#like I like to pretend that I’m weak to validation and like come on

[mollysan10a]

More Than Best Friends

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader (Female)

Genre: Comfort, Fluff

Word Count: ~2,000

————————————————————————

It was supposed to be a nice evening.

You had spent the last hour picking out an outfit, curling your hair, even playing your favorite upbeat songs to help calm the nerves. You weren’t in love with the guy you were supposed to meet—but it was your first real attempt at dating again after what felt like forever. And for once, you felt kind of excited.

Then came the text.

“Hey… I don’t think this is going to work. I just don’t feel that spark. Sorry.”

No explanation. No call. Just a text.

You sat on the edge of your bed, still in your outfit, the sound of light rain starting to patter against the windows. You stared at your phone for a while, not really sure what you were waiting for. Maybe a second text that made it feel less awful.

But it didn’t come.

You slowly pulled your hoodie over your head and padded into the living room, collapsing onto the couch like your body suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. It wasn’t even about him, really. It was the rejection—the sudden, sharp reminder that maybe you weren’t enough. Or maybe people just didn’t see you the way you hoped they would.

Your fingers hovered over your contacts, then typed quickly:

You: Are you busy tonight?

You didn’t expect a fast reply. But your screen lit up almost immediately.

Felix 🐥: Never too busy for you. What’s up?

You: Can you come over?

Another few seconds passed.

Felix 🐥: Already grabbing snacks. Be there in 10.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were holding your phone until you let it fall onto the couch next to you. Something about Felix’s text made you exhale for the first time in an hour. Like you’d been holding everything in until you knew he’d be there.

True to his word, you heard the soft knock on your door in exactly ten minutes. You padded over and opened it, and there he was—hood up over his blond hair, hoodie slightly damp from the rain, holding a bag of snacks in one hand and a drink carrier in the other.

When he saw your face, his expression shifted instantly. The usual sparkle in his eyes dimmed, replaced with something softer—concern, maybe. Or just that deep, intuitive understanding that only came from knowing someone for years.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping inside and kicking off his sneakers. “Tell me who I need to beat up.”

You let out a weak laugh. “No violence necessary.”

He glanced down at your hoodie, recognizing it immediately as the one you always wore when you were upset. He set the snacks on the counter and pulled you into a hug without another word.

You melted into him.

He smelled like fresh rain and clean laundry and something warm that was uniquely him. His arms wrapped around you, strong and familiar, and for the first time all day, you felt like you didn’t have to pretend you were okay.

He didn’t rush you. Just stood there, letting you hold on.

After a while, he spoke softly. “What happened?”

You pulled back, eyes glossy but dry. “He canceled. Said there wasn’t a spark.”

Felix’s jaw tensed. “What an idiot.”

You shrugged, suddenly embarrassed for how upset you were. “It’s fine. I barely knew him. It just… sucks.

“Of course it sucks,” Felix said. “That doesn’t mean it’s not valid. You got dressed up, you were excited. You deserve someone who follows through. Someone who shows up.”

He paused, eyes flicking across your face like he was trying to memorize every emotion on it.

“I’m really glad you called me,” he added, softer now.

You smiled at that. “I always do.”

An hour later, you were both curled up on the couch under a shared blanket. Felix had taken over snack duty and passed you your favorite mochi, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth with every dramatic scene on the screen. You weren’t really paying attention to the movie, and neither was he. But being next to him made the silence feel less heavy.

“You’ve had the worst luck with dates lately,” he muttered, reaching for the remote to pause the movie. “Not because of you, just… I don’t get it.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You keep track of my dates?”

He smirked. “You tell me everything, remember? I listen.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with yours. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”

There was a brief pause.

“I do,” he said. Quiet. Firm.

You turned your head to find him already watching you.

“Y/N…” he started, licking his lips nervously. “Can I tell you something without making things weird?”

You nodded slowly.

“I hate seeing you hurt like this. Not just because I’m your best friend, but because…” He let out a shaky breath. “I’ve been falling for you. For a while now.”

Your breath caught.

“I didn’t want to mess things up between us,” he continued. “You’re the most important person in my life. But lately it’s been harder to pretend like I’m just okay being your friend when I want more. I want everything.”

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of rain outside.

“I see you,” Felix added, his voice almost a whisper now. “Every part of you. Not just when you’re happy and glowing. But when you’re tired, or sad, or doubting yourself. And I still think you’re the best person I’ve ever known.”

You stared at him, warmth flooding your chest in waves. He looked nervous—vulnerable in a way you rarely saw him.

So you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I always thought… if I said anything, it might ruin this,” you whispered.

He blinked, surprised. “You too?”

You nodded, heart thudding. “I didn’t want to lose you. But… maybe I’ve been looking in the wrong direction this whole time. You’ve been right here.”

His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You leaned in slowly, unsure, and he met you halfway.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. It didn’t rush. It just existed—like it had always been meant to happen.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, breath mingling in the stillness between you.

“So,” you said with a small smile, “does this mean I have to share my mochi from now on?”

Felix laughed, his eyes crinkling. “You’re definitely sharing.”

You sighed dramatically. “Worth it.”

He leaned in to kiss you again. And this time, it wasn’t hesitant. It was the kind of kiss that felt like coming home.

[letssofia3006]

You know what’s even better than waking up with a certain someone absolutely annihilating your notifications with likes? When they escalate to a full-blown reblog spree.

[cbeargyu]

don't smile

don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over...

pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, college au, ex-lovers, emotional tension, unrequited love, toxic relationship.

warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, degradation, crying during sex, emotional manipulation, heartbreak, public sex (bathroom), mentions of cheating, swearing, heavy angst, possessiveness, jealousy, alcohol consumption.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 🔞

you shouldn’t have come.

you told yourself that five times already, standing in the hallway of the dream frat house, plastic cup sweating in your hand, trying not to look too long in his direction. but you couldn’t help it.

he was there. of course he was there.

jaemin always loved the attention, the parties, the validation.

you just didn’t expect him to have her in his arms.

minjeong.

the girl he used to talk about like a dream, back before he ever touched you. before he ever pressed you up against the backseat of his car, before he ever made you moan his name with your thighs shaking around his head.

and now she’s sitting next to him, giggling into his neck, wearing his jacket like it means something. he presses a kiss to her cheek and you swear the cup almost cracks in your hand.

“you okay?” someone asks you. it’s jisung, sweet and concerned, but you can’t answer. because no— you’re not okay.

jaemin never kissed you like that.

never touched you that softly.

never looked at you like you were worth showing off.

you were the girl he fucked when no one was looking. not the one he brought to the party.

and yet…

he still looks at you.

when her attention is elsewhere, sipping her drink or laughing with her friends, he glances over. his eyes find you in the crowd like a ghost that won’t stop haunting him. he smirks. like it’s funny.

like he knows you still want him.

and the worst part is—he’s right.

you last ten more minutes. just enough to pretend you tried. then you’re pushing past the people in the hallway, heading upstairs, into the nearest bathroom you can find. you lock the door, lean against it, chest heaving like you ran a marathon.

you hate him.

you hate yourself more.

a knock comes. not gentle. not curious. just… knowing.

“open the door.” that voice.

you’d know it anywhere.

“go fuck minjeong,” you snap, but you’re already unlocking the door.

he steps inside like he owns the place. like he owns you.

the door clicks shut behind him and he doesn't say a word. just looks at you with that same cocky smirk that used to make your stomach twist and your thighs clench.

you hate how much you missed it.

“you looked real pretty downstairs,” he finally says, voice low, thick with something darker than just lust. “all alone. all jealous. were you thinking about me while i kissed her?”

you swallow hard, backing into the bathroom counter.

“fuck off, jaemin” you breathe, even though your knees are already weak. “i’m not playing this game again.”

but he closes the distance in two strides, presses his body to yours like he never let it go.

“then why’d you unlock the door?”

your silence is all the answer he needs. his hands grab your hips, rough and impatient, lifting you onto the cold marble counter. your skirt rides up your thighs instantly and he doesn’t hesitate—he pushes them apart, stepping between them like he’s done it a hundred times.

“spread wider,” he murmurs against your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin. “let me see if you missed me.”

you do. fuck, you do.

his fingers slip under the hem of your panties and he groans when he feels how wet you are. slick, messy, all for him. you whimper as he runs two fingers through your folds, slow at first, then with purpose—rubbing circles over your clit like he never forgot what made you squirm.

“fucking soaked,” he growls, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “how long’s it been, baby? you touch yourself thinking about me?”

you nod, shame flooding your cheeks.

he grins. “good girl.”

his fingers dip inside you, stretching you open with ease, fucking into you slow and deep. your back arches off the mirror and your moan is loud, helpless.

“shhh,” he whispers, biting your earlobe. “don’t want anyone knowing how desperate you still are for me, huh?”

you shake your head, breathing ragged.

“then be quiet while i ruin you.”

he drops to his knees in front of you, tugging your panties off with one harsh yank. his tongue replaces his fingers before you can beg for it—licking a long, slow stripe up your slit before flicking over your clit, soft at first, then fast, relentless. your hands fly to his hair, tugging, trying to ground yourself, but it’s useless.

he eats you like he’s starving. like it’s the last time. like he wants you to remember this every time he touches her instead.

“fuck, jaemin—please—” you gasp, thighs trembling around his head.

he pulls back, chin glistening, eyes wild.

“turn around,” he says, breathless. “hands on the mirror.”

you do as you're told, heart pounding, legs shaking. he yanks your skirt higher, lines himself up behind you, and slams into you with one rough thrust.

you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out. he’s so deep. too deep. every inch of him fills you like he’s trying to erase everyone else.

he grips your hips, fucking into you mercilessly, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“look at yourself,” he pants. “look how pretty you are when i’m fucking you like this.”

you can’t look away. not when he’s pounding into you so good, your body already tightening around him.

his hand slides up your back, wraps around your neck, pulling you up against his chest. “you think she takes it like you do?” he whispers in your ear. “think she begs like you? drips like you? screams my name like it belongs to her?”

you’re crying now, from the pleasure, from the pain. from everything you never got to be.

“you think she screams for me like this?” he pants. “you think she takes me raw, begging to be full again?”

“no,” you cry, thighs shaking. “only me.”

“no one makes you feel like this,” he growls, fucking you harder, rougher. “no one. say it.”

“no one,” you sob. “no one but you.”

“that’s right, baby. i own this pussy.”

he reaches around, fingers rubbing your clit while he fucks you through your orgasm. your legs give out but he holds you up, forces you to take it.

you come undone with a cry, body shaking, completely at his mercy.

he doesn’t stop.

“fuck, i’m gonna fill you up,” he mutters, pounding into you like he’s lost in it. “gonna cum so deep you’ll feel me for days.”

“please,” you cry, delirious. “please do it. fill me—”

he groans your name as he spills inside you, hips stilling, cock twitching deep in your soaked cunt. you feel everything.

he stays there for a moment, breathing heavy, arms wrapped around you like maybe—just maybe—it meant something.

he pulls out slowly, the thick mess of him leaking down your thighs immediately. you’re still bent over the counter, breathless, skin flushed, tears drying on your cheeks.

he doesn’t say anything. just watches your reflection for a second, lips parted like he might regret something— but of course he doesn’t.

"don’t smile because it happened," you whisper, voice hoarse, broken.

he freezes.

"cry because it’s over."

he meets your eyes in the mirror again, jaw clenched. his hands curl into fists at his sides, like your words punched him in the ribs. but you keep going, tasting the ache on your tongue.

"you’re supposed to think about me every time you hold her."

his silence screams louder than anything he’s ever said. but then—

“shut the fuck up.”

his voice is rough. sharp. but not angry—desperate.

before you can blink, he’s spinning you around, grabbing your face with both hands, and crashing his lips against yours.

it’s not gentle. it’s not soft.

it’s punishment. it’s pain.

it’s everything you’ve never said.

“you want a goodbye fuck that bad?” he growls, already pulling your shirt up, fingers twisting your nipples roughly through your bra. “i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you something to cry about.”

you moan into his mouth, hips grinding against his thigh shamelessly, already sensitive, already needy.

he lifts you again, this time placing you directly on the cold marble counter, knees pushed up and wide.

he doesn’t even bother teasing—his fingers find your entrance and slide in deep, curling inside the mess he left.

“still fucking dripping,” he mutters. “didn’t even try to close up around anyone else, huh?”

you gasp, fingernails digging into his forearms.

“because no one else fits,” you breathe.

he groans, dragging his cock through your folds again, already hard.

“then take me again,” he snarls. “take every inch and beg for it.”

he thrusts into you with one brutal motion, and your head falls back as you cry out, body arching from the shock of it.

you’re still raw, still pulsing—but you take it, just like he asked. just like you always do.

this time, he stays closer. one hand on your throat, the other under your thigh, holding you wide open for him. his pace is relentless, cock slamming into your deepest parts like he’s trying to hurt you— but it’s not pain you want him to stop.

you want him to ruin you.

so you let him.

“look at me,” he hisses, eyes locked on yours. “fucking look while i break you.”

you meet his gaze, tears spilling again, mouth open in a silent moan.

"i want you to miss me," you whisper. "i want you to miss me..."

he slows, just a little. his thrusts go deeper, not softer, and his eyes change. like the words hit something he wasn’t ready for.

“fuck,” he breathes, leaning in, pressing his forehead to yours. “why do you always say shit like that?”

“because it’s true.”

he fucks you harder again, hands everywhere—your face, your hips, your breasts. he licks and bites your neck, groaning as your walls flutter around him.

he pulls you impossibly close, your chest to his, as he slams up into you one last time.

“then fucking cum for me again. now.”

you do. violently. you scream into his mouth as your orgasm crashes through you, shaking, your whole body giving out.

he follows with a growl, biting your shoulder as he spills inside you again, deeper this time, grinding through it until you’re both a mess of sweat and tears and cum.

you’re quiet after. he doesn’t move right away.

he stays inside you, breathing hard, forehead still resting against yours.

and for a second, it almost feels like more.

but you know better.

he pulls out slowly, the mix of both your orgasms dripping down your thighs.

you reach for the counter to steady yourself, blinking at your ruined reflection. red cheeks, swollen lips, glazed eyes.

he’s already adjusting his jeans, grabbing the doorknob again like nothing happened.

before he walks out, he looks at you one last time.

"don’t leave, jaem..." you whisper again, hollow.

but he does.

and he doesn’t cry either.

but you do.

he leaves.

just like that.

no kiss. no goodbye. not even a look back.

the door shuts behind him and the silence hits harder than anything else. your legs are trembling, your thighs sticky and slick, your body aching in every way it shouldn’t.

you stay there. sitting on the counter. bare. empty.

you don’t move for a while. not even when someone knocks on the door a few minutes later, asking if it’s occupied.

your voice cracks when you say, “just a minute.”

but no one hears the way you start crying again once they walk off.

the music is louder now.

bass heavy. laughter spilling from the kitchen. lights too bright. bodies moving past each other like none of it matters. like nothing hurts.

you feel dizzy. your lips are swollen. your mascara is ruined. you try to fix your hair in the mirror before stepping out of the bathroom, but there’s no point. you look exactly how you feel.

broken.

you think maybe if you just disappear into the crowd, he’ll forget you’re still here.

but the universe is cruel.

and he sees you.

from across the room—leaning into jeno.

jeno, who’s always been kind.

jeno, who notices the way your hands are shaking.

jeno, who gently cups your face, wiping a tear that trails down to your lips.

you’re crying again, and jaemin watches.

you’re talking, but he can’t hear you.

you’re speaking between choked sobs and breathless hiccups, mouth trembling like you’re trying to explain your own pain to someone who might finally care. someone who might actually listen.

jeno pulls you close, arms wrapping around your frame like protection, like comfort.

and that’s when it hits.

jaemin’s still holding his red cup, but he’s not drinking anymore. not moving. just watching. frozen.

your voice is swallowed by the music—by the beat, by the blur of voices and bass—but he can see it in your eyes:

you weren’t supposed to fall apart like this. not for him.

you were never supposed to cry because it was over.

and yet—

you are.

and jeno is holding you together in the same house where jaemin tore you apart.

jaemin looks down at his drink. it’s warm. forgotten.

he doesn’t smile.

he just stands there, for a long time, watching the girl who used to beg for him now melt in someone else’s arms.

and for the first time since you met him...

he starts to miss you.

[studiogrimm810]

Spackle

pairings/characters: (pining)dean winchester x gn!reader, sam is also there

summary: in a desperate attempt to back burner his feelings for you, dean tries to fill the void with pointless sex. and goddamn does that hurt

warnings: miscommunication and clarification, not too much, ANGSTY THO and happy ending ^.^

word count: 3,265

A/N: this is a request!!! i had a blast writing this one, love me some pining winchesters heheh. to get added to my tag list just send me an ask!! <3

(p.s. i realize this story set up isn’t exactly how it was worded in the request and i’m so sorry i’m just now noticing this T.T,, if you want a redo, pls lmk and i’ll correct my ways. okay ily)

———————

Light conversation murmurs over a steady 80s country song selected on the jukebox of this oddly cozy dive bar. Another successful hunt, with the help of your beloved Winchesters, lead the trio to celebrate amongst a round of drinks. The past few weeks, you’ve been tagging along for hunt after hunt and have really enjoyed the time with the boys. However, the closer proximity to the older brother only worsens the ache in your chest.

You watch him now as he throws back an amber shot of burning whiskey. His face hardens in a subtle growl at the sting as he slams the empty glass down. You follow his lead, letting the pungent liquid scrape down your throat and settle into your stomach, already warming with alcohol.

“Damn, they’ve got some cheap whiskey,” Dean blows out air through tight lips, cringing at the lingering singe of the alcohol. You nod, eyes scrunched in disgust.

“Whiskey is all pain, next time it’s vodka,” you declare, shaking off the burn and taking a swig of your less threatening house ale.

“Vodka is a young man’s game. Weak,” Dean mocks, taking a few fries from the communal basket in the middle.

“Are you so insecure that you have to validate your drunkenness with the more painful whiskey? Vodka drunk is where it’s at, I’m sick of pretending it’s not,” you shrug, taking a few fries as well.

Sam just chuckles at your bickering, tapping his fingers with the beat for the song. After back-to-back cases like this, you’ve noticed Sam is more inclined to let loose and relax with you and Dean.

The waitress comes back to the table and your body tenses as Dean's eyes trace her curves, landing on her face.

“Hey, sweetheart, can we get another round?” Dean holds up his empty shot glass. You force your gaze away, trying to ignore the sizzling discomfort under your skin.

There’s a few lines exchanged between the two and you have to bite your tongue to keep your emotion off your face.

Soft footsteps echo away and you look up to see Dean's eyes lingering for a beat too long. You try to ignore the ache in your chest, it’s not your place to feel so strongly for Dean. He’s not yours to call you own and you have no right to feel as blindingly jealous as you do when he throws his fucking googly eyes at a girl you couldn’t beat in a lineup.

It doesn’t stop the way the pain halts your lungs though because you’re still forced to watch the man you love ogle the most beautiful woman in the room.

“God, I could use a night to just unwind,” Dean hints into his beer, taking a sip and setting it back down with a refreshed hiss.

You don’t respond, instead taking a deep gulp of your ale, trying to drown the words so close to crawling out of your throat. Part of the burnout you’re starting to experience has fallen victim to Dean and his goddamn charm. He can’t help but flirt with anything shiny, it’s his nature, but you wished he thought you were someone worth flirting with.

And unfortunately, what you didn’t know was that it killed Dean to have you around like this. The pent up tension of having you so close makes him itch. He wants so desperately to give into the pull he feels between you two but he’s scared. Actually scared of making you uncomfortable or messing it up. So instead he deflects all of his affection he pleads to shower you with and points at whoever else is in his line of sight. It barely keeps him contained.

Another hour or so passes and you’re drunk enough to feel the absence of pain for the man next to you. Dean is drunk enough to pretend the pretty waitress can spackle the crevasse you’ve cracked into his sternum.

As Dean bids a goodnight and charms the waitress into an early cut, you chug the rest of your ale and turn to Sam.

“Are you present enough to drive us back to the motel?” You ask, fluttering a toothpick between your fingers.

“You got it,” Sam sits up, pulling out a wad of cash and planting it on the table, taking one last swig of his water and- well, you don’t remember him ordering a water- leading you out the front door that Dean and the mystery woman disappeared through just a few minutes ago.

You toss Sam your keys, Dean having taken the Impala, and climb into your passenger seat, letting the soft hum of the radio melt your mind.

Sam helps you into the motel, you may have drunk past your feelings tonight. You claim Dean's bed as your own since he won’t be here tonight, it’s the least he owes you- soberly though, you knew that’s not true.

“You good, can I get you anything?” Sam asks, untying his shoes and loosening his flannel.

“Nah, ‘M good,” you shake your head, sitting up and taking off your uncomfortable layers. You successfully get down to your undershirt and jeans, stretching your sore muscles.

“You can always talk to me, yaknow,” Sam says passively as he digs in his duffle, pretending to look for something. He knows you, and he knows that you aren’t openly ready to ever share your deeper feelings so he tries not to make a big deal out of it but he wants to offer his support regardless.

“You’re too kind, Sam,” your breathy voice flows out as you settle in the bed. “Just a little frustrated. Don’t worry about it,” you say, settling into the cushion. Sam wants to press but leaves it be. He cares for you and he recognizes how stupid his brother is being, but unfortunately there isn’t anything else he can do other than offer his moral support.

With lack of overthinking anxieties for the bright green eyes that stain your lids, sleep takes you easy.

———

The next morning, god is kind as she doesn’t punish you with a hangover but instead a dry mouth and the need to piss like a racehorse. With such a quick dash to the bathroom, you don’t notice Dean passed out on the couch.

Handling your business, you follow up with brushing your hair, teeth, and washing your hands and face- readying yourself for the day.

You trudge to the kitchenette sink and go through two glasses of water before slowing down and turning to finally notice Dean on the couch and Sam’s absence. Your heart nearly stops at the unexpected placement of bodies in the room and lack thereof. Dean is snoring peacefully and you don’t remember hearing him stumble back in this morning.

Last night. Ugh, you don’t want to think about whatever Dean got up to last night after leaving the bar.

It’s almost 10 am at this point and if you wanna make good time, you should probably leave soon. You hope Sam will be back in time for you to say goodbye, but you need space, bad, and don’t think you can hold out much longer.

You set the glass in the sink and head over to pack up your items. The rustling wakes up Dean.

“What time is it?” He asks with a groan, rubbing his eyes. You look over your shoulder at him, his sleepy voice rubbing you like kindling, filling you up quickly with haze smoke. You shake your head, trying to exhale the heat.

“9:54am to be exact,” you clear your throat, stacking some books of yours you had shown Sam yesterday morning sometime.

“God, this couch sucks,” he complains, sitting up with a grunt. Your lips, against your will, curl in amusement at his inconvenience.

“I’m sure your hot date had a bed comfortable enough,” the words feel like poison on your tongue. Your comment is meant to be lighthearted and ‘wing-man’-y but the silence indicates that it didn’t land.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” he grumbles and you feel sick, thinking of how else they made it work. The Impala? A different motel? Hell, maybe the bar bathroom. Your thoughts full-circle back to the Impala and you’re bombarded with intrusive thoughts of how many men or women he’s taken in the back of his precious possession. In the same seats you’ve traveled in.

You start to miss the warm wave of alcohol in your belly. You need to be far from this man.

You don’t entertain the comment.

“What’re you doing?” He asks, looking lazily at your items as they’re shoved loosely in your duffle that’s on its last leg.

“Thinkin’ of heading west, maybe hit the strip, try and rack up some cash,” you say, trying to remain casual.

“Sammy’s got another lead,” Dean says, confused like you had forgotten about the suspicious deaths across state.

“And you two are more than capable, I believe in you,” you look over your shoulder and scrunch your nose in a joking manner. He’s not amused.

“You can’t just ditch us,” he stands, crossing his arms over his chest. That caught you off guard.

“Ditch you?” You scoff, turning to face him. “I’m not ditching you, I just have other matters to attend to,” you argue, tilting your head in anger.

“Oh what, betting your $200 and busting? We both know you suck at gambling. You’d be better off taking a handful out a damn wishing well,” he rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“Oh shut up, I’m entitled to time for myself,” you defend, attitude spitting off of you in waves.

“‘Entitled’- that’s one word I’d use,” he squints, seething in anger. You drop your jaw and spin around, slamming items into your bag with impressive speed.

The air is thick and if your own anger wasn’t buzzing so loud in your chest you’d be able to sense his regret. You zip the bag, avoiding him on your way to the bathroom to retrieve your toiletries bag.

He calls your name as you pass him but your feet don’t react like your stuttering heart does.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, annoyed with his own burst of anger.

“Whatever, Dean,” you deadpan, grabbing your smaller bag and walking around Dean again, his eyes stay on you like a sunflower in the presence of the sun.

“Just- slow down,” he practically begs, “what is up with you?” He asks, face softened and eyes warm as he tries to figure you out.

“Nothing of your concern,” you state simply, hooking the bag on your arm and slinging the other on your back. You turn to head to the door but Dean sidesteps your track and you bump into his chest. He hands land on your biceps, steadying you. His face is mere inches from yours and you can practically taste that half handful of mints Dean chowed on on his way back to the motel- whenever that was.

“Talk to me,” it’s more of a demand, but his voice is so sweet when he says it- he practically lures it out of you.

“I can’t stand it,” your voice betrays you. Fucking betrays you as it spills out your stupid little thoughts. You snap your jaw shut and turn away, trying not to let the pebbling goosebumps from his radiating heat take over your skin. As if you could even stop them if you tried.

His head tilts and his sparkling eyes search yours. They’re like green apple Jolly Ranchers. So crystal and so sweet. You’re in it now.

“Can’t stand what?” His first concern is that he’s made you uncomfortable in some way and it makes his hold on you loosen as his confidence drains in that fear. He’s tried so unbelievably hard to make sure his feelings for you weren’t overwhelmingly obvious. He had never felt for someone like he felt for you. He didn’t want to woo you and make you melt with a simple smirk- he couldn’t, as far as he could tell. Just like he couldn’t use his charm to cover his cavern of self-loathing from your view, and he couldn’t put on the façade that he would for any other interest of his. Maybe it was respect, maybe it was fear, he just hoped it wasn’t love.

“You,” the word takes an entire lungful of breath to get out, deflating you like an exhausted pufferfish, sick of pretending to be some big-bad to deter prying eyes. Especially the emerald ones that make you salivate.

Your single word hurts him. His grip on you vanished like he was stung from the touch and he took a step back. He’s wounded.

“I just need some space,” it’s still a lungful of breath but at least this puff is more efficient than the former. He’s speechless, he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t want to argue- he can’t. He knows the burden he is on others and for you, of all people, to outwardly admit it really puts him in his place.

Your eyes hold so much obvious raw emotion that if anyone else but Dean could see, they’d knock him upside the head for how dense and self obsessed he’s being.

His eyes hold so much pain at the unnoticed miscommunication on your end that someone should do the same to you. If you could both get your heads out your asses and just accept the heat- this spark between you- all would settle like sand in a calm lake.

Unfortunately, it’s hurricane season and you bypass him without a second glance as you get in your car and drive until your tears cloud your vision.

———

“And then they just left,” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. He sat on a squeaky chair supplied in the kitchenette of the generously rated 2-star motel.

“Did they say why?” Sam asked, arms crossed but one lifted to gesture as he spoke.

“It’s my fault,” Dean can’t keep the pain at bay, not even to hold up the big-brother-that-can’t- be-stung persona. He’s too distraught over your words. Well, word.

“Why? What did you do?” Sam says, his shoulders slumping with a sigh of grievance. Almost like he had expected this to be Dean's fault.

He’s quiet, shuffling through his memories, trying to pinpoint when exactly he had hurt you in such a way to cause the outburst. Was it his own words?

“Just said they couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand me,” Dean leans back, looking up at the ceiling. Sam’s eyes squint, a thoughtful look clouding his eyes. Once he seems to piece it together, his arms fall and he rolls his eyes.

“Dean, you’re so dense,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No need to hammer it in,” Dean shrugs with both his arms and a scoff.

“No, you-. Dean, think about it,” Sam presses, shifting on his feet. “Remember the officer you were talking up to get info for last week's case? How agitated they got? And what about last night- that waitress you took home. Dean, they care about you,” Sam lays it all out, hoping that Dean will actually take it how it's presented to him.

Dean just stared at Sam, not wanting to believe that all this time he’s been shoving down his feelings for you that have actually been mutual this whole time. That he had a chance and how he may have just ruined it.

Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to give his fear another thought. He needs to see you.

Dean doesn’t spare Sam an answer, jumping to his feet and darting out to the Impala, snatching the keys along with his jacket. He roars Baby to life and whips out his phone to check your location. Something the brothers made close friends agree to in case anything ever happened. Of course, this isn’t what was initially in mind when they implemented the rule.

Surprisingly, you’re only a 20 minute drive by now- some diner in the next town. He wasted no time.

Oh, by the way, one of the great skills in Dean Winchester's self-proclaimed ‘Ego Arsenal’? Cutting drives down by at least 20% in desperate situations, sometimes 30% if traffic is forgiving.

He sees your car on the far end of the lot. You’re rustling through the trunk and you look sporadic. Screeching tires alert you to the fresh presence of the Impala and your stomach flips.

“Dean?” You ask, straightening up from your trunk and hoping to seem calm and collected- as if you didn’t just get done crying your eyes out for a love that will never be in your hands.

“I’m an idiot,” Dean stumbles out of the barely parked car, not bothering with latching the door. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he’s breathing heavily but that doesn’t stop him from coming right up to you.

“What?” You ask, completely lost.

“The waitress- I couldn’t,” he shakes his head, breath hitting your face. Damn, he got close.

“Why would-?”

“I couldn’t- because of you,” his sentences are patchy but it almost seems like it’s because his thoughts are so disorganized and not due to the panting breaths.

You’re silenced. Is he blaming you? Is he upset with you? You did nothing- that you recall- that would’ve gotten in the way of him and her. You open your mouth to argue but he’s quick to eat your words as his lips crash into yours, holding you still with both hands on your face. His palms practically suffocate you with how much ground they cover but you couldn’t think enough to care.

He steps as close as he can, pressing his body into yours. His arms are at a more awkward angle for how he’s still holding you but he doesn’t seem to care. Almost afraid that if he lets go then you’ll melt through his abandoned hold and disappear from his life forever. He can’t risk it.

He kisses you until he’s breathless again, pulling away in time for his vision to not threaten giving out on him.

He plants his forehead against yours, breath dusting your face as he just takes in the way your skin ignites his own.

“Where the hell did that come from?” You finally ask, your legs a little weak and thanking god that he’s got a hold on you.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he scoffs a simple laugh with a smirk, his eyes still closed. “Just couldn’t stand it,” he teases, eyes still closed. Maybe if he doesn’t open them he won’t have to risk this being a dream.

You press your lips into his again, a sweeter kiss of adoration for his simple joke, as if you two already have your own bit.

“I’m sorry. I never even realized that-,” he sighs, finally opening his eyes and pulling away enough to fully appreciate your face. “I never realized what I felt for you was what it is.” He likes being close enough to admire the blemishes of your skin- freckles, hints of wrinkles, a scar along your temple.

“And what’s that?” You ask, face splayed with a teasing smirk but on the inside you feel like a preteen watching the bouncing bubbles that proceed a romantic text you were bold enough to send.

“Infatuation,” you’re almost convinced he invented the word on the spot with how much emotion he fit into a few syllables.

And although the look he’s dawning is pure and adorning, a neon spark behind his mossy glass shows a devious excitement. God, you’re really in it now.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest)

>>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids @areswasneverhere

[twistedsistas-stuff]

VIP Validation

pt 2 of Private Show

explicit sexual content (18+) • rough sex • oral (f!receiving) • full nelson position • semi-public/vip room & office scenes • f/f tension • unprotected sex • dom!smoke & dom!stack • light restraint • degradation • parallel sex scenes • thick & big this fic nasty y’all.

The door hadn’t even fully swung open before you and Annie both turned in your chairs, sensing them like thunder before it cracked.

Stack and Smoke walked in real quiet, dressed in all black, the kind of smooth that made the whole damn room feel like velvet.

You leaned back, gloss half-done, eyebrow cocked.

“Mmm. If y’all showin’ up dressed like this, we must be doin’ somethin’ right.”

Annie didn’t even blink. She smirked, dragging one leg across the other slow. “Y’all come to watch or confess?”

Smoke let the door shut behind him and stepped in like he had all night to deal with this heat. “Neither,” he said. “We came to give.”

Stack lifted a small velvet box between two fingers. “For our money-makers.”

Annie leaned back in her chair, teasing, but curious. “What y’all givin’ us now? A raise? A ring?”

You laughed, but your voice came out honey-slow. “Y’all better not be tryna lock us down before we even finish our lashes.”

Stack walked behind you while Smoke glided over to Annie.

“We just figurin’,” Stack said low, near your neck, “if everybody else lookin’ at y’all like gold…”

“…then y’all oughta shine like it,” Smoke finished, box already open in his palm.

Annie’s smile dropped a little. Her lips parted when she saw what glinted inside.

“Damn,” she whispered.

A honeycomb.

Delicate, glistening. Rich.

You turned as Stack opened his.

A peach. Smooth and heavy like temptation made metal.

Annie whistled, eyes cuttin’ toward yours. “Girl. They really said ‘brand us,’ huh?”

You smirked. “Might as well be a collar.”

“That bother you?” Stack asked, voice dipping like molasses.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Not if I get to tug it now and then.”

He grinned, brushing your hair aside, fingers grazing your shoulder. “Careful. I’ll let you.”

Smoke stepped closer to Annie, slipping the chain around her neck like he’d done it a thousand times.

“You ever seen a man go quiet just ‘cause you walk in?” he asked her.

Annie’s eyes met his in the mirror. “Every damn day.”

“Then this just a reminder,” he murmured, fingers brushing the clasp shut. “You don’t owe ‘em nothin’ but a look.”

She turned real slow, standing to face him. “You want more than a look?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Stack finished fastening yours. His hand stayed on your skin, fingertips draggin’ slow along your collarbone.

You felt goosebumps rise down your arm like the whisper of sin.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he said under his breath.

You leaned back into his chest, looked up at him from under your lashes. “I know. And I’m just warmin’ up.”

Annie giggled soft but dangerous. “Y’all gettin’ weak.”

Smoke’s voice came dark. “Strong men don’t need to pretend they ain’t cravin’.”

You and Annie turned at the same time, necklaces glintin’ under the light, confidence wrapped around y’all tighter than any outfit.

“Well then,” Annie drawled, brushing past Smoke like she meant it, “you better hold steady.”

You followed her, dragging your fingers down Stack’s wrist as you passed.

“You might need both hands tonight.”

Stack didn’t move..

Just watched you go with heat in his throat and tension in his knuckles.

And somewhere in his chest, he knew—y’all weren’t just the fire.

Yall were the whole damn matchbox.

⸻

The music pulsed low through the club—sultry, stretched out, tryin’ real hard to be sexy.

Mary was up on stage now, silver set sparklin’ under the lights, heels hittin’ a little too loud on the platform. She swung ‘round the pole once, real sharp—but it was clear she was still thinking about it. Movin’ with effort, not instinct.

You and Annie sat at the bar, drinks cold in your hands, gold chains catching the flicker of neon. Your legs crossed lazy, body still warm from your set earlier, sweat just now dryin’.

Annie took a slow sip, eyes locked on the stage.

“She tryin’,” she murmured, low enough just for you.

You didn’t answer—just lifted your drink in acknowledgment.

Mary dropped into a split. Loud.

A couple men clapped from the floor. One tossed a five.

Annie tilted her head.

“She got rhythm.”

You hummed.

Mary rose up, twirled once more, hair flyin’. She smiled out at the crowd, but her eyes didn’t catch anybody’s. Her hands were too stiff, her steps too planned.

“She cute,” Annie said, poppin’ a peanut from the bar bowl into her mouth. “Like prom night cute.”

You let out a breath of a laugh. “Mm.”

Another spin. Another clap.

But your drink was gettin’ more attention than she was.

The bartender came by with a fresh round—on the house. He slid it toward you with a wink. “House special for the queens.”

You didn’t even look at Mary now. Just the glass, the stage lights, and the way Annie’s necklace shimmered with each breath she took.

From behind, Stack and Smoke watched quiet.

Stack leaned against the bar, arms crossed, eyes on you like he could still see that last body roll echoin’ in his mind.

Smoke just shook his head once, slow. “Crowd ain’t movin’. They just watchin’.”

“Not even reachin’ for they pockets,” Stack added.

Mary finished her set with one last spin—off-balance, a little winded.

The room clapped, sure, but it was thin.

You and Annie sat in that hush, untouched.

Your money already made.

Your spotlight already earned.

And without sayin’ a word about it—everybody knew it.

⸻

Mary stepped off stage, breathin’ heavy, sweat slickin’ her forehead as she adjusted her silver top and tried to shake the wobble out her step. She caught sight of Stack and Smoke at the bar, headed straight for ‘em.

Which meant she had to pass right by y’all.

You and Annie didn’t move, didn’t speak. Just kept sippin’, legs crossed, eyes followin’ her like shadows. Cool and clean. Gold necklaces glintin’ like you was born with ’em.

Mary flipped her hair and put on her best stage smile.

“Heyyy,” she said, sidling up to where the boys stood. “So… how’d I do?”

You didn’t even look at her—just tilted your glass back, the ice clinking slow.

Stack blinked first.

He looked at Smoke.

Smoke looked at the floor

Then back at Stack.

“…You got up there,” Stack said finally, clearing his throat.

Smoke nodded, slow. “Sure did.”

Mary beamed. “Right?! I felt real good about it. That spin at the end? I been practicin’ it all week.”

Stack coughed into his drink. “You definitely… went around.”

Smoke bit the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, and, uh… you landed.”

“On purpose,” Stack added, voice a little too bright.

Mary grinned, not catchin’ it. “Right? I thought that split was kinda crazy.”

Annie sipped slow, eyes on her glass. “Mm,” she said, like a gospel hum that held more meaning than words ever could.

You leaned into the bar, lips curled just enough. “Had folks clappin’, too.”

Mary turned, preening. “Yeah! I felt the energy.”

Smoke sipped fast. “Lotta energy.”

“Real�� kinetic,” Stack muttered, like he was tryin’ out a new word and wasn’t sure it belonged.

You and Annie exchanged the smallest glance.

Stack cleared his throat again. “Anyway. You—uh—you showed up.”

Smoke nodded fast. “Definitely… a performance.”

Mary looked pleased as hell, nodding to herself as she walked off, swingin’ that little silver number like she’d just dropped a masterpiece.

As soon as she was outta earshot, Stack let out a slow breath. “Lord have mercy.”

Smoke huffed. “That girl danced like a Roomba with too much attitude.”

Annie nearly choked on her drink.

You turned to Stack, smiling sweet. “You tried real hard not to lie. I’m proud.”

He looked at you, smirkin’. “Ain’t wanna hurt her feelings. She got heart.”

“Mm,” you said, sipping. “She gon’ need it.”

⸻

Mary disappeared backstage, hummin’ to herself like she just got a standing ovation instead of polite applause.

You and Annie were back to your drinks, the glow from the bar casting that rich, lowlight shimmer across your skin. Quiet. Cool.

Then Stack spoke.

“You ready?”

You blinked, looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

Smoke stepped forward, resting one hand on the bar. “To get back up there.”

Annie leaned back, brows raised. “Ain’t nobody said nothin’ ‘bout us havin’ another set.”

Stack shrugged, but there was that glint in his eye. “We ain’t seen y’all together since that night.”

“Mm,” Smoke added, sippin’ slow, eyes on Annie’s mouth. “Thought maybe it was a fluke.”

Annie’s head snapped toward him. “A what?”

Stack grinned. “You know… maybe it hit right ‘cause it was new. Lucky spark.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You sayin’ we got lucky?”

“I’m sayin’… let’s see if y’all can do it again,” Stack said, voice low, fingers drumming the wood of the bar.

Annie laughed, leaned her elbow on the counter, facing them both.

“Oh y’all real bold tonight.”

Smoke didn’t flinch. “We just tryna see if the magic got legs.”

Annie turned to you, lips curled. “He must’ve bumped his head.”

You tilted your head, staring Stack down. “You wanna test us?”

“We test what we payin’ for,” Stack said, smooth.

Annie leaned close to you, voice a whisper just for the two of y’all. “Girl… they miss it.”

You didn’t need to say a thing. You already felt that slow heat buildin’.

Annie straightened up, slid off her stool, all hips and promise. “Alright then.”

You followed, slow and deliberate, gold glintin’ on your chest.

Annie threw a look over her shoulder at them both. “Let’s see if y’all can handle it twice.”

Smoke lifted his drink with a smirk, but his hand gripped the glass a little tighter

Stack just licked his bottom lip, watching you walk toward the dressing room like he already knew—

This wasn’t no fluke.

This was a warning.

⸻

The dressing room was thick with heat now. Not from sweat or nerves—but from that pull between you and Annie. That unspoken hum you could feel in your chest before you ever hit the stage.

She turned from the fridge, flask cold and dripping in her hand, and stepped in close.

Close enough to blur.

You watched the slow rise of her chest, the glint of her necklace where it sat just above her curves. She was already taller in them heels, but the way she looked down at you now? That was deliberate.

“Let me warm you up,” she whispered.

You didn’t speak. Just tilted your chin up, soft and sure.

Her hand slid around your throat, not tight, just present. Thumb brushing that delicate spot beneath your jaw as she held your gaze and brought the flask up. She didn’t rush it—poured slow and smooth straight into your mouth, never breaking eye contact, her other hand bracing the small of your back.

Whiskey kissed your tongue. Her fingers kissed your skin. You swallowed with a little gasp, chest rising into hers. Her thumb traced your bottom lip.

“That’s my girl,” she murmured.

You blinked, your voice low and warm. “Now we ready.”

She smirked, but you could feel the charge between y’all clingin’ like static. She turned first, heels tapping back to her mirror, like nothin’ happened—but you stood there a second longer, breath shallow.

Then you moved, slow and sure, slickin’ oil on your thighs and neckline. Annie looked at you through the mirror.

“What we dancin’ to?” she asked.

You tilted your head. “Somethin’ smooth. Laced with bass. Give them a chance to regret openin’ they mouths.”

“Mona Lisa,” she said without blinking.

You grinned. “Now that’s dangerous.”

She stood, fixed her straps, and followed you out. No more words.

⸻

The hallway was dark, shadows spillin’ like ink around your heels as you clicked toward the DJ booth.

Stack and Smoke stood up top in the balcony, drinks forgotten in their hands.

“Where they goin’?” Stack asked, eyes narrowing.

Smoke didn’t answer. He could already feel it. That pull.

Down below, your silhouette slipped into the DJ’s booth.

“Play it,” you said, your voice a velvet thread. “Wayne. Mona Lisa. You know what time it is.”

The DJ gave a little nod. Then the lights dimmed. Low. Dirty. Like a secret about to get told.

The stage stayed empty for a breath. Just long enough to build.

Then Annie stepped out first, hips rollin’ slow to the intro strings—dark lashes low, every step deliberate, like she was settin’ a trap.

You followed right behind her, smooth and steady, your gold catching every flash of red light that flickered along the pole.

And then that beat dropped.

Y’all didn’t move fast. No. This dance wasn’t about speed—it was calculated.

Sharp.

Criminal.

Annie slinked down the pole while you circled it, y’all bodies flowing together like silk and smoke. She bent forward slow, her backside brushing against your thigh, and you caught her waist—held her steady as she rolled up.

The crowd? Silent.

Stack leaned forward, elbow on the rail, lips parted.

Smoke didn’t even sip.

Annie sank to her knees, crawled around you slow, face inches from your hip as she looked out at the men below.

You gripped the pole and let your body coil around it, thighs grippin’ hard, your hair swingin’ low as you inverted slow, upside down, back archin’ to the bass.

Wayne’s voice snarled through the speakers:

“And when they leave they get followed”

And y’all moved like the punchline.

Sharp cuts.

Kisses of contact.

You pressed into Annie’s back, bodies flush, then peeled away like y’all had secrets to keep from each other—like the betrayal in the lyrics was your damn alibi.

The pole wasn’t a prop—it was the weapon.

And y’all?

Y’all were the heist.

Smoke exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

Stack didn’t even try to look cool no more.

Just gripped the edge of the rail, eyes locked, mouth tight.

On the floor, tips started flutterin’. More and more. Rain without thunder.

But up top?

That storm was brewing behind their eyes.

⸻

The bass hit low and ugly, and the lights soaked the stage in red.

Annie strutted slow under the spotlight, hips rollin’ like molasses mixed with malice. You followed, smooth and sharp, gold gleamin’, hair swingin’ with every slow step. The pole stood dead center, but it wasn’t the focus.

Y’all were.

“I got a bitch named Keisha, got a bitch named Lisa…”

Wayne’s voice twisted through the speakers like a snake around a neck.

Annie dropped to her knees, archin’ up slow, hands skimming your thighs as you leaned over her shoulder. Your bodies moved in sync—pull, release, snap, grind. You climbed the pole while she circled, ass swayin’ like she was followin’ the scent of blood.

From the balcony, Smoke’s jaw tensed.

And just like that—

A hotel room, 1992.

Red satin sheets, a silver pistol on the nightstand. Some man with a Rolex smilin’ too wide, thinkin’ he about to win.

Stack outside the door. Smoke behind the curtain. And some girl—pretty, cold, dressed in sin—askin’ him to take his belt off.

He never saw it comin’.

⸻

You spun slow, upside down, thighs locked on the pole, hair just grazin’ the floor before you slid back upright. Annie followed, pressed behind you, her mouth inches from your ear, never sayin’ a word—but her eyes?

Lied perfectly.

Stack leaned forward, eyes narrowed, fists clenched tight over the railing.

A strip club in Baton Rouge.

Smoke at the bar. Stack in the back booth.

Two girls they never saw again, but still remembered—

One with gold hoops. One with a laugh like glass shatterin’. They made off with thirty grand in a duffel bag and Stack’s favorite lighter.

⸻

Down on the stage, Annie bent over slow, legs wide, arms dragging like she was huntin’. You leaned into her back, the two of you swayin’ like vipers.

It wasn’t just sexy—it was criminal.

You didn’t dance for tips.

You danced like you was makin’ somebody disappear.

Smoke swallowed hard. “If we had them back then…”

Stack didn’t answer at first. Just stared. Breathing hard

Then, low: “We’d’ve never made no damn money.”

Smoke glanced at him.

“We’d’ve killed any man that even tried to get close.”

Stack nodded, slow. “Ain’t no price on that kind of touch.”

Down on the floor, bills hit the stage like confessions.

And y’all?

Y’all just kept dancing—like y’all already knew the ending.

Like y’all were the ending.

⸻

The last note of Mona Lisa dropped like a blade.

You and Annie stood center stage, bodies still and glistening under the lights, breath slow and deep—like lions who just finished feeding.

Then, like nothin’, y’all turned and walked off.

Crowd still murmur-thirsty. Bills still flutterin’.

But y’all didn’t look back once.

Behind the curtain, the dark hit like relief and fire all at once.

Smoke and Stack waited for you just off to the side—drinks in hand, postured cool like they ain’t been practically undone upstairs. Like they wasn’t leanin’ forward, brows tight, blood boilin’.

But their eyes told the truth.

You headed straight for Stack, his gaze locked on you like a heat-seekin’ missile. “You somethin’ else,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

You grinned, breath still high in your chest.

“You proud?”

He stepped in close, hand brushing your waist. “Always.”

That did somethin’ to you. You didn’t even try to play it off. Your hands slid down the lapels of his suit jacket, fingers draggin’ over the velvet, grippin’ near his hips.

His hand came up, thumb under your chin, palm pressin’ light but firm to your throat. He tilted your head slow, deliberate, leaned in close —kissed your temple.

“You golden, baby.”

And damn if it didn’t feel like a spell in itself.

Over to the side, Annie was already makin’ her move.

She was posted at Smoke’s side like she’d always belonged there, leanin’ in, eyes gleamin’ with somethin’ unreadable. Her lips brushed close to his ear, but she didn’t whisper soft.

She whispered low.

Creole.

Something thick and sugar-dark that only he would understand. His eyes flicked to hers, that cool mask barely holdin’. She slid her hand up slow, fingertips draggin’ from his chest to his neck, lingerin’ at his pulse like she could count every sin he ever committed just from the rhythm.

Whatever she said left Smoke stuck for a breath.

Still.Swallowed hard.Then he exhaled.

“Yeah,” he muttered, like it was all he could manage. “Yeah, that.”

Stack glanced over, caught the way Smoke’s jaw had gone tight, the way Annie was smirkin’ now like she had the upper hand and knew it.

“You good?” Stack asked, still holdin’ you close.

Smoke didn’t even look away.

“I’m real good.”

You leaned in closer to Stack, your body still warm, his cologne all in your lungs now.

“You sure we ain’t gotta dance again?” you teased.

Stack smiled slow, that dimple showin’.

“I’on think I could take it.”

⸻

The VIP room was thick with low light and sin-slick laughter.

Y’all had kicked off your heels, legs stretched out, money everywhere—piled, spread, floatin’ down like confetti with no shame. All earned. All deserved.

Annie leaned back on the plush red couch, counting slow with one hand, other wrapped around a champagne glass. You were on the floor, grinnin’, fingers runnin’ through stacks like they was water.

“Damn,” you laughed, holding up a fistful. “We might break the floor.”

Annie raised a brow, lips curled. “We might buy the floor.”

You tossed a handful in the air just to see it rain again. “I oughta do a money angel.”

Annie took another sip. “Do it, bitch.”

You collapsed back into the mess, arms wide, gigglin’, bills stuck to your thighs and collarbone.

Then you sat up slow, lips twitchin’ with a devious grin.

“Aight, aight,” you said, voice dropping an octave, brows furrowin’ like you was thinkin’ deep. “Check it—this how Smoke be.”

You pulled your body together, sat back stiff like you was keepin’ every inch under control. Shoulders high. Hands folded. Eyes low like he ain’t never tryna look too long.

You turned to Annie, deadpan. “Nah. Nah, y’all got it. I’m good.”

She howled laughin’.

You kept goin, head tiltin’, voice dropped extra low:

“Y’all wild. Mmm.” You nodded slow. “Crazy. I’on even like dancin’.”

Annie wiped her eyes, chest shakin’.

Then she stood up.

“I’ma show you Stack.”

You leaned back against the couch with your arm out like royalty. “Go on then.”

She stepped onto the money like a stage, shoulders loosening up, face switchin’—chin high, lazy smirk, that same damn swagger you’d seen on Stack a hundred times.

She moved slow, hips rollin’ like silk, eyes never breakin’ from yours.

She pointed at you, lip curled just enough.

Then threw bills at your chest, one by one, like she was blessin’ you.

“Go ‘head then,” she said, mimickin’ that drawl. “Show me somethin’, golden girl.”

You threw your head back laughin’, but that heat started crawlin’ back under your skin. The way she moved, the way she stared—it stirred that dancer’s switch in you.

So you stood. Slow.

And gave it right back—slinkin’ toward her like it was the club again, pelvis lazy, touch light, rollin’ your body to some invisible beat as you slid a twenty down her stomach.

“Ooh, Stack like that,” she teased, eyes hooded.

Then she dropped low, leaned back in real close to you—grip on your waist, her body grindin’ slow as she whispered, “Smoke definitely like this.”

You both laughed—but neither one of y’all had to say it:

That switch was flipped.

And that’s when the door opened.

Smoke and Stack stood there like shadows stitched from bourbon and fire, leanin’ in the doorway, arms crossed.

They’d been watchin’. Long enough to catch all of it.

Stack raised a brow. “So that’s what I look like?”

You straightened up, grinnin’. “Little bit more confused. And with a toothpick.”

Annie turned to Smoke, straddlin’ the couch like she ain’t give a damn. “You ain’t say nothin’ the whole time.”

Smoke stepped inside, shut the door behind him slow. “Was waitin’ to see how deep the lie was gon’ go.”

Stack shook his head, laughin’. “Y’all some fools.”

But neither of ‘em looked mad.

Not even close

Annie smirked from her seat on the couch, legs crossed, neck still glistenin’ with sweat and mischief.

“Well,” she purred, “if we was so wrong…”

She dragged her finger through the bills on the table, eyes flickin’ up to Smoke, slow and sly—

“Why don’t y’all show us how it’s really done?”

You blinked, brows raised, but your grin was already stretchin’.

Stack looked at Smoke first.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t have to.

Smoke stepped in like he wasn’t walkin’—like he was claimin’ territory. Jacket already off, sleeves rolled, that watch glintin’ on his wrist.

He didn’t waste time.

His hand curled under Annie’s chin, thumb glidin’ slow along her jaw. “Keep talkin’ like that,” he murmured, voice velvet and heat, “you gon’ find out how quick I take the air out your lungs, cher.”

She shivered—visibly.

Didn’t flinch.

But she leaned in.

Smoke pulled her in tighter, mouth at her ear now, low and deep. “You wanna play? Or you wanna beg?”

And Annie—Annie—bit her lip and dropped her eyes.

Just like that.

Gone quiet.

Meanwhile, Stack?

Stack turned to you with that damn smile—the one that always said “you been actin’ cute too long.”

“Oh, so I’m confused?” he asked, steppin’ close, real close, until you had to look up at him. “A little slow?”

You opened your mouth to clap back, but he was already there.

His hand caught the back of your neck, slidin’ low down your spine, grip firm, warm.

“Say somethin’ smart now,” he whispered, his lips just ghostin’ your cheek. “Go on. Make it good.”

Your breath hitched.

He grinned wider. “Thought so.”

Then—he picked you up.

Easy. Effortless. Like you ain’t weigh a thing. Sat you right down in his lap on the velvet couch, hands still on your hips, thumbs brushin’ under your top.

“You gon’ talk,” he said low, mouth pressed right beneath your ear, “or you gon’ listen while I remind you who you dance for?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

Because Annie?

Annie was damn near melting into Smoke’s lap now, his hand behind her head, pullin’ her close, whisperin’ soft Creole threats that made her eyes flutter shut and her thighs shift.

The room went hazy with heat and power.

No games left.

Just men and women finally lettin’ go. Finally lettin’ loose.

And baby… they showed out.

⸻

You sat in Stack’s lap, legs parted just enough for him to settle you there, his palm splayed low on your back, thumb glidin’ slow under your shirt. Not pushin’, not grabbin’—just there. A promise. A warning.

He ain’t say nothin’ else, not yet. He just let the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, speak for him.

“You feel that?” he murmured finally, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded, lips slightly parted, chest risin’.

“That’s control,” he whispered. “Yours slippin’.”

Behind you, Smoke was all stillness—but it was the kind that came right before thunder. Annie sat in his lap now, straddlin’ him with her hands on his chest, but she wasn’t grindin’. She wasn’t playin’.

She was lookin’ at him like he held the damn sky.

Smoke reached up, slow, took her chin in his fingers, forced her eyes on his. “You still got more mouth?” he asked, soft.

Annie’s smile was breathless. “You want me quiet?

Smoke tilted his head. “I want you obedient.”

That hit her deep. You could see it in her knees.

She bit her lip—and faltered.

Stack leaned in closer to you, his fingers now slidin’ up the inside of your thigh. Not touchin’ too bold—just there. Near enough to pull heat up from your gut.

“I can feel you tremblin’,” he muttered. “And I ain’t even kissed you yet.”

You inhaled sharp, your hand fisting in his jacket, tryin’ to stay steady, tryin’ to not lean in, not melt into him—but it was gettin’ hard. That smartness he teased you about? Gone. Fadin’ with every pass of his thumb on your skin.

Annie shifted.

And broke first.

She leaned down, real slow, and kissed Smoke—not soft. Not gentle. She kissed him like she finally let go, like she was sorry for holdin’ back this long.

Smoke kissed her back deep, one hand behind her neck, other slidin’ down to grip her ass, pullin’ her tighter into him like he could fuse their bodies together.

And that—

That did it.

You grabbed Stack’s collar, pullin’ him in—and he didn’t waste time.

He crushed his mouth to yours, hot and commanding, like he’d been starvin’ for it. His hand wrapped tighter around your thigh, the other comin’ up to your face, holdin’ you steady as he kissed you slow, deep, devourin’.

Your body arched into his. His breath got rough. Yours got shaky.

Money rustled beneath y’all like dry leaves, but neither of you noticed.

Only thing that mattered now was mouths, hands, heat.

Annie broke the kiss with Smoke, breathless, smilin’ dazed.

“You win,” she whispered.

Smoke didn’t speak.

Just stared at her like she was dessert and he ain’t ate in weeks.

⸻

Smoke’s grip on Annie’s hips tightened as she rocked against him, heat spreadin’ thick between them, both of them breathin’ like they’d been sprintin’ through a thunderstorm.

She kissed along his neck now, slow and wet, teeth just ghostin’ skin, hands slidin’ under his shirt, her body sayin’ yes before her mouth ever did.

But his eyes—

His eyes flicked over her shoulder.

And there you were.

Straddlin’ Stack.

Hands buried in his jacket, his mouth claimin’ yours like he paid for the deed in blood. Your hips shiftin’, rollin’ gentle and sure against him, his hand slid up the back of your top like he couldn’t get enough of you.

It hit Smoke deep. That possessive twist. That raw, male heat in his gut.

Annie moaned low, grindin’ down harder—intentionally. She felt it. She knew he saw. She wasn’t stoppin’. If anything, she was gettin’ bolder.

“Don’t look at her,” she whispered against his jaw. “Look at me.”

Smoke grabbed her waist tighter. His jaw flexed. She was makin’ it worse—the way she rode his thigh like she belonged there. The way her tongue traced his earlobe. He could feel the pressure buildin’, that ache grindin’ down into his spine.

But he wasn’t about to lose control here.

Not with you and Stack in the room.

He exhaled hard through his nose, hands snapping down to grab Annie by the ass and lift her off him.

She gasped, caught off-guard, eyes flashin’.

“Come on,” Smoke said, low and sharp, voice a promise and a threat all at once.

“Where we goin’?” she asked, but her grin was wicked, breath still shakin’.

“My office.”

She blinked. Smiled slow.

And followed.

Didn’t even fix herself . Just glanced back at you and Stack once, winked, and slipped out the door behind him.

Smoke held the door open with one hand, waitin’ on her to pass, watchin’ her walk like he was countin’ every sway of her hips. Before he shut it, he looked back at you.

Eyes dark.

Jaw tight.

[VIP Room.]

Stack’s hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he pressed you into that velvet, eyes dark with focus. He leaned in, breath brushin’ your ear.

“Let me see what I been starin’ at all night,” he murmured.

You started to answer, but your voice caught when his mouth met your collarbone, tongue hot, teeth draggin’ just enough to make you whimper. His hand gripped your jaw, anglin’ your head just how he wanted.

“You talk too much sometimes,” he said low. “I want you breathin’. Moanin’. Not speakin.”

And Lord, did you try.

But when his mouth slid down—past your neck, across your chest, fingers pullin’ your top aside like it owed him money—your breath left your lungs with force.

⸻

[Smoke’s Office.]

Annie sat perched on Smoke’s desk like temptation with hips.

He stood between her knees, jacket gone, button-down halfway open, eyes draggin’ slow over every inch of her. She leaned back on her palms, skirt hiked up, thighs open like an invitation written in red ink.

“You gonna look at it or you gonna taste it?” she whispered, eyes sharp.

Smoke didn’t answer.

He grabbed her hips, pulled her to the edge of the desk, and leaned down, mouth at her stomach, kissin’ slow like he was drawin’ a map to her heat. His hands slid up her sides, draggin’ her blouse open, baring skin inch by inch.

“You always this bold?” he said, breathin’ against her breastbone.

“Only when I win,” she smirked.

He licked a line up her chest.

“You ain’t win shit yet.”

⸻

[VIP Room.]

Stack pulled your leg over his shoulder, mouth draggin’ down your inner thigh. You gasped, body archin’ under him, his hands firm at your hips holdin’ you down like you might float away.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “Tryna be all strong and sweet. But you soft, huh?”

He kissed the inside of your knee, slow and filthy.

“Soft everywhere.”

You bit your lip, tryin’ not to beg. His mouth was so close but never quite where you wanted it. He was takin’ his time, teasin’ you with heat and hands and praise.

He slid two fingers under the edge of your panties—just enough to let his thumb drag slow over the wetness there.

“Golden,” he whispered again. “Drippin’ in it

⸻

[Smoke’s Office.]

“You just lost,” Smoke said again, voice low as hell.

Then he kissed down Annie’s stomach—not fast, not greedy. Like he was carvin’ her open with heat, with breath. She leaned back on her elbows, thighs fallin’ open wider without her meanin’ to.

He hooked a finger in her panties, pulled them slow, then tossed them to the floor without lookin’.

“You still bold now?” he asked, kissin’ the inside of her thigh.

She let out a breath. Didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

He got lower. One long lick.

She jumped. Fists grippin’ the desk edge, eyes wide.

“Shit—”

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t pause. Just kept goin’—tongue steady, mouth open, beard wet.

He wrapped an arm under her leg, hand palmin’ her thigh while his other hand flattened over her belly, pressin’ her down.

“Keep runnin’ from it,” he muttered, breath hot. “See if I stop.”

She whimpered. Head fell back.

But he ain’t let her run. He guided her through it—every moan, every twitch, every wave that hit her so hard she damn near slid off the desk. His tongue rolled just right, his lips lockin’ on that swollen spot with suction that made her damn toes curl.

“You feelin’ that loss now?” he whispered, lips brushin’ slick heat.

Annie shook, hands tangled in his hair, legs flexed hard.

“You win,” she gasped.

Smoke smirked against her, voice like gravel.

“Damn right I do.”

⸻

[VIP Room.]

Stack was a whole different storm.

He had you splayed out on the couch, thighs wide, knees bent, legs shakin’.

He’d been eatin’ you like he was starved, like he needed it to breathe, tongue flickin’, lips suckin’—switchin’ it up every time you got close just to watch you fight for it.

Your hips kept buckin’. Your hands in his curls kept pullin’. But he held you down hard, hands on your hips tight enough to bruise.

“C’mon, baby,” he said, mouth barely liftin’. “Don’t hold back now.”

You moaned, breath shudderin’.

“You almost there, huh? I can feel it.”

His tongue dragged slow, deep.

“I can taste it.”

You whined, legs tremblin’.

“Stack—”

“Oh now you remember my name?”

He licked you again, slower this time, nose pressed deep, beard scratchin’ perfect.

“Say it louder.”

“Stack—fuck—please—”

He moaned into you like that was what he’d been waitin’ on. That right there. Your voice beggin’. Your body climbin’.

He pushed you over and over, mouth locked on you, rhythm cruel. He’d slow down right when you needed more, speed up right when you couldn’t take no more

And when your hips started to run? He pressed his forearm over your belly and pinned you flat.

“You gon’ take this,” he growled.

You screamed. And came.

Shakin’. Cryin’ his name into your palm.

⸻

[Back in the Office.]

Smoke never stopped.

Not even when Annie came apart, legs wrapped around his neck, moanin’ in Creole. He licked her through it like she was the finest thing he ever put his mouth on.

And when she twitched?

When she said she “ couldn’t take it”?

He looked up, beard soaked, tongue peekin’ from between his lips.

“Too bad, baby.”

⸻

[Smoke’s Office.]

Annie sat up best she could, made her way over him, legs straddlin’ Smoke’s lap now, her hands slidin’ down his chest, feelin’ the rise and fall of every shallow breath he tried to keep steady.

“Mmm, thought you was teachin’ me,” she purred, grindin’ her hips slow, rollin’ just right over the hard press of him beneath his slacks. “But you shakin’ like a sinner in church.”

Smoke exhaled through his nose, tryin’—failing—to keep his hands off her waist.

She smirked, leaned down, lips draggin’ over his throat.

“You need a break, old man?”

He growled, low and dark, hands ballin’ into fists.

“Don’t start nothin’ you can’t finish, chère.”

“Oh, I’ma finish,” she whispered, grindin’ down harder now, lips right at his ear. “You just better keep up.”

⸻

[VIP Room.]

You flipped Stack over, his back hittin’ the couch, your thighs slidin’ over him like smoke.

His eyes widened just a bit, that cocky smile twitchin’.

“Ain’t no shame in tappin’ out,” you teased, hands on his chest, rockin’ your hips with delicious rhythm. “I’ll still kiss you goodnight.”

Stack grinned—but his hands gripped your waist like he was already losin’ patience.

“Ain’t nobody tappin’ but you,” he muttered.

Still, he let you work.

Let you grind over him, kiss his throat, press your mouth to that place behind his ear that made him grunt low in his chest. Your fingers slid down the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one like unwrappin’ somethin’ forbidden.

You licked his chest slow.

Whispered: “You shakin’.”

And that? That was it.

⸻

[Back in the Office.]

Annie leaned in again to kiss Smoke—but his hands snatched her hips mid-move, grip rough, and before she knew it—

Boom.

He flipped her back onto the desk.

She gasped, eyes wide, hair wild across the polished wood.

“Done lettin’ you play,” he said, voice dark, already slidin’ her back to the edge.

She laughed—but it was breathless.

“Finally,” she whispered.

Smoke bent low, mouth hot on her neck, hips grindin’ into her again with slow, deep pressure.

“You gon’ learn today.”

⸻

[VIP Room.]

Stack’s grip snapped tight at your hips, and before you could blink—

He sat up. Chest to chest. Arms caged around you like steel.

“You done?” he asked, breath warm on your lips.

Your answer got swallowed when he stood—with you still wrapped around him.

He slammed you back down onto the couch, his body coverin’ yours, eyes hungry and bright.

“I been nice long enough,” he muttered, lips draggin’ down your neck, teeth brushin’ your collarbone.

You gasped, archin’.

He slid his hand between your thighs again, middle finger glidin’ through your heat like he owned it.

“Now lemme show you what I do to mouthy lil things like you.”

———

[Smoke’s Office.]

Annie’s back arched on the desk, hair stickin’ to her neck, eyes flutterin’ as Smoke pulled her closer to the edge, his hands locked behind her knees.

She was already breathin’ heavy, lips swollen from kisses, thighs tremblin’ from what his mouth had done.

But when he unzipped, pulled his dick free—

Whew, Lord.

Thick. Heavy. Hangin’ low like it came with a warning label. Her eyes widened for real this time.

He smirked—just a little. “Still bold?”

Annie licked her lips. “Slide it in and see.”

He rubbed the tip against her slick folds, draggin’ it slow up and down like he was usin’ her to grease it proper.

She gasped.

“You feelin’ that already?” he said, voice low. “I ain’t even in yet.”

When he finally pushed inside, it was slow—inch by inch, watchin’ her fall apart around the stretch.

“God—Smoke,” she moaned, legs twitchin’.

“You takin’ it,” he growled. “All of it.”

And she did—with her back damn near lifted off the desk from how deep he got.

Once he started movin’—Lord have mercy—it was deep strokes, pelvis grindin’ against her clit with every thrust. One hand slid behind her neck, the other thumb brushin’ over her bottom lip.

“Bite it,” he muttered.

She did.

He snapped his hips harder.

She cried out, nails diggin’ into his shoulders.

“You like it rough,” he said, voice barely breathin’. “I like you loud.”

And he made sure to keep her that way.

⸻

[VIP Room.]

Stack’s got you flat on that velvet now, your legs up, his body between them. When he undid his pants and pushed ‘em down—

Whew. That man was built.

Long. Curved just enough. Thick enough to ruin you if he ain’t careful.

You bit your lip, eyes wide.

“Mmhm,” he smirked. “Go ‘head. Say it.

“Damn…”

He laughed, slid the tip up through your slick, real slow

“Beg for it,” he whispered. “Tell me you want it.”

You rolled your hips, desperate now, that ache damn near unbearable.

“Please, Stack—”

That’s all he needed.

He slid in with one smooth thrust—deep, knockin’ the breath out your lungs.

Your hands flew to his arms, nails diggin’ in.

He stilled, deep inside, pelvis pressed flush.

“You good?”

You nodded, breathless.

“Better be,” he said. “‘Cause I ain’t stoppin’ now.”

He pulled back slow—then snapped his hips. You damn near screamed.

He grinned, cocky and mean. “Yeah, that’s the sound.”

He started workin’ it—deep strokes mixed with quick snaps, body rollin’ with practiced rhythm, his mouth on your neck, whisperin’ filth.

“You feel how wet you gettin’? That’s me, baby. That’s all me.”

He slid a hand under your thigh, bendin’ you open wider.

“Take all this dick,” he growled. “Be a good girl.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. He gripped your jaw, made you look him dead in the eyes.

“You mine now?”

Your face couldn’t help but frown still - you nodded.

And he ain’t stop.

⸻

[Smoke’s Office]

Smoke still rockin’ Annie, slow but deep, every stroke hittin’ her just right. He slid his hand down between her thighs, thumb circlin’ that spot.

“I’m gon’ make you come on this dick,” he whispered, sweat drippin’ from his brow.

She gripped him harder, back archin’.

“I’m there, Smoke—”

“I know,” he whispered. “I feel you.”

⸻

[VIP Room]

Stack got your leg over his shoulder now, body poundin’ into you harder, faster. You cryin’ out now, holdin’ onto the couch for dear life.

“That’s it,” he panted. “Let it go.”

You shattered—legs shakin’, breath gone, voice cracked.

And he kept goin’ through it. Made you come twice before he even thought about slowin’ down

⸻

[Smoke’s Office]

Smoke’s chest was glistening now, shirt gone, pants hangin’ low around his hips. He was still buried deep inside Annie, movin’ with slow, deep thrusts that rolled her eyes back and made her moan his name like a hymn.

But he’d been too gentle for too long.

She looked at him with fire in her eyes, teeth bitin’ her bottom lip.

“Quit holdin’ back, baby.”

Smoke grunted, grabbed her hips, and pulled out fast.

“Turn around,” he said, voice low, breathless.

Annie smiled wicked, turnin’ slow like she knew exactly what he was about to do. She bent over that desk, elbows down, back arched, ass poked up just right.

Smoke stepped in behind her, hand slidin’ up her spine, pressin’ between her shoulder blades to keep her down.

Then he slid back in— Hard. Deep.

“Shit—Smoke!” she cried out, hands slidin’ across the desk like she couldn’t get a grip.

“That’s what you wanted, huh?” he said, pace pickin’ up, hips snappin’ against her. “This how bold bitches get treated.”

Annie moaned, pushin’ back against him, the sound of skin slappin’ echoing off the office walls.

⸻

[VIP Room]

Stack was a whole different beast.

Sweat slid slow down his temple, mixin’ with the heat you done worked up in him—those drinks from earlier just stokin’ the fire. It rolled past his cheek, down to his mustache, drippin’ with a mess of you and him. He licked it slow, tongue draggin’ lazy ‘cross his top lip, eyes locked on you like he was starvin’.

He sat back on his knees, flippin’ you over, his hands slid under your arms, liftin’.

You yelped,—but he didn’t let you go. He locked his arms under your knees, grippin’ your thighs from behind and pullin’ you into a full nelson, your back against his chest, his mouth at your ear.

“Now we do it my way,” he growled.

Then he pushed back in—deep, slow, thick.

Your whole body jerked.

You couldn’t even hold yourself up. All your weight rested in his arms, chest pressed to his, your legs kicked wide open.

“You feel that?” he hissed. “Ain’t no runnin’ now.”

His hips started drivin’ up into you hard, each thrust makin’ your body bounce, makin’ your moans come out like broken sobs.

He leaned in, teeth brushin’ your ear.

“Let it go, girl. You takin’ this dick like a goddamn star.”

⸻

[Smoke’s Office]

Smoke was grippin’ Annie’s hips so tight now her skin burned under his fingers. His thrusts were relentless, the sound of his hips slammin’ against her ass fillin’ the office like a drumbeat of sin.

“Keep still,” he snapped, and when she didn’t, he reached up, grabbed her hair, pullin’ her head back as he leaned over her.

“You feel all that back there?” he growled. “Every inch?”

Annie just whimpered, eyes flutterin’, mouth open with nothing but breath.

“Say my name.”

“Smoke—oh god, Smoke!”

He let her go—slammed into her again.

“You gon’ remember this every time you sit down, you hear me?”

⸻

[VIP Room]

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Stack was still holdin’ you up, fuckin’ you like it was his job—deeper than anyone ever had. Your thighs trembled in his grip, your back slick with sweat against his chest.

Then he let you go—gently droppin’ your legs as he flipped you to your knees.

You barely caught your breath before he grabbed your hair, guided you forward, and mounted you from behind.

“Arch that back,” he said, low and filthy. “Let me see how proud you are now.”

You did—and he slammed back in with a growl.

“Fuck—you was made for this,” he panted, drivin’ in harder now, one hand around your waist, the other reachin’ around to rub that sweet spot that had you cryin’ into the cushions.

“You gon’ cum again,” he muttered. “Right here on this dick. Right now.”

⸻

[Smoke’s Office]

Smoke had Annie bent over the desk, now flat on her stomach, his body pressed tight to hers, every stroke hittin’ deep, her body shakin’ under him.

“You close, baby?” he whispered, lips against her ear.

“Yes, Smoke—don’t stop—please—”

He pushed in hard and held.

“Then give it to me.”

Her body locked. Screamed.

Came hard.

Smoke grunted and followed, buryin’ himself deep as he spilled inside her with a low, choked curse.

⸻

[VIP Room]

Stack grabbed your waist harder, feelin’ your body start to shake.

“You better not run,” he growled. “You better—fuck—you tight—”

He slapped your ass once, rough and greedy, then reached under you, fingers playin’ fast against your clit until you were gushin’ on his dick.

You screamed. Shook. Damn near collapsed.

Stack roared, chest flexin’ as he pushed in one last time and came with a deep, rumblin’ groan that shook both of you.

⸻

Then?

Silence

Heavy breathin’. Bodies tangled, hearts racin’, sweat slicked across skin like sin’s perfume.

Smoke pulled Annie up slow, lips on her shoulder.

Stack leaned down, kissin’ your back, his hand slidin’ over your hip like he never wanted to let go.

Two rooms.

Two women. Two men.

And not a single ounce of regret.

———————————

I hope this translated well y’all! This was so fun to write. Keep reposting following and liking I love yall. 💕 #staynasty

Somebody tell mama how to make a tag list 😗 and idk how to move this from my notes with proper spacing stay with me yall

[mywitchyblog]

Why i will Nver take Antis seriously

Okay, let’s talk about why I will NEVER take anti-shifters seriously. 💀 These people seriously think they’re serving some type of intellectual argument, but let’s be real—they’re just pathetic dick riders with no valid point to make. Sweetie, they think they can just hop on some anti-shifting bandwagon, pretend to be “woke,” and act like they know better than us. But we know the truth, and it's so obvious how weak and desperate they are. The only reason they’re even talking is because they can’t handle the fact that the shifting practice is real, and people are out here thriving while they’re stuck in their flop era. 🙄

I usually just scroll right past the negative content, but one day I saw this video that made me roll my eyes so hard I almost gave myself a headache. This girl is doing a makeup tutorial, all casual and cute, and then she drops the bomb: “Remember when we all used to shift in 2020? Can we admit that it was all a lie?” Like, girl, please. 💅 Immediately, the comment section is filled with people agreeing, “Yeah, it was just lucid dreaming.” “It was maladaptive daydreaming.” Sweetie, no. Just no. You’re out here acting like you have some epiphany, but it’s really just you looking for attention because, let’s face it, you’ve got nothing else going on. 💔

Here’s the thing: If you’re gonna pretend like you’re some kind of expert on shifting, at least do the work. At least try to understand what it actually means to shift, and not just repeat what everyone else says. 🧐 This girl comes out here saying she “shifted” and was “diagnosed with schizophrenia.” Girl. I had to pause and check if I was still watching the same video, because that was a whole mess. You’re throwing around terms like mental health issues just to sound edgy and relatable? Nope. Let’s be clear: schizophrenia is not something you just casually throw around to justify some half-assed clout-chasing narrative. If you really shifted, you wouldn’t be out here trying to “debunk” something you clearly never tried to understand in the first place. You pretended to shift for attention, and now that the hype died down, you decided to flip the script and start bashing shifting because it didn’t give you the clout you wanted. Pathetic. 🤭

And let’s not forget how she conveniently chose to make this video the one that blows up. 5.2 million views, girl? 😱 But the rest of your videos barely make it to 5k? Sis, we see you. We see how this is the only way you can get any traction. Your “I’m exposing shifting” video is your only shot at relevance, and it’s clear as day that you’ve jumped on this anti-shifting bandwagon just to get some views. The flop era is real, and it’s showinggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg. You had one moment where you got some attention, but the rest of your content is crickets. 🦗 I mean, honey, if you were actually serving something real, you wouldn’t have to rely on dragging people down to make a name for yourself. 🤦‍♀️

The truth is, she’s out here just riding whatever trend gets her noticed. That’s all she’s doing. When shifting was trending in 2020, she hopped on the wave pretending to be a part of it, and now that it’s not the "in" thing anymore, she’s throwing it under the bus to stay relevant. She’s the definition of a dick rider. Trying to latch onto whatever’s popular and ride the wave for as long as she can. But we see you, and it’s not cute. 🙄 You thought this was your moment to “expose” shifting and act like you’re somehow above it, but you’re just showing how desperate you are for attention. You're chasing views like a lost puppy, and it’s pathetic.

And don’t even get me started on that comment section. Why are these people agreeing with her, parroting the same old tired “shifting is just lucid dreaming” nonsense? Where are the real thinkers in this comment section? Sweetie, if you want to speak on something, at least educate yourself before you start spreading false info. 🙅‍♀️ It’s like y’all are too lazy to actually look into shifting, spiritual hygiene, and the depth of the practice. But instead, you’re just echoing a 2020 “shiftTok” narrative, regurgitating outdated and ignorant opinions like it’s fact. I’m honestly embarrassed for you. Do your research or stop talking. Simple as that. 🧠💡

The truth is, these anti-shifters don’t care about anyone’s mental health. They’re not “protecting” anyone; they’re just mad that they couldn’t get in on the trend or didn’t put in the effort to understand it. They want to act like they’re doing some grand thing by “debunking” shifting, but all they’re really doing is exposing their own ignorance. Like, sweetie, just admit you’re jealous. You couldn’t get the attention shifting gave others, and now you’re bitter about it. 😝 You couldn’t connect with the practice, so you’re going to try and tear it down. But guess what? It’s not working. 😘

Let’s talk about the bigger picture here. The real shifters—the ones who do the work, who research, who respect the practice and the boundaries it requires—we’re still out here, and we’re still shifting. We’re still growing, we’re still thriving, and we’re not letting some random, clout-chasing person get in the way of our personal journeys. The real shift doesn’t come from attention or clout; it comes from within. It comes from dedication, intention, and respect for what we’re trying to achieve. And trust me, anyone who genuinely shifts knows it’s an empowering, transformative experience—not something to be mocked. 💫👑

So to all the fellow shifters out there, don’t let these clowns get to you. Don’t let their negativity and petty arguments distract you from your journey. You are doing something real, something powerful. While they’re stuck in their flop era, we’re out here creating new realities, growing, and elevating ourselves in ways they’ll never understand. Keep going. Stay true to your path. And remember: the truth speaks for itself, and the real ones will always rise above the noise. ✨💖 Keep shifting, keep evolving, and never let anyone who doesn’t understand the practice try to dim your light. You’re not in the same lane as them—and you never will be. 👑💫

[bloomzone]

The Art of Self love (wonyoung edition)

✒️..In a world often obsessed with external validation and comparisons, the journey toward self-love is both empowering and transformative. One individual who truly embodies this is for example : Jang Wonyoung her mindset and approach to life have become a beacon of positivity and self-acceptance for many. Beyond her fame and talent, her journey provides a roadmap for anyone seeking to understand how to love themselves unconditionally and stay authentic in a world that’s constantly changing. Let's into the art of self-love as seen through her lens. firssst :

ஐ- Embrace Your Authenticity

wonyoung is the embodiment of authenticity. She has openly shared that loving who you are, flaws and all, is the foundation of inner peace. “I wholeheartedly love the person that I am,” she says, and this belief is key to her self-love journey. It's about being real with yourself and not allowing external pressures or the opinions of others to dictate your worth.

In her case, wony often finds herself in the public eye, yet she doesn't let the spotlight make her feel like she has to pretend to be something she's not. She reminds us that self-love comes from within, and it’s rooted in accepting your true self without masks or filters.

ஐ- Cultivate Inner Strength

A significant part of her self-love is her unwavering strength. She stands firm in her beliefs, and that makes her both resilient and grounded. When facing criticism or tough situations, her mindset is simple: “I’m focused on what matters, and I know who I am.” the ability to remain unshaken by external negativity allows her to stay confident in her own skin. So Inner strength doesn’t mean avoiding challenges, but rather facing them with grace and the confidence that they won’t define you. It’s about building a mindset that no matter what life throws your way, you trust yourself to navigate it. (This is another topic )

ஐ- Embrace Imperfections

It’s easy to get lost in the desire for perfection. We all have areas in which we feel we could be better, but Wonyoung reminds us that our imperfections are what make us unique. She doesn’t strive to be flawless, and neither should we. Embracing who we are imperfections included is a vital part of the self-love journey. She doesn’t try to hide her vulnerabilities; instead, she embraces them. She says, “I am not perfect, and that’s okay,” which is a powerful message in a world that constantly pushes for unattainable standards.

ஐ- Set Personal Boundaries

In her career, Wonyoung has learned the importance of knowing her limits. She understands that in order to protect her mental health and energy, setting boundaries is crucial. Whether it’s not overexerting herself or stepping back from toxic situations, she knows when to say no.Boundaries are an essential part of self-love because they ensure you don’t burn out or allow others to drain your energy. Wonyoung teaches us that saying no is not a sign of weakness but a necessary act of self-respect. It’s about preserving your peace and prioritizing your well-being over external demands.

ஐ- Practice Gratitude

Gratitude plays a central role in Wonyoung's self-love. She often expresses how thankful she is for the support of her fans, her family, and her team. This gratitude grounds her and reminds her of the beauty that surrounds her, even during tough times. She believes that by focusing on the things you’re thankful for, you can shift your energy toward positivity and attract even more to be grateful for.A simple practice of gratitude can transform your mindset. Whether it’s taking a moment every day to reflect on what you're grateful for or reminding yourself of the good things in your life, cultivating gratitude enhances your self-love and helps you stay grounded.

ஐ- Encourage Self-Love in Others

While Jang Wonyoung is undoubtedly focused on her own journey, she doesn’t keep her message of self-love to herself. She encourages others to love themselves and recognizes that her platform gives her the ability to inspire others. She hopes that through ive songs presence, and personal messages, others can learn to embrace their own uniqueness and start their own journey of self-love.This sense of community and support is essential. When you love yourself, you automatically encourage others to do the same, creating a ripple effect of positivity and self-empowerment.

So, take a moment today to celebrate yourself, with all your imperfections and all your strengths. Trust that the journey you’re on is exactly where you need to be, and remember—self-love is the key to creating a fulfilling and joyful life.

@bloomzone 📇

[otp-after-dark]

I really was going to try and simmer down on this whole topic for the evening but then I had to read this article that was at the top of my Google feed and it lit a fume around a few particular takes I keep seeing from anti's and general viewers that the THT writers seem to want to confirm.

“Love is conditional.”

Oh, okay. That’s the grand feminist takeaway now? That the only love worth having is the kind that fits some impossible moral checklist? Sure — love should be conditional on safety, respect, and trust. I’ll give you that. Especially for all the Luke defenders out there.

But this idea that June can only love someone who’s already perfect, who’s never been complicit, never compromised, never made a mistake — that’s not empowering. That’s not feminist. That’s moral absolutism in a red cloak.

Love can transform people. It’s not weakness — it’s the most human reason to fight. And it’s exactly how change actually happens.

The fake moral high ground only shows up when Nick is involved.

I’m sorry — are we seriously still acting like Nick is the only morally grey character on this show? Serena literally orchestrated rape and child theft. Lawrence designed the system. Lydia tortured women daily. But no one questions whether they can change or be complex. The minute Nick shows up with guilt and nuance and love in his eyes, suddenly it’s “how dare June still care for him?” The selective outrage is exhausting. You don’t have to ship it — but let’s not pretend it’s about morals when your fave has done worse. So why is Nick the one character in the end who’s suddenly held to a standard of purity no one else is asked to meet?

Acting out of love is a bad reason to change?

I’m begging you to live in the real world. Most people don’t risk their lives for causes they’re not passionate about. People take action because something personal cracks them open. Because someone they love is affected. Because they can’t live with the silence anymore. Nick risking everything because of his love for June and Nichole? That’s not a flaw. That’s human. That’s exactly how revolutions start.

And honestly? Luke hasn’t taken a single risk. Not one. So this image of him as the “good guy” makes me want to scream. He judged. He waited. He punished. He had the freedom to act and chose comfort every time. But sure — let’s drag the man who was stuck inside the system and still found a way to protect the woman he loved when no one else did. And who would be dead if not for him.

And this article seriously suggests Luke and June are like Katniss and Peeta. You are out of your damn mind if you think that’s the case.

Peeta didn’t judge Katniss for being changed by trauma. Peeta never resented her pain. Peeta didn’t demand softness from a woman who had been at war. And Peeta actually experienced war.

Nick is the Peeta. Always has been. Luke is Gale with a better PR campaign.

And I’ve got to be honest — I’m seriously confused (and outraged) at the final message this show seems to be suggesting, which is:

Love is only valid if it’s morally convenient. Change only matters if it comes from the "right" person. Redemption is for the chosen few — not the ones who actually earned it.

What happened to the show that made space for contradiction? That let women be angry, messy, and in love with the wrong person and still be right?

What happened to the story that was supposed to live in the grey?

Because this? This ain’t it.

[in-silver-lake]

HIII ELLIE. OKAY SO HERES MY MESSY BRAIN BLURTING OUT A POSSIBLE VERY BAD REQUEST IM SORRY BEFORE HAD ILY. OKAY SO A VERY SAD ANGSTY DEPRESSING FIC WHERE LIKE BILLIE FINDS OUT ABOUT WHATEVER WITH READER ON A RANDOM DAY BY ACCIDENT WHEN READER TRIED TO HIDE IT AND COMFORTS. VERY VERY DEPRESSING, OKAY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOU TALENTED BEAST

the world's a little blurry

cw: okay this one's heavy, mentions of sh (nothing graphic, just heavily alluded to), self hatred, just bad thoughts, billie does her best and is just sweet and loving.

a/n: okay, please please please do not read if it's going to harm your mental health, remember that sometimes all it takes is a reminder of that headspace to trigger you. i've been on this tumblr community for a while now, and you are all such sweet sweet people, so please take care of yourselves. people fall to sh for so many different reasons, and it can come in so many different forms. remember that anything you are feeling or experiencing is always valid and always important. also, alice - you're the sweetest, tysm for your support ❤️

i tried so hard to hold out, i really did. when the creeping weight started to settle on my chest again, slowly but surely crushing me with a quiet sort of cruelty, making my feet drag with every step, i tried to fight it. but soon even simple things, like getting myself out of bed in the mornings, like washing my hair, felt much too difficult. when i felt my mind grow heavy and my chest tighten, i tried to command myself to breathe. when i talked to people, it felt mechanical, detached, as if i was pretending to be myself, going through the motions and checking off tick-boxes to make sure i was scoring well on the i am okay scale. on the nights i couldn’t summon the energy to pretend anymore, i made sure to stay with billie, clinging to her on the couch, standing with her in the kitchen while she cooked, never letting myself be in the house alone.

i tried, so desperately, not to succumb to nagging voice in the back of my head that grew louder and louder as the days dragged on: you have no right to feel like this, it sneered, this is pathetic. you’re such a burden. my weak attempts to chant back the positive affirmations my therapist had taught me as a teen - i am good enough, i am allowed to feel this way - were pitiful, laughable.

it was a completely normal day when i finally caved. billie had left for some shoot, telling me about it excitedly as she got dressed, but i couldn’t seem to hear her. everything around me was out of focus, hazy, and so very far away. it all seemed to press in on me at once, leaving me no room to breathe, and i craved the sharp, familiar clarity. so, overwhelmed with hatred for myself with what i was about to ruin, with the way i was about to throw out years of hard work and healing, i gave in.

i didn’t hear billie come home, didn’t hear her call out my name as she walked up the stairs to our bedroom. i was sitting on the cool tile of the adjoining bathroom floor, leant against the white cabinets, stuck in a sort of daze, focused on the feeling of the smooth white bandage wrapped tightly around my thigh. 

too late, her excited chatter reached my ears as she walked into the bedroom, “you’re not gonna believe who i saw today-”

she abruptly cut off, and i looked up to see her staring at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly open, breath stolen from her lungs, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“...baby?” she asked, her voice shaking, uncertain and unsettled.

i had no energy left to try and scramble to hide, to pretend for any longer that the blackness i felt coating my insides wasn’t slowly poisoning me. tears sprung to my eyes, shameful and disappointed.

“i’m sorry,” i choked out, breath hitching in my throat, “i’m sorry billie, i’m so, so sorry-”

she was immediately next to me, arms around me and gripping me tight, hugging me fiercely as if she was scared i would fade away and disappear otherwise. her lips pressed a long, shaky kiss to my temple, and i felt my skin dampen with her warm tears. my hands laid at my sides, no longer sure how to accept her affection.

“i love you so much, baby,” she spoke into my skin, and all of a sudden i couldn’t take it anymore. i couldn’t take feeling like this alone, and so i broke down. everything hit me as i sobbed into her shoulder, and my arms finally reached up to grasp desperately to the back of her hoodie. i struggled to breathe through the suffocating weight on my chest, on my heart, through the crushing disappointment i felt in myself, through the voice in the back of my head telling me even then that i didn’t deserve her love. 

she only gripped me tighter, holding me as i cried. she didn’t try to move once, not even to alleviate the discomfort kneeling on the cold, hard tile was surely causing her. eventually, she lifted her head to look at me and brought a hand up to gently rest against my face, stroking her thumb back and forth along my reddened cheeks, making no attempt to wipe away my tears. she clasped my hand, holding it against her chest tightly. 

her eyes were glassy, pleading with me as she whispered, “baby, please. let me in, let me help you. i can’t watch you struggle alone in this anymore.”

“i’m - i’m not even sure how i got here. nothing happened, y’know?” i started. my words scratched my throat as they came out raspy, tired, “i just - lately everything’s been too much to deal with, and i could feel myself shutting down, but i couldn’t stop it no matter how hard i tried. and i tried, please, i promise i tried.” fresh tears pricked at my eyes, the shame and disappointment i felt in myself overwhelming, crippling.

“i couldn’t handle it anymore, so i…i did the only thing that i thought would bring me a moment of peace.”

i heard her draw in a sharp breath as she raised our clasped hands to press a lingering kiss into my skin, her hand trembling slightly. she closed her eyes for just a moment, as if to process what i had said, before she lifted her lips from my skin, opening her eyes again to search mine. 

“but - billie, it’s just made me feel worse than before,” i breathed, breath hitching in my throat. 

“oh, baby, c’mere,” she beckoned, her voice breaking as she spoke. she drew me into her chest as i continued to sob, unsure of everything around me, of my own mind, but desperately clinging to billie’s familiarity, her warmth, her love. 

i eventually pulled away, meeting her teary eyes with my own.

“don’t say sorry,” she said, her voice soft, but firm, and only shaking slightly. She brought her hand to the back of my neck, leaning her forehead down to touch mine. 

“i love you, i love every part of you. i never want you to hide this from me, to feel alone in it.”

we stayed like that for a few moments before she pulled away and reached out to help me stand. wordlessly, she began to undress me, tugging my shorts down so, so slowly, giving me time to move away if i felt uncomfortable. she grasped the hem of my shirt and raised it above my head, her eyes never straying from my face. she reached over to turn the shower on, letting the steam fill the room as she undressed herself and led me under the warm stream. 

she reached for the shampoo, pouring a little onto her hand before she started to massage it into my scalp. my eyes began to close as i gave into exhaustion, and the emotional toll of the last half hour, of the last month, caught up with me. i let her take care of me as she rinsed the shampoo from my hair, let myself breathe as her hands gently brushed my neck as she did so, sighed with every soft kiss she pressed onto my temple and every delicate swipe of her fingertips against my face. not once did she glance down at my bandaged thigh, and for that i felt so incredibly grateful. 

eventually, we stepped out, and she carefully dried me with one of our softer towels before she pulled a clean, warm hoodie over my head and thick sweatpants over my hips. she walked me over to our bed and laid me down, pulling me into her chest and wrapping her arms securely around me as she held me close. 

“we’re going to figure this out. i’m here for you always, baby,” she said, her words tight with worry but thick with love. i just laid there as i breathed in her scent and absorbed her touch. the heaviness was still in my chest, but with it sat the warmth of her care, of her love. a sense of peace that i hadn’t felt in days settled over me, her hand gently stroking my hair the last thing i felt before i fell into a dreamless sleep.

[grandpizzaponypie]

People treating John walker like a kicked puppy is genuinely driving me insane. He is not misunderstood, he is very easily understood and people don’t like him for valid reason. You liking him does not make him any less

This will be scattered cause I’m pulling general thoughts together on the subject

Was it his fault that the government gave him the shield and no real training or fundamental guidance on what that ment, no, he was the perfect “all American” man they were looking for they didn’t care to think further into what made Steve Rogers into a good cap.

But as we know captain American is NOT supposed to be the perfect solider, but a good man. The first captain America movie spent so much time trying to deliver that to messages to us.

The ability to question authority, think rationally in high stakes high mortality events.

side note calling the flags-mashers terroist feels disingenuous and only further serves to make John sound more innocent in a situation where he was not. They were extremist freedom fighters, I’ll remind you that all art is political and their presentation of these individuals flawed and mishandled as it was is purposeful so I think when ppl call them terrorist you miss out on a lot of nuance.

John in almost all situations we are given character building moments is shown to be crass and hot headed overly believing in his own ability to the point it compromises the mission, which blunt as this will sound is how Lemar died.

And then there’s the Doctor Abraham Erskine of it all “a strong man who has known power all his life, may loose respect for that power, but a weak man knows the value of strength and knowns compassion”

Steve rogers does kill. End sentence there I am not here to debate the morality of killing

But there damn sure is a large bound of difference between killing as a means to an end and what John walker did.

Public execution, while the human before you is pleading for their lives in a clearly submissive position, while a crowd of civilains watch on foreign soil that you were NOT supposed to be on. Then to do so much over kill while wearing an almost century’s old symbol of peace on your body. *Large red alarms blares from all directions*

That is not a means to an end, that is an unstable person finally breaking. That is the government giving power to a person who they didn’t give proper mental checks to.

Because of course not everyone can handle something like that, BUT THATS WHY WE MAKE SURE FIRST NOT JUST PICK THE FIRST GOOD FIGHTER AND GIVE HIM THE SHIELD.

Despite what people are trying to reconfigure the character to be John is written as a (compassionate) asswhole. AND THATS OKAY YOU CAN STILL LIKE HIM.

He does have kindness in him and I ain’t pretending he is some villain to further my point. He is not. He was a good man not fit for the task and it broke him.

Live in the reality of the character, be in active conversation with what his wrong doings mean instead of in disillusionment about the fantasy of a poor manipulated solider.

And yes he was manipulated but he is a GROWN man, to many people do this thing when the milarty is involved. “I was a soldier I was doing what I was told” your a human with eyes, the inability to question a system you signed up for that has unquestionably been the reason for MILLIONS of death is not okay. I say this as a child of military parents/ a military family.

You cannot skip over your crimes against humanity bc you wanted to be the hero.

“This suit comes with expectations, you can’t just punch your ways out of problems anymore” I submit this evidence to the court of preexisting nods that John knew better before lemars death.

And let’s talk about his wife, she left him bc he was a bad father and could not get over himself enough to be in the moment with his family, you have a duty when you have a child. An immediate understanding of self sacrifice, unfortunate as it is for the world to think your a bitch your child comes first.

And unfortunately it’s sad cause I don’t hate John’s character. He’s fascinating, but I’m so TIRED of seeing how ppl talk about him

He was trying and I’ll give him that, but you can still fail even when you give it your best and we must live in what that means.

I hate when people hide behind the “complex” excuse no he is NOTTTTTTTTT IDCCCCC ITS A VERY SIMPLE STORYYYYYYYY THATS BEEEN TOLD A MILLION TIMES

Boo hoo soldier does something awful but he’s so sad we have to forgive him because he didn’t know what he was doing and was under a lot of stress my poor grown ass man couldn’t have possibly understood the consequences to his actions he’s just a poor military trained human combat machine spare him from the negativity

Yk I apologize to John honestly cause I don’t hate his character I just hate how people talk about his character which has lead me to be more annoyed at him then warranted. He said it himself he wasn’t trying to be Steve, just doing his best.

I can’t say I woudlnt be his friend, but I think if we had a conversation he would agree with me, fs be deeply annoyed by me but still agree

(Might I add to he has done nothing to “fix” the mistake he’s made, no sort of true reconciliation. The whole “do this last job and she fixes my image” is a weak man’s way out. )

[nashcandream]

Hey friends, can I ask for some advice? Or encouragement? Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Maybe just validation of some kind. I’ve hit a wall and, because I am incapable of dealing with other shit right now, I am focusing on writing.

The problem I’m having is with my main characters and their personalities. I keep boxing myself into a certain pattern of behavior. I am masking with my characters the same way I mask in real life…and I don’t like it. Everyone has a certain solitary strength, finds reassurance in comedic relief, and does what they can to always be helpful. My characters are problem solvers and optimists who struggle with vulnerability and authenticity. They do everything they have to. They adapt and survive, survive and adapt.

They are too much like me. And it hurts in a way that I was not expecting.

I thought writing characters like this would feel more empowering. That it would be a reminder of how hard I’ve worked and things I’ve overcome. There has been so much monumental growth on my part. But there are still so many short-comings and writing characters similar to my current state of mind creates a reflection I would rather not look at.

The problem is I feel like I’m not “allowed” to write “weaker” characters, i.e.: people who are open with their wounds, are objectively vulnerable, have room to grow and gain strength, and who don’t try to shoulder everything. I feel like my OCs have to express the same stoicism and never-say-die attitude that I have. I’m not allowed to cry, so they aren’t either. Which is absurd for both me and them.

Maybe I just want permission to create an OC who expresses more or different emotions. Someone who really doesn’t have “it” together and is working toward finding their strength and courage. Someone who doesn’t have to pretend everything is fine when everything isn’t fine. Someone who can ask for help.

The problem is I see vulnerability and openness with emotions as weakness when it isn’t. And I worry about readers thinking, “wow, this character is pathetic and uninteresting.” Which…I know this is a reflection on how I feel about myself. I do. But I feel like writing is a good way to work through some of these issues.

Like I said at the beginning of….whatever this is, I don’t really know what I am looking for from friends. Validation? Commiseration? Encouragement? I’m not really sure.

I just figured you folks would “get it”, you know?

Tagging a few writer friends because I appreciate how you folks develop your characters and how they in turn drive your stories. But I didn’t tag everyone and I would love to hear from anyone with some helpful thoughts.

@thelittlesorceressbg3 @emmy-dekarios-bg3 @darcydekarios @optimisticgrey @wasteful-sam @worfs-glorious-hair @puggnugget @residentdormouse

[hologramcowboy]

Do you have any advice for someone who hasn't ever been in a relationship and feels kind of sad about it? I'm only in my early 20s, but it's sad to see everyone around me in relationships and all these shows/movies about young love, knowing that I haven't experienced it. I'm not always upset about it, but sometimes it gets me down. You always have good advice, so I was just wondering.

Thank you for opening up about this—what you're feeling is incredibly valid, and you're far from alone, even if it feels like you are.

Here’s the thing: being in your early 20s and not having been in a relationship yet is completely okay. There's no official life timeline, even if society (and media) often pushes the idea that love and romance are supposed to happen by a certain age. Movies and shows often skip the boring, messy parts and make it look like everyone finds love early. In reality, people come into romantic experiences at all different times—some later, some earlier, some never—and that’s normal.

When it feels sad, here's something to remember:

Your worth isn’t defined by your relationship status. It’s easy to internalize the idea that not having been in a relationship means something is lacking in you. That’s a lie. You’re not "behind." You’re living your story, and just because it doesn’t mirror someone else's doesn’t make it any less worthy or beautiful.

You’re not missing out—you’re building up. You’re gaining experiences in other parts of life: friendships, self-understanding, learning what you want from love. That’s valuable prep for a relationship when it does come. Being single can give you clarity about what matters to you and help you bring more to the table when the time feels right.

It’s normal to want love, but don’t let it become a verdict on your life. That ache you feel sometimes is a real longing—humans are wired for connection. But that longing doesn’t mean you’re broken or that something’s wrong. Let yourself feel it without shame.

A relationship won’t fix loneliness—it just changes its shape. A lot of people in relationships still feel lonely. True connection starts with you knowing yourself, liking yourself, and learning how to build meaningful bonds (romantic or otherwise). That’s the deeper stuff that actually helps relationships thrive when they do arrive.

Be open The more at peace you are with being single, the more magnetic you become. Not because you’re "pretending not to care," but because people are drawn to others who are secure in themselves. It signals confidence and emotional maturity.

A few things that might help:

Romanticize your life without a partner. Do things that make you feel connected, joyful, and seen: journaling, traveling, deep conversations, art, learning. Don’t wait for love to start living fully.

Talk about this with friends you trust. You’ll be surprised how many others feel this way too but are scared to admit it.

Expose yourself to stories of people who found love later. Real-life or fiction. They exist—plenty of them—and they’re just as meaningful as the high school sweethearts trope.

Be kind to yourself when those waves of sadness hit. You're not weak for wanting closeness. It just means you're human.

You haven’t missed your chance. Love doesn’t have an expiration date. You're still early in your journey—and you might end up with deeper, more authentic love because you took your time. ❤️

If it ever gets too heavy, I’m here to talk about it whenever.

One more thing, remember the goal is not just to have a relationship but THE relationship so invest in yourself, get clear on what you want and never settle. You can spend your life in love with everything around you and a partner will only amplify that. I wish you true love and happiness, remember, it starts with you.

[kangshxrtie]

51 . yn protection squad

prev . main

you were just minding your own business, sitting outside the classroom, waiting for nien, kaede, and chaeyeon to finish up. your phone was keeping you company, scrolling through whatever came up on your feed, when you suddenly heard footsteps slow down beside you. instinctively, you kept your eyes on your phone, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

but, of course, life never worked out that easily.

“yn,” nakyoung’s voice came from above you, soft but filled with an annoying persistence. “we need to talk.”

"hey," she repeated as she approached, her voice slightly breathless as if she had rushed over the moment she saw you. you didn't bother looking up, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever was on your screen.

you sighed but didn’t look up. maybe if you just kept scrolling, she’d take the hint and leave. it wasn’t like she could force you into a conversation, right?

"yn, can we talk for a second?" she pressed, standing right in front of you now.

you sighed, locking your phone and finally glancing up at her. "what do you want, nakyoung?"

she gave you that familiar look, the one that had always made you weak before, but now it only reminded you of how much she'd hurt you. "i just... i wanted to talk. you haven’t been responding to my texts."

"there’s nothing to talk about," you muttered, trying to sound as indifferent as possible. you couldn’t let her get to you again. not when you were finally in a good place with xinyu. things had started to feel real, and the last thing you needed was nakyoung trying to mess it all up.

nakyoung shifted her stance, crossing her arms in frustration. "you can’t just ignore me forever, yn. we need to talk about us."

you sighed, "there is no us, nakyoung. i keep telling you, i won't break up with xinyu."

she rolled her eyes as if you hadn’t just said you were in a relationship. "come on, yn. we both know that you’re just doing that to make me jealous. you don’t actually like her."

your patience was running thin. "no, nakyoung. i'm dating xinyu because i want to be with her. i'm not doing this for you."

nakyoung frowned, clearly not liking your response. "i know you, yn. this thing with xinyu is not right, especially because you told me you hated her and would never speak to her again. it's not too late for us to go back to how things were."

you stood up, putting your phone in your pocket. "nakyoung, you need to stop. i’m not going back to you. ever. you hurt me, and i’m happy with xinyu. so please, just leave me alone."

her expression faltered for a second, but she quickly recovered, taking a step closer. "you don’t mean that. you’re just mad at me."

you tried to keep your voice steady. "no, nakyoung, i mean every word. i don’t plan on leaving xinyu anytime soon, so just… move on... again."

before nakyoung could respond, the door to the lecture hall swung open, and nien, kaede, and chaeyeon emerged from their class. the three of them spotted you instantly, and it didn’t take long for them to notice nakyoung standing uncomfortably close to you.

"yn!" nien called out, her voice immediately cutting through the tension. her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene.

kaede’s face darkened when she saw nakyoung. "fuck are you doing here?" she asked, already walking over to stand next to you.

chaeyeon seemed unsure at first but quickly made her way over as well. "valid question, cause i sure as hell didn't invite her."

nakyoung crossed her arms defensively. "i was just talking to yn."

"about what?" nien asked, her tone cold.

"none of your business," nakyoung shot back, her voice sharper now.

kaede scoffed, stepping in front of you like a human shield. "it actually is our business. especially when you’re basically harassing yn."

nakyoung’s jaw tightened. "i’m not harassing her. i just wanted to talk."

"well, she doesn’t want to talk to you," nien interjected, crossing her arms. "she’s made that pretty clear, hasn’t she?"

nakyoung turned to chaeyeon, hoping for some backup. "chaeyeon, come on. you know yn and i were good together. can’t you talk some sense into them?"

chaeyeon frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation. "nakyoung… i think it’s time to let this go."

nakyoung’s face dropped as if she hadn’t expected chaeyeon to take your side. she opened her mouth to argue, but kaede cut her off.

"seriously, nakyoung," kaede said, her voice firm. "we used to be friends so i know you understand the concept of leaving somebody alone."

"exactly," nien added. "we’re not letting you ruin things for her again."

nakyoung looked at you one last time, her expression torn between anger and frustration. "fine," she muttered under her breath before turning on her heel and walking away without another word.

you exhaled, feeling the tension finally leave your body as she disappeared down the hallway.

"are you okay?" nien asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"yeah," you replied, though your voice was still a bit shaky. "thanks for stepping in. she just… doesn't get that i don't want her anymore."

kaede rolled her eyes. "she’s delusional if she thinks you’re going back to her after everything she put you through."

chaeyeon gave you a sympathetic smile. "i’m sorry it had to go down like that, yn. i didn’t think nakyoung would push it this far."

"it’s not your fault," you said quickly. "i just… i’m glad you guys showed up when you did."

"we’re always gonna have your back," nien said with a grin. "yn protection squad for life."

you laughed, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "real ones. i just hope she'll stop after this."

"she better," kaede muttered, glancing down the hall where nakyoung had disappeared. "otherwise, next time, i’m actually gonna have to start biting bitches."

main . nxt

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[guiltycorp]

this might be a controversial opinion, but I think Shoko’s ‘I was there too’ was another expression of the author’s slide into sexism in the latter half of JJK

because the thing is, at the time of reading the backstory arc, I thought it was an exceptionally good decision not to involve Shoko in the main plot too much despite being the typical 1 girl 2 boys as per shonen standards, she refused to engage with them on a narrative level from her words about ‘never becoming trash like those two’ to her consistent avoidance of getting involved in their conflicts, Shoko also never presented her own stance on strong vs weak or non-sorcerers vs sorcerers, she just wanted to do her own thing and let the boys sort out themselves

and when letting Gojo know the whereabouts of the newly snapped Geto, she says ‘no way, i don’t want to be killed’, which is obviously another valid reason why she didn’t want to participate in their break-up thing

...for a ‘girl character in a trio’ this complete avoidance is an admirably fresh character trait!! if she tried to act like a true supportive friend, she would inevitably have to take on the emotional burden of her two male classmates no matter how empathetic Geto was as a person, with his slide into complete breakdown it would still fall on Shoko to try and handle it emotionally, leading to an unsatisfactory sexist trope similarly to Nobara who never acted as the ‘safe-rational-emotional core of the group’, Shoko never fell into the trap of being a prop for male characters’ feelings and decisions   

moreover, it worked well in that arc specifically because there were other female characters who actually did serve as exactly that, changing both Gojo and Geto for good despite this being another ‘female character dies for male character progression’ i think it still worked pretty well due to Riko representing the established cycle of innocent youth dying because of their messed up society 

(...and also because this was far from the only factor influencing both Gojo and Geto) 

one could argue that still, with Shoko and Yaga being the only survivors who knew Gojo and Geto that well (the extent of Nanami’s closeness to them seems unclear to me) Gojo never remained alone ...but Yaga was another cog in the system, consecutively failing his students time and time again and Shoko... well, in the fanbook, it was said that she’s neutral and doesn’t have a preference between Gojo and the higher-ups, and yeah, she didn’t comment on any of his rants about changing the status-quo

of course, she still did what he asked her to do (writing off Yuji as ‘deceased’ on the report) and she is not completely heartless as seen in the JJK0 movie where she immediately left the room as soon as Yaga called for Geto’s immediate execution  there’s also the ambiguous way Kenjaku phrased this where it could mean either that Gojo himself didn’t want to fully destroy Geto’s body or that he didn’t want Shoko to do it to spare her feelings (personally i’m leaning more towards the first option tho tbh) ‘You are only considerate during such awkward moments’.

BUT THE POINT IS, no matter how valid for her own character, she did absolutely leave both Gojo and Geto alone! purposefully so, too so for the author to suddenly bring up her own feelings making it seem as if it’s Gojo who ignored her steadfast support and presence in his life is... just a return to the more basic tenets of ‘woman longs to be appreciated by a man but the man is busy doing other more important things’

like, Gojo is a dumb bitch with extremely low emotional intelligence who relies a little too much on his personal understanding of strength when it comes to forging connections but to pretend that Shoko was there for him or Geto is a disservice to all of their characters also, while it’s canon that Gojo doesn’t let himself open up to anyone other than Geto, it’s not like there are people by his side who’d be willing to listen to him anyway?... it’s not a coincidence that both Utahime and Nanami have a lot of Geto’s more admirable traits and yet dislike Gojo instead of enjoying his company and to me it’s a shame that fandom jumped so readily on this perceived dynamic of poor left-out Shoko...

she was never left out, she left on her own time and time again!

[momentswithmani]

Loving Me Doesn’t Make Me Easy

A truth for the women who’ve been punished for their softness.

There’s this deeply disturbing narrative — one that isn’t always said out loud, but is felt loud and clear:

If a woman shows interest in a man, she must be “easy.”

And in the world of dating, especially within the Black community, this unspoken belief has created a toxic emotional economy where affection is misunderstood, and genuine love is mistaken for desperation.

I’ve felt it.

When I’ve cared, I’ve been punished for it.

When I’ve stayed present, I’ve been pushed away.

When I’ve offered support, I’ve been ghosted.

When I’ve shown love, I’ve been viewed as someone who must not love herself enough.

Because in their minds, if I’m choosing them… there must be something wrong with me.

Let me be clear:

Loving you doesn’t make me easy.

Being soft with you doesn’t make me naive.

Seeing your potential doesn’t mean I don’t see mine.

Offering you something rare doesn’t mean I’m offering it recklessly.

I love with intention — not out of lack.

I pour in because that’s my nature — not because I’m desperate.

And when I choose to give you my energy, it’s because I see something in you. Not because I’m bored, lonely, or lacking options.

But far too often, Black women like me are made to feel like our love is a liability.

We’re told to withhold it, to be “hard to get,” to treat care like a transaction.

Because God forbid we show affection first.

God forbid we let a man know we see him.

God forbid we love him before he loves us.

The same men who say “nobody’s ever there for us” often reject the very women who try to be.

The same men who say “we want someone real” push away the ones who come without games.

The same men who say “we don’t feel safe to open up” shut down when a woman finally creates safety for them.

So what are we supposed to do?

Punish ourselves for loving?

Shrink ourselves into emotional unavailability so we’re seen as “high value”?

Pretend we don’t care just to earn the bare minimum?

No.

Because I’m not here to perform distance just to earn your attention.

I’m not here to starve myself of connection to prove that I’m worthy of it.

And I will not carry the shame of men who don’t know how to receive love without disrespecting it.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

If a man thinks your love makes you less valuable,

he’s not ready for love.

He’s only ready for control, validation, or emotional labor.

And I’m done offering myself to men who see my softness as a flaw.

I’m done giving depth to people who only know how to play in the shallow end.

I’m done trying to prove that my love is not a weakness.

Because the truth is —

My love is sacred.

My love is layered.

My love is rare.

And only someone who reveres it deserves to receive it.

[rvllybllply2014]

I think viserys was a bad father 😭 while he clearly loved rhanyra he let her and his toe he kids down a lot. Part of that was due to the unfortunate illness he had but another part was the refusal to acknowledge the trouble what was brewing in front of him for years between all the parties involved …

Same anon same. I’m going to try to make this coherent but it might get rambling and go in a circle.

Viserys was a terrible father, he was also a weak man. Just look at how he always let Daemon come back to court and how he let Otto manipulate him.

Honestly I don’t think he loved Rhaenyra as much as people claim he did. Don’t get mad hear me out please.

As we saw with Aegon and Jaehaerys, Aegon wanted his son (heir) in the council meetings. He was grooming his chosen/named heir for ruling. Rhaenyra also has Jace as her hand and in meetings as her heir. Compare that with Viserys and Rhaenyra we don’t ever see him bring her to the meetings. Also if truly wanted Rhaenyra to be his heir without conflict he only needed to point to Aegon I and his sister wives, especially Visenya, they/she ruled from the iron throne. Visenya especially after Rhaenys death. So that would be the precedent of why he’d choose a female heir.

He pretends to be a good father because of the guilt he has, he killed his wife for an heir and it was all for nothing. His male heir by Aemma still died. Ask yourself would a good loving father allow his child to do what Rhaenyra was allowed to do? He’s only seen disciplining her when she’s an embarrassment to the throne.

He’s also seen to ignore all of his children so there’s that. I believe for the most part the green children didn’t know how much Viserys didn’t care for them until the driftmark incident. He had the opportunity to stop the feud right then, he didn’t need to get in Aemonds face after he lost an eye questioning him. After Rhaenyra wanted to torture her own brother, his son, he should’ve shut it down. He could’ve told her that he’s heard the rumors too, but he believes that her sons are true born (or something like that). Viserys also defended Aemond by reminding Rhaenyra that he’s just a child, he doesn’t truly know what the words he said mean. (I.E. treason by passing off her bastards as true born children). As for Alicent he should’ve understood that she’s acting like a mother would, she risked her life to bring Aemond into the world and he very easily could’ve died from infections.

But instead of validating feelings on both sides he once again chose Rhaenyra and her family over his children. He also could’ve called Rhaenyra or her children back to the red keep, maybe force his grandsons and sons and daughter to have lessons together and meals together. Of they’d have to practice fighting together but without Harwin or Criston, too much bitterness between them. The dragon riders would also be told to practice flying with each other, maybe even have the more mature dragons fly with more than one person.

But going back to Otto manipulating him for a second. If he’d been smarter he would’ve put Alicent there for Viserys to marry but then he should’ve maneuvered Harwin into a position to marry Rhaenyra, thus making Jace,Luke and Joffery true born heirs. Then Viserys could’ve married Hel off to Jace, Baela and Rhaena could’ve married Aegon and Aemond. Joffery could be sent to be a maester or septon.

But yeah Viserys was a shit father to everyone involved and a shit grandfather to everyone involved. At the end of the day he knew the realm would fall into chaos with his death, he wouldn’t have made houses swear to up hold her claim. He just chose to ignore it, I truly think he checked out with Aemmas death.