly thought because I was worried I’d be seen as awkward or in the way. The times I held back excitement because I wanted to seem wise or cool and in control. Our emotions are the flavours of life and give meaning the all the structures we have set in place. When cleverness fails to sustain us and it always does we must feel deeply again to regain our life force. A well constructed argument or a perfectly laid out plan with no emotions can spend decades in remission while a feeling acted upon can move the entire world. We feel because it’s what is most natural to us. It is our gift that makes us complete. We wield our feelings to push ourselves into action. Without feeling we run circles of infinity that go no where. Endless thought loops of would’ve, could’ve, and should’ves but nothing to take it from the mental plane to the physical plane. It just remains an unrealized dream that stays locked up within. Our emotions unlock our dreams and give birth to them in the physical realm. They are portals between what we hold within and what we experience without. The feeling extracts the thought and puts it out into the canvas for all to see. It adds colour to reality and gives vibrancy to life. Our emotions are our greatest gift for realizing our best reality.

[tombeane-blog]

Dictionary of Confusing Idioms

There is no centralized, controlling authority on the creation of phrases and idioms. 

And the English language has become a confusing mess caused by this scattered precipitous over-simplification.  

Maintaining current understanding during this drift towards a Babelian future requires constant vigilance and intense study. 

Something you old people are just not good at anymore.  

I've noticed that some less-young people have lost the ability to make sense of phrases they used to understand completely - like, "Whats The Haps?" and "How's It Hanging?" and "Cool!".

So I am in the process of creating the modern dictionary of common idioms to help the old and brain ossified live out their miserable isolated lives with some faint understanding of what's going on all around them. 

Let's start with one of the most egregious examples.  Totally opposite statements which mean the same thing.  Who thought this c-rap would ever make sense?

Definition: Stated intention to move in any direction (as long as it is vertical) to indicate your acquiescence to mutually and enthusiastically participate in an unusual suggestion of action.

Idiom: "I'm Down For It." or "I'm Up For It." (If the speaker is under the influence of alcohol, the sub-phrase "Here, Hold My Beer! will sometimes be appended.)

Definition: A desperate plea to minimize discomfort after a minor transgression of societal, cultural or legal norms by pretending to be a close relative of the nearest person of authority who is attempting to restrain the offender.

Idiom: "Don't Tase Me Bro"

Definition: A sudden, violent explosion that scatters bloody and gooey bits of brain matter in all directions as a positive, realistic, indication of pleasant surprise and shock when first you come to understand an unanticipated action or event.

Idiom: "It Literally Blew My Mind"

Definiton: Underscoring by insulting the listener via a forced gender assignment by referring to Them/They/Zer/Zey in a restrictive male-only manner in order to powerfully point out that your current verbalization is - no.way.hosay.something.false - but is very much a priori, true.

Idiom: "Dats Da Fack, Jack!"

Often today, you may be even further obfuscated because the words themselves are eliminated and only letters are used.  

Definition: A vigorous and exuberant overt giggling reaction to a statement or event that is so energetic, robust and powerful that a vital piece of the human anatomy protecting the end point of the alimentary tract is dislodged. 

Idiom: "LMAO"

(OMG! Shut The Front Door! Who comes up with this liquid hell?  Sometimes even I get obfuscationated.)

As usual, there are always exceptions to the rule and some phrases are so clear that they do not need a more nuanced or detailed definition - but instead should literally always be taken literally.  

Idiom: "Don't Get Your Panties In A Twist"

Definition: "Don't get your panties in a twist"

I've got a lot of work to do on this so I guess I'll need to break into little pieces the anatomical padding near my alimentary terminus in order to get this done.  (I'm still working on a phrase to use to describe this one.)

[ntlazer]

Being a demon was simple, some poor fool summons you and you harvest their soul. Except you unknowingly just reaped a famous Twitch streamer in front of 300k+ viewers.

"As you can see guys, I have just summoned Natreth, Demon of Mayhem and Terror. If you haven't already, you should start following my channel, trying to hit a goal of $10,000 a day from tips, and all of your donations really--"

A white orb came from the poor fool's mouth, effectively blocking his ability to speak. His eyes went bloodshot as he desperately grasped at his chest. He tried to let out a scream, but the body does not accept the order of that of which there is no soul. I moved my fingers seductively, calling to his soul. All he could do was twitch his head, a slight infinitesimal shake, begging me not to continue. I breathed in deeply, absorbing his soul. All in a day's work.

I looked around his sloppy room, posters strewn across the wall, an incredibly comfy-looking chair, and a computer with multiple monitors. One of the monitors was flashing wildly. Another showed a room in which a demon was-- Oh. Another showed me on screen in his room. I took a closer look at his setup.

Thousands upon thousands of comments were being added to a chat on one side. Fast as they were moving, I was able to discern one word show up more often than any other: Fake.

"Hmm," I muttered.

His subscriber count was climbing rapidly and he got thousands of dollars in donations, all within the span of me standing in front of the screen. I looked around the screen and found his username plastered on multiple corners.

"Bingo It's Ringo?" I asked no one in particular. Pretty sad name. I looked at the corpse on the floor, its fingers slightly twitching after its soul's untimely removal. I looked directly at the camera. I wanted to say something clever. Something to spook the viewers, and make them believe that it was actually real. While I pondered, I was sucked away from the room.

I had never been re-summoned so soon. I towered before a young man who was screaming,

"AHH!! DUDES!! DUDES!! IT ACTUALLY WORKED! I SWEAR THIS ISN'T FAKE! I SUMMONED NATRETH! WHAT DO I--" his voice caught on his soul as I tore it out of him. I wasn't nearly as gentle with him and his eyes exploded on removal. His body twitched vigorously on the floor. I looked at the camera as I felt the inspiration come over me,

"Guess that's why they call it Twitch."

Again, the chat exploded in response. I began to wonder how I was summoned to two people's houses so soon. There had never been less than a two-week gap. Perhaps my book of dark summoning had made its way as a PDF on--

"AHHHHHH!!!! I DIDN'T THINK IT WOULD WOR--" I tore off the streamer's head, not being nearly patient enough with having had her summon me so soon. Her blood soaked her camera, covering whatever results she had on stream. This was bad. Each steamer must have seen the original stream and was using the same summoning incantation as BingoItsRingo. If they continued at this rate, I could be--

"Oh my God. Bros, he's actually--" before I could slice his heart out, I was summoned again.

"WOOAAAHHH!! Ok, babes--" and then summoned again.

"Look at the size of this guy, guys he's--" and again.

"He's really real!!"

I looked around this boy's room maniacally. He couldn't have been older than 18. I quickly pulled out his soul and searched for a way out. I had to shut off my summoning somehow. If two people--

Before I could finish the thought, it happened.

I was summoned to two places simultaneously. My body was ripped apart, each half going to a different location. On arrival, I crashed onto a streamer's waterbed. I was nothing but my head and shoulders.

"Whoa. Sick," the streamer said, scooting his chair back a couple of inches. In the last moments of my life, I witnessed the end of his stream as well.

"All right guys, that's all I have for now. I'll see you all tomorrow for more cool life hacks like today's demon summing. Peace out!"