#need them to get together and share captive-holding tips with each other

[cinnamonest]

OMG I MISSED YOUR WRITINGS ON SCARAMOUCHE SO MUCH!!

Please I need the version with camgirl reader x incel Scaramouche 🛐

And I hope you are well !!! <3

The way I was gonna make this a fairly simple post and then I got carried away and now it's 9k words WHOOPS

Anyway YES anon, I am on the slut girl x virgin boy agenda... although since I already have a camgirl, this time I went with like an onlyf*ns/e-girl darling + college AU >:3

//noncon, cyberstalking, blackmail, harassment, misogyny, sadism, nipple/ass stuff, revenge porn/leaking, darling is portrayed as being feminine + implied to have a bf

---

You tell yourself it's just to get you through college.

That's how you convinced yourself to start the account — regular camming requires a schedule and streaming and all that, which you'd rather not do, whereas the other outlets let you sell subscriptions for photos and videos, and there was a decent market out there, so you took your best shot, did some work to advertise yourself on mainstream social sites, and hey, it worked. You soon find yourself with a steady stream of income, and all you have to do is masturbate on camera and take a few posed photos of your body.

A few years of some extra income, and then you'll be done, get a better job, and you can delete the account and scrub the internet clean of any trace of the matter. Maybe some guy out there will keep some of the photos, but it can't be that bad.

This way, you can focus on your academics, which a regular part-time job would be too time-consuming for. You don’t have to worry about scheduling classes around a work schedule, either, which allows you to be more choosy on your class schedule, ensuring you get the later classes and don’t have to wake up early each day.

Except one, where you had no choice but to take the early class, as the other sections filled up fast. It’s one of those required tech-involved ones, you just picked from the list at random — one of those big classes with hundreds of people in a huge auditorium, any degree of personalism drowned by the sheer number of people. It’s a male-dominated subject field, and the body of attending students when you walk in clearly reflects that, so you just sit down in the very back at the first unclaimed seat you can find, pausing to say good morning to the boy next to you, who only briefly looks your way in acknowledgement.

The professor goes over the generic first-day material — that yes, you need the expensive textbook, that yes, he will check attendance, and no, he will not give you extra credit at the last minute at the end of the semester, so on and so on… and—

—you’ll be working with the person next to you for the rest of the semester.

Even-numbered seats, the person to your immediate left, odd-numbered seats, to your immediate right. You turn and smile at the guy you’re thus assigned to, the same one you spoke to a few moments ago — once again, he just glances over at you and nods with some vague acknowledgement and then resumes doing what he’s been doing since the professor started, which is scrolling on his phone beneath the desk, only half-paying attention. That does not bode well for your predictions of how equally-yoked you’ll be in your work ethic… but no big deal.

It's one of those classes with a midterm and final project that you work on throughout the semester, rather than tests… which, hey, that could be fun, you tell yourself. You think you can get along. He doesn’t seem to care about what's going on around him much, which is not exactly good, but isn’t bad.

That dopey, happy demeanor… so obnoxious… ugh, you’ve got a notebook (an aesthetic, pretty one at that), and you're pulling it out on the first day of class? For what?

Except you aren’t reading him all that well at all. Unbeknownst to you, his eyes shift over to you and your activities throughout the class. And the reality is he very much does care.

That is, from the very second he lays eyes on you, you irritate him.

Then you write the class and your name at the top of the page all cutesy and artsy-looking, and then— God, now you're pulling out the multiple colors of highlighters and pens. Is that— is that one of those sparkly gel pens? Oh, it is. You’re making a little header with today’s date for your notes with it. Just kill him now. This is practically psychological torture.

Thus, while from your perspective, it feels like he barely pays you a second thought, in reality the rest of the period for him is spent just stewing in a stream of bitter, jaded thoughts.

Look at you with your… girl clothes and girl pens and girl notebook… you probably think you're so cute, spending money on dumb stuff like that… and smiling like an idiot. What are you so happy for. Why are you even taking this class when you'll just be bad at it. Why are you dressed like you put effort into it. Just pick up one of the sweatshirts laying on your bedroom floor like a reasonable person. And why do you smell so nice too.

He mulls over the negativity for the remainder of the class period, totally zoned out until people start packing up, which is the cue to leave.

Except you stop him before he can make a quick exit, holding out your phone, open to a new entry in your contacts.

Ah, since we'll need to work on the project, I can text you…

Right. That. Ugh.

The awkward discomfort of standing there and entering a name and number while you stand there with that dumb little nervous smile is only made more upsetting by the bitter realization that this will mark the first time he's ever had his number in a girl's phone before. Great, now he's going to be depressed for the rest of the day, and it's your fault.

You say thanks and smile again and your hands brush against his when you take your phone back and it makes him physically flinch in recoil — and you definitely noticed it, you mumble a little ah, sorry as if you're trying to make it even more awkward, now he's got to live with the humiliation of that too, and it's still your fault. Clearly, you are going to be nothing but a source of frustration.

And even once he's moped all the way back to the the comfort of his nice, dark apartment, he still can't escape your torment — no sooner does he flop down into bed than his phone goes off…

>Hi! Just wanted to make sure you can save my number too!

You add the little smiling emoji. It makes his eye twitch.

Trying to act all nice and sweet as if you're not only being pleasant because you're forced to work together. He knows full well you'd be all bitchy and demanding and hypersensitive in any other context, and probably all snobbish too, probably would barely pay him any mind.

Even if you are genuinely sweet, that in and of itself is still basically torturing him. Because what’s the point in you being sweet if you’re not going to give him anything more than that? With that in mind, even your niceness is just a cruel tease.

And why would you even be so happy to begin with? Doesn't being a girl suck? If he was something so weak and inferior and unintelligent, he'd be even more miserable about life, and that's really saying something. Maybe it's one of those things where you're so dumb that you lack self-awareness, so you can live a life of ignorant bliss... at the same time, the notion that you’re unaware of how inferior you are is equally frustrating. You should know, that knowledge should weigh on your mind all the time.

The frustration makes his chest feel tight, makes him grind his teeth… naturally, he has to get it out somehow, and there's a very convenient means to do so.

The imageboards he frequents almost always have a “leaked images” thread up and running, communities where they post e-girls’ nudes and revenge porn. The wrongness of it, of course, is the appeal.

Besides, they all deserve it. Some are images originally sent to boyfriends, posted as an act of revenge after cheating or dumping the guy (so it's deserved, really), others are leaked videos and photos from various pay-to-view networks and websites (also deserved, for being a whore), and finally some are just creepshots in public places (deserved once more, for dressing that way).

And the endless amount of the content and surprisingly good tagging system means that one can find any sort of content, and for the leaked porn accounts, it includes the girl's username and links to more of her, so you can see more of the same girl.

Like with this one, that just so happens to catch his eye. There's a whole page where some guy has paid for every single photo this girl has made, and put it out there for everyone to see for free. It's solo stuff, too, which is preferred — seeing couples making videos together, thereby watching the girl love on some guy, is depressing — and getting off to it is much more satisfying than any of the other girls on this thread, considering she looks like you.

…A lot, actually.

He's already memorized your annoying, pretty little face. The title of the video has the words “college girl” in it, too. Adds to the immersion, can feel like it’s really you, degrading yourself like that… of course, when it’s over, he has to deal with the reality that it isn’t, but the momentary pretending is cathartic.

And sure enough, as the first week passes, you quickly prove just as irritating as he initially suspected. You smile at him and talk to him every class, for some unknown, malicious ulterior motive. Are you trying to be belittling? Or are you trying to make him like you so that he'll do favors for you? Or is it for your own amusement?

Either way, the obvious deceit of it all is sickening. It's a commonly known female behavior. You try to come across as so sweet when in reality it's all an act, and you have some horrible reason for it. He just doesn't know what the reason is in your case yet. It would be better to be a bad person outright — the slimy underhanded fakeness of it all is what makes that type of evil so contemptible.

You, though, you’re just a bit puzzled. Normally, being nice to people works well… but this guy keeps sort of glaring at you… maybe that’s just how his face naturally is? But then, he also doesn’t talk very nice either. Not particularly mean, per se, but you can sort of sense an irritation, like you’ve done something wrong… you try to make the best of it, tell yourself you’re just imagining it. Besides, if he really didn’t like you, he wouldn’t respond when you talk to him, or would sit elsewhere, right? It’s not like you have to maintain the same seats all semester, as long as you work on the required material outside of class. So, you tell yourself, he must just be one of those people that naturally has that demeanor.

You’re not nearly as aware of it, but he makes his own observations of you too. You don’t check your phone nearly as much as he does, but every now and then, you look at something or another, and he always makes sure to subtly turn his eyes to see… it’s usually something stupid, like texts from friends, or worse, what appears to be a boyfriend, some male name you text often.

The first time you’re forced to meet outside of class, at the library per your suggestion — a very awkward interaction, but you seem to be fairly unbothered — you take a moment to check it when it vibrates. You’re sitting at an angle that makes it difficult for him to see without moving in a way that would catch your attention, but by pretending to take a swig of whatever can of liquid caffeine he has today (you had the audacity to comment how unhealthy it is), that he can tilt his head enough just to barely make out your screen without being noticed.

Your phone is open to an email.

The words flash across the screen for just a split second before you turn the screen off, but that one second is enough to make out the top of the screen. Enough time for the ‘hello, (username),’ preface to the email right beneath a very familiar blue logo to register with his brain.

He nearly chokes.

It takes every ounce of willpower to even try to hide the natural reaction — his eyes widen, he goes tense, he has to turn his torso away and pretend to fish something out of his cluttered bottomless void of a backpack whilst trying to refrain from coughing.

But then again, you put the phone away so quickly once you saw what it was… and the video from the other day…?

No. That can't be right.

There's no way. There's no way, there's no way, there's no way.

He can’t get back to his own place fast enough. Dropping the keys trying to unlock the door out of excitement, immediately whipping out his own phone, and he’s on the bookmarks tab before he can even sit down. Back to the leaks site, scrolling down to the tags where they put the girl’s username.

You’re wholly unbothered, going right back to talking to him in that overly-sweet tone, so nice, so frustrating, so torturous. You’re saying something. He has to get you to repeat yourself… no, it was just some pointless question about the homework.

To hell with that, that’s not even remotely important anymore… but he can’t voice that thought out loud, so he’s forced to tolerate the torment of waiting out the rest of your meeting until you finally say you’ll have to keep working later.

The usernames match. The one in your email was the exact same as the one now on the screen.

…

It's one of those moments where what's in front of him is so surreal, he's left so stunned, that he just sits there for a second, completely still, blinking and taking it in. Something that's too perfect to be real. This can't be actually happening, he's mistaken.

And thus he's just left perfectly still, a stupor of disbelief, sitting there in the darkness of the room with only the harsh light of phone screen shining up on his face as it slowly sinks in. It takes a minute — this is just the sort of thing that doesn't happen, it's far too perfect, he has to convince himself it isn't a dream.

And once it registers as reality, it feels exhilarating.

For one, it proves every suspicion right. He really did have a valid reason to be distrusting of your innocent girl act. To think, this whole time you were trying to fool him into believing you were good.

But all along, you were whoring out online, and basically, the fact that you're not upfront about that to someone you barely know is the same as outright lying about it.

Up until this point, life has just been so boring, so disappointing, just going through day to day… even college was just a thing to do because it's what everyone else does. But now? Now he has something exciting. A sudden sense of something meaningful, even if only as an outlet for pure, unadulterated malice.

As for you, well, you get a… well, a follower, but certainly not a fan.

The boy is a world-class hater. It's not passive hating, it's active hating. There is actual effort being put in here, and a lot of it at that.

In terms of the content itself, it's nothing you haven't seen before — some guy leaving comments and DMs calling you a whore and a slut and every nasty name one can conjure, saying you've ruined any hopes of a relationship by doing this, why would anyone ever date you when they can see you naked for a few bucks, telling you to get a real job, blah blah… fairly generic. A lot of the verbiage is certainly non-original, and more or less recycled, specific choices of words and phrases and lingo you know you’ve seen before in those pockets of the internet where certain types of men congregate.

But the sheer dedication to it is what catches you off guard. You're pretty sure this guy is more dedicated to harassing you than you are to the job itself. There's messages from all hours of the day, and you're certain after a short time that he makes multiple accounts for the sole purpose of harassing you. Not to mention he follows or adds you on everything — all the socials you've linked (you keep several associated to your account to lure in horny guys from mainstream sites), adds you on discord and any other messaging app you have (and you have no way of knowing which users are legitimate or if it's him, so you have to add them back and wait to find out each time). One of which you didn't even have listed on your page, so you realize he would have had to go through various apps and search the multiple variations of your username you use until finding you.

Telling him to fuck off accomplishes nothing, in fact he seems to derive great satisfaction from making you upset about it. Tells you that you should be glad — you wanted male attention, right? You wouldn't be posting yourself getting off and flashing your tits on camera for the world to see if you didn't, slut. He adds that insult to just about everything he says to you.

Blocking him only leads to him making new accounts (and then mocking you for trying to block him). You even reached out to a customer support team on one of your social media apps and got him permanently IP banned, which he then immediately circumvented in less than a few hours, making sure to inform you that changing one's IP is so easy and you're so dumb for thinking that would do anything.

But why you, specifically? Why decide to torment you out of every other girl doing this stuff? You don't know. You never asked for this. You never did anything wrong to anyone. You even scrolled back on your social accounts to see if you ever said anything someone could take offensively or had a negative interaction with someone, but found nothing. There's nothing to explain why this one man in particular has decided to come after you specifically, nothing you can think of at least. It feels like the universe just hates you.

It's actually kinda sad. You almost feel bad for this guy, who apparently has so much time to spare and nothing better to do than harass the same girl on the internet day in and day out. You did once shoot back a reply of don’t you have anything better to do?, which actually did make him stop… for about ten hours or so, then it was right back to it.

It's deserved, though, he thinks. E-girls are reprehensible. Taking advantage of guys’ loneliness for money.

Infuriating that you advertise something that he— well, that most guys want so bad, but don't actually give the real thing, only a simulation of it. Make them drool over you, while you hide behind the safety of the screen, far away from what those guys would do to you if they could get their hands on you.

And you know that too, don't you? You know how defenseless you are, know how much danger you'd be in if you teased without putting out like that to a guy in real life, and you do it anyway knowing you're untouchable, you must be so smug about it. Infuriating.

He's not like those simps of yours though, he finds you too morally reprehensible to be drawn to the curves of your body and the parts of you that you post and the sounds you make and how easy it is to imagine the softness of your skin and the way you feel and your warmth and the way you look directly into the camera as you moan and it feels like eye contact—

Anyway, he has standards. And self-respect.

Besides, he knows from stalking your social accounts — including your real ones with your real identity attached, separate from the others — that you have something like a boyfriend. Some guy who shows up in your pictures a lot. What a pathetic idiot. Who lets their girlfriend do this sort of thing? Even disregarding that, does this guy not know you’re meeting with him for your project too? He would never allow you to do something like that, were it him in that position. You must go after spineless guys who will let you walk all over them or something, and would only even accept boyfriends that allow you to do what you do.

That’s why, see, he would never accept something like that. Sure, there would be positives, like getting to see that sweet annoying smile and hear your happy obnoxious precious voice each and every day, and getting to touch you and be around you all the time, and you probably do really nice things for the person you’re with too, and he could always just force you to delete the accounts and never post yourself online again— but, whatever.

Point is, he’s better than stooping so low. He’ll keep living a respectable life, just like he does now — so he thinks as the phone alarm goes off, one of many set reminders to go send you more messages.

It's an awkward relationship, but you're pretty sure he doesn't hate you or anything, which is good. He's hard to read — he seems perpetually either bored or irritated, always slouched over, always maintaining that ‘I really wish I weren't here right now’ tone of voice, lots of heavy sighs or tsks scattered into his speech. Even when you agree to meet at the library to work on the homework and midterm project, he quickly establishes a pattern of being at least ten to fifteen minutes late (without any acknowledgement or apology at that), and frankly, you do the vast majority of the actual work, he just slaps his name on the corner next to yours once it's done.

The torment detracts from your sleep. You're late to your class more than once, trying to sneak in unnoticed by the professor and mumbling apologies to the students you have to slip by to get to your seat. Your partner doesn't seem to care much, at least — he just lazily glances over at you with a flat expression, then goes back to scrolling (he doesn't need to take notes, you'll just send him yours anyway).

He does step in to help when it's too difficult, you can't solve the problem yourself… which is how you realize that, in spite of being remarkably low-effort, he actually does understand the material, much better than you do at that. It's a bit embarrassing, since he makes it out to be so simple, but at least it somewhat compensates for all the work you do.

He's not particularly mean about it, he's just… not nice. The tone and choice of words tends to be not-so-subtly making you out to be dumb for not getting it, or that it's easy, or otherwise belittling.

…You really don't get that one? It's the exact same thing as the last one.

You give a sheepish smile and rub the back of your head.

Aha… sorry…

But it gets done, and that's what matters. You just walk away from each meeting feeling like an idiot, which isn't exactly a great feeling.

But even though you initially felt like the guy didn’t care for you, you quickly notice that he’s started to walk all the way back to your place after your meetings while you talk. You supposed he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t at least somewhat enjoy your company.

And you do try to make conversation. You ask about what other classes he takes…only to learn that he doesn't go to any other classes, since this is the only one where attending is required. He did the math, and he just has to do good on the finals for the other classes to pass, no need to show up for the tests and quizzes and lectures and stuff… and he did research into the professors to find ones where past students confirm they recycle the exact same tests and the past ones are posted online, and he's already got a good cheating method that's only been caught once in all the years he's used it… so there's no point in showing up, he says.

It's a very different mentality than yours, but you try to smile and refrain from saying anything negative. And you try interests and social life as topics, but quickly glean from what little he says that the guy has none of the latter and more or less just a phone and gaming addiction for the former.

Which you have no trouble believing, because good God, does the boy have a totally fried attention span. Even in your meetings, you swear he can't go five minutes without staring at his phone.

Oh, you like that too…?

That does end up helping you find a means to try and get closer. You manage to find one opening, something flash across the screen for some upcoming game. One you've been looking forward to as well.

Huh? You can’t like that thing. He likes that thing. It's not for females. It’s for people with good taste… it’s good… you can’t… someone like you would never be able to properly appreciate it… and now you’re just babbling away with that dumb smile while he’s going through a psychological crisis and rethinking every choice in life because of you. Does this put you two on the same intellectual level...? No, of course not, he has to quickly shake off any such doubts.

You were hoping to get a positive reaction, but you get silent bewilderment in his expression at first, for just a second.

Still, you’re supposed to be boring and a normie… you can’t just suddenly shatter the image of you he’s already constructed… and from the way you're talking about it, you know too much to just be pretending to like something for attention (which is the obvious automatic assumption for when females like media that's actually good and worth consuming).

Devastating. Now he has to consider the possibility that you do have interests and a personality besides being deceitfully sweet and whoring online.

But from your perspective, he just crosses his arms and shrugs.

Kind of, I guess.

And God, then you smile at him again. Every time you do that, it gives him some godawful tight-chested feeling, like you’re trying to kill him with psychic damage.

What gives you the right to be so happy right now anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be in constant distress, now? Is he not doing good enough of a job at tormenting you? You seemed upset, but clearly not upset enough, if you’re still emotionally stable enough to be nice to him. He has to break you, make you too distraught to even go on.

Online, you’re so mean, you never have anything nice to say, even though he’s not that mean to you — well, he could be worse, at least, which is basically the same thing.

Actually, he decides, how you behave in real life will be a good standard of how good he’s doing at making your life miserable. Once it starts to noticeably affect you even in real life, that means it’s sufficient.

But you prove resilient. Each day, you seem to get up, summon some resolve to still enjoy your life, and are still pleasant and friendly… or maybe you’re just really good at acting. Yes, obviously that’s it, since your whole sweetness thing is just an act in the first place.

On your end, the harassment gets worse. It comes in all hours of the day — does this guy not sleep? It’s almost hard to believe someone hates you this much, or even has the energy to keep this up… you start trying to just ignore it.

You tried threatening to report the guy for harassment, but he points out that he hasn’t threatened you with any real harm, and only targeted your public accounts, so no laws broken… and he’s already prepared by taking measures to— well, you don’t understand the spew of lingo that follows, but you gather that the jist is that it would be very difficult to trace him.

So you start to ignore it. You try your best to just not let it get to you, let the comments and messages go without acknowledgement or response. It’s actually somewhat relieving, if you just pretend it doesn’t exist. At first, when you start ignoring him, the messages get more frequent.

But then, it goes quiet for a day. Just around twenty-four hours, you don't get messages, nor comments.

It should make you feel relieved, you think, but it doesn't. Quite the opposite — you feel uneasy. Like something will happen.

He's getting bored, you see. You don't react as strongly anymore as you used to. You used to get so upset at all the messages he sent, and it was so fun to watch how you'd get all defensive and angry in your replies.

Then your replies got shorter, and now— what gives your the right to ignore him? It infuriates him. Dumb whore, treating him like you think you're so much better… or, the gut-wrenching thought passes through his mind, maybe you're busy, you’re probably visiting the guys you sleep around with, since someone like you could never be loyal to that boyfriend he's certain you have.

The only option is to progress things further. He has to think about that. He didn't really have a plan on where to go from here, but now he's started to think about the bigger picture, what he wants in the long term… and that's not going to go over well for you.

It takes some work and digging on his end, but it's worth it.

It's around three in the morning when your phone goes off. It just barely manages to wake you up. You think to yourself that you should remember to turn off the notifications for messaging apps… but for now, you sit up, groggily unlocking your phone. Seeing who the message is from, though, snaps you into full alertness.

A message that makes you go stiff, staring at your phone wide-eyed and slack-jawed, a cold knot of dread forming in your gut that quickly turns to an electrifying surge of pure panic as you read.

The name of your academic institution. The names, emails and phone numbers of your immediate family members. Your full, real name — and your address, down to the unit number.

Your heart sinks into your stomach. The glaring light hurts your tired eyes, but you can't look away.

You know he's just waiting on a response. Probably knows you're panicking, but knows you have no choice but to comply — and you're forced to give him the satisfaction of seeing you type back.

>What do you want from me?

It's only a few seconds before you get a reply.

>From now on, do what I want

>Or I ruin your life.

You hesitate a while before responding. Poor you, you must be so scared now that you're finally getting what you deserve. And even then, you just send back a ‘fine,’ even though it took you so long to respond. You were probably trying to think of how to respond, probably typed out longer potential replies, but decided on that to seem tough or something. That's actually almost endearing.

And oh, it's so, so satisfying to finally see you crumble, even if just a bit, the next day. For you to come shuffling into class for once with a downtrodden, nervous expression, making your way over to your spot without the usual greeting.

…Except that's also irritating. What makes you think you can just not say hello, now that you've established a routine of doing so every day of this class? For all you know, he's just the person you know in real life, so you're basically willingly choosing to potentially disappoint him. Not that you are disappointing him, but like, if he actually cared about your dumb little daily greeting, then he would be. He even gives you several extra seconds, and you still don't do it.

You're still fidgeting nervously, lost in thought when the mumbling directed at you pulls you out of your thoughts.

…Something wrong with you?

You seem to realize your sullen energy and attempt to fix it with a twitching, obviously forced smile.

O-oh, no, I'm just tired, haha… good morning!

He doesn't say anything back, just turns back to phone-scrolling as usual. You realize your melancholy must be showing on your face.

You're being overdramatic, too, he thinks. He didn't even give you any demands yet, since he decided it would be more fun to make you wait in suspense for a few hours or so. Seeing you squirm is funny, but really, you're acting like it's so much worse than it is. What a weakling, so sensitive.

It's just gonna be stuff you're used to anyway…

Which is somewhat true. You're used to the demand for private, custom content.

Men pay you sometimes incredible amounts of money for the stuff. Usually, the customization is about personalization — sometimes it's kind of sad, wanting you to say their name or that you love them while you look at the camera, and sometimes it's just more niche fetish stuff, like pictures of your feet or wearing a weird costume.

But everything this mystery man wants is different — the personalization has to do with the fact that it's painful, humiliating, or both. Moreover, he's never content with the first try.

Stuffing your holes with toys and sitting down on them so they go all the way in, specifically, ‘as many as you can fit’ — but even after the painful effort of getting one in each hole—

>That's not enough.

You can fit at least one more somewhere. And you're intentionally using the smaller toys, aren't you? You won't be able to do that next time, so don't try that again.

Then there's the command to get those clamps on your nipples you used in a video of yours a long time ago, the ones connected to each other by a chain, and to tighten them then pull hard enough for them to come off. You have to take a few deep breaths to summon the ability to do it, and even then, it takes a few tugs to get them to come off. By the time they do, your nipples are swollen and red and your eyes are watery from the sting, but nonetheless, a message comes through within a minute of sending the video.

>You didn't tighten them all the way first.

>Do it over.

Or the one to deep throat that one huge toy you have, the one you used in this one video a long time ago — which you now regret ever posting, since there's a reason that you never used that monstrosity again, much less in your throat. At first you're not even sure you can fit it into your mouth, but you force it somehow.

On and on the demands come. He's not paying for any of it, of course, but the premise is the same.

Still, it's not enough. Come on, you didn't even get it very far in, you have to at least get half down your throat. And you didn't hold the phone close enough, can't hear your gagging choking sounds.

>Do it again.

The timing is often terrible, shortly before or after your classes, or odd hours of the night, forcing you to stop whatever you're doing to meet the demand. Thankfully, though, at least you've never gotten a message from him during your meetups with your class partner — you're certain your distress would show on your face, and it would be hard to come up with an excuse for it.

It becomes such routine, and all happens so quickly, it feels surreal, like you're just forced to accept it and go with it. There’s no time to really process it, as you have to get back to doing your school work and going to class and trying to keep up with your regular video content, it's all so overwhelming, yet so simple, you just have to do what you have to do.

One moment you're slapping yourself in the face while you bounce up and down on a toy so long that it bruises your insides for some jerk that's blackmailing you, and running to class the next, desperately trying to rub at the marks on your face to make them go away.

You're worried that the stress is beginning to show. Your most recent quiz scores are lower than usual, you're getting less sleep. Your insides are always sore. You're paranoid and uneasy, and you know it has to be somewhat evident.

Some of the individual demands have lasting consequences, too. Once you were commanded to choke yourself with a belt on camera, specifically until it left bruises… which you begged and protested against because you had one of your class partner meet-ups scheduled for later the same day, but your tormentor said he didn't care and insisted, so you did it, forcing yourself to go through it… and sending an additional picture at the end just to show the purplish marks in detail, up close.

It wasn't the end of the world for your meeting though — the weather wasn't right for it, but you found something that covered your neck up, at least, so the bruises didn't show. That much, at least, allows you to be at ease… although your classmate seems to be in a particularly bad mood that day.

On another occasion, you find yourself laying on your side, gasping and wincing trying to force one of the larger toys you have into your ass, all the way to the base as instructed, toes curling as you pump it back and forth, in and out… only to be told you weren't supposed to touch yourself while you did it, so, predictably, you have to do it again, the ring of muscle clenching down as it's stretched — and, of course, the act leaves a remnant sensation lasting the rest of the day. You have to rush it too, or you'll be late, due to the horrible timing of the command.

You manage to get to class, but when you move to sit, an ache of pain runs up your spine from your poor abused hole, and you wince, face grimacing at the pain.

It doesn't go unnoticed. The guy next to you, ever observant to everything except the professor, casts a lazy glance over to you, looks you up and down before asking what’s the matter, albeit in a half-caring, bored tone of voice…

You give the oh, nothing, I'm fine! response, stammer out something about hurting your leg yesterday, and he merely gives you an 'ah' of acknowledgement before turning his gaze back down… he rests his chin against his hand so that his mouth is covered up, but you swear, you can detect a slight grin from the shape of his eyes. You suppose it checks out that he'd find your clumsiness amusing, even if it's a lie.

On and on it goes. All the time. Day in, day out. It starts off as once per day, but then your tormentor starts piling smaller requests on top of those. Even beyond the daily video, you get increasingly frequent messages at all times of the day — to take a picture of your tits or ass, or a short video of you fingering yourself, or some sort of angle or pose of your body, writing something on your skin, so on and so on.

He doesn't accept any delays, either. You only get a few minutes to fulfill a demand before getting an impatient follow-up asking what the hold up is. Sleep isn't an excuse either, so you're told, so you have to start turning your phone on loud at night to wake you if need be.

You sense a growing impatience. The frequency increases still, as does the intensity of the content you're forced to make. It's as if it's building up to something — surely it has to reach a limit, or he has to get bored, or he'll ditch you and find a new outlet for his sadistic thrills, you hope. You just hope it ends in a way that's positive for you… but you're afraid of the opposite. What if even after all this, he just ruins your life anyway? It's a very real possibility, one you begin considering increasingly as you think over the whole situation.

The increasing severity and number of demands makes you feel like he's getting more upset, as if you're doing something that makes him mad, even though you have no idea what that could be.

You are right, though.

He's also noticed how much more frequently he gets the urge to demand something from you. How much more the itch has grown, the compulsive need to see you hurting and degrading yourself more and more. You've long since passed the point where he has more videos and photos of you all to himself than those available online — he's been counting — but it's still not enough.

And with the realizations that he's engaging with you more, he realizes that he's also thinking about you more.

No, “more” isn't quite accurate. All the time. Constantly. You never leave his head, everything else feels like a distraction.

And that's only more infuriating. He's very self-aware, realizes it's getting worse, realizes you essentially occupy his thoughts every waking second.

Even then, the distractions aren't working. At one point he realized he literally cannot stop himself from messaging you, it's a compulsion, a need, and the realization of his own lack of self-control regarding it is maddening. He actively tried, told himself to wait until the next day, but just couldn't. Even if he plays games or watches whatever brain-rotting media he tries to consume, his thoughts keep drifting to you. Hell, ever since latching onto you, he’s stopped harassing other random women online in general, and that was pretty much one of his biggest hobbies in the past.

What gives you the right? To get inside his head like that? Make him constantly distracted and wondering about what you're doing, forcing him to keep tabs on you? What makes you think you can just come into his life and control him like this, and think you'll get away with it? You've more or less taken advantage of an innocent person who did nothing wrong to you. Used your body to exploit his weaknesses and manipulate him into doing all this.

You don't get to do that. You have to be held accountable.

You're constantly making him worry about you, what you're doing, who you're talking to, and not knowing is a maddening feeling. It feels like nausea, a sick feeling that completely consumes the mind, rendering it incapable of doing or focusing on anything else, only cycling the same obsessive rage and worry and paranoia until it becomes unbearable.

But there's a way to get rid of that, and give you what you deserve, and get what you owe him all at the same time.

He waits, only another week or so — a frustrating week, but spent planning ahead and gathering necessary stuff — but finally, given the timing, you send a text he was hoping you'd send asking about meeting up again, to finish up the project as the end of the semester approaches.

You're a bit caught off-guard by the message, not to mention how quickly he replies.

>Come over here.

You hesitate, re-reading to try and ensure that you're understanding correctly, and finally ask for clarification that he means to his place.

He says yes. Something about how he's supposed to have something delivered that he'll have to sign, and so he has to be at the apartment when that happens, so, y'know, best for you to come over.

Which is nice.

It's just… odd.

Inviting you over, even if for a required activity, feels very out of line with the person you've come to know, however surface-level said knowing may be. Then again, maybe this is the guy's way of trying to be nice. Everyone expresses appreciation differently.

You're still thinking on it when he adds another text saying that his roommate will be there, preemptively apologizes for any disturbance that will cause… well, you figure if someone else is there, it can’t be anything sinister. That helps you make up your mind, so you agree. At this point, you know each other well enough to warrant trust.

…It’s still pretty awkward, though. The apartment is about like a picture you would expect to see uploaded to the internet as a joke about male living spaces. Borderline barren, barring the computer and the bare minimum furniture and appliances needed to survive, plus some clothes and empty cans and such strewn in various places across the floor, all dark lighting and void of color.

That being said, you quickly realize the apartment is only a studio, and there’s only one bed. The roommate doesn't exist.

And something just feels wrong, in a way you can’t articulate. Like your instincts are urging you to leave. You feel uneasy. Goosebumps spread across your skin. Are you just being paranoid…?

There is something else, though, that immediately catches your attention. You notice that the wall isn’t exposed, rather, most of the room is covered with a layer of some sort of paneling, lining the wall almost as thoroughly as wallpaper. You inquire what it is.

Soundproofing.

An unpleasant answer, but he wouldn’t be so upfront about it unless it was for harmless reasons. You refrain from inquiring about the other odd things you start to notice — locks on some cabinets despite seemingly living alone, a roll of tape sitting on the desk with no discernable purpose.

As awkward as the tension is, you really have no option but to sit on the bed, as its the only surface other than the floor. You try not to contemplate how often the average college-aged boy washes bedsheets.

It occurs to you, though, that right now would be the worst possible timing for a message from your unknown harasser, and you certainly can’t take any photos or videos here… thus, just as you sit down and begin to work, you pick up your phone from where you set yours next to his, and type out a quick message, basically pleading with the unknown man to leave you along for the next few hours, because, as you explain, you literally can’t do anything for the time being.

You read it over, and hit send.

And before you can even put the phone back down, there's a vibration a mere arms-length away from you, as the other phone in the room lights up.

And there, in the notification that pops up on the screen, are the very words you just sent.

…

…

There's a few seconds where nothing happens.

Both your heads naturally turn to the sound the moment it happens, but after that, it's just… still. You’re frozen still, he’s frozen still. Both your eyes go wide, and the quiet seconds pass, processing the information before you.

And then, he sighs, body relaxing, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, muttering as if met with some major inconvenience.

God, why do you have to make this more difficult.

Besides, he already turned the lock that locks you in from the inside, even though you probably weren’t aware of what it was, so you’re already trapped anyway. And you squeal, of course, predictably, but that’s what the soundproof panels are for.

He's not particularly worried like he would have been any other time — this was the plan now anyway, but you're throwing things off schedule. Yet another transgression to hold you accountable for.

You do try to run. You at least deserve that much credit. He was so close to considering you a genuine marvel of human evolution, with how nonfunctional your survival instincts seemed to be.

But you’re sitting with your legs folded, so, you don’t have the time required to stand any chance of hopping up and running. The moment your legs start to move to stand, he’s already got you by the arm.

You even seemed to process everything a bit quicker than he would have thought. Maybe you’re not that stupid after all, just… a little less.

You still are incredibly stupid though. He’s almost surprised you agreed to come. So naive, so dumb, so trusting.

And so loud. Squealing like a little animal caught by a predator — which, well, isn’t too far off, but it still hurts his ears.

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

You can hear the growling voice in your ear, even now that he has your face pressed into the mattress, arm latched around your waist. You’re squirming so hard too, but even fighting with all the strength you can summon, it feels like trying to push back a brick wall. He seems to notice as much as you do.

…Is that actually the best you can do?

Not the first time he’s said those words to you — though before, it was over text, mocking you into filling all those perverse desires. It feels far more biting now.

And it’s so, so, so satisfying to see you realize just how dumb you are, as you put everything together. To watch you slowly grasp everything, realize just how badly you’ve fucked up. He even flips you onto your back just to see your face go through all the stages of emotion. It’s hilarious, and adorable too. The confusion and betrayal and panic and anger.

Oh, you get so mad. It’s actually the best part. You’re practically snarling now, reaching up to try and claw at him, kicking, baring your teeth. Any traces of the sweet demeanor you once held is long gone as you lash out… and then, a purely and entirely euphoric transition to fear.

Aw. Poor thing. After you struggle so much, your breathing gets faster, the fury dissipates as your eyes well with tears. The demands to let you go turn to miserable little pleas.

Maybe you can go back and forth. Maybe if he taunts you again you’ll get angry once more, and then if he slaps you you’ll get meek and fearful again? That would be nice, to have reliable ways to switch your emotions around, as if controlling them with a button. There will be plenty of time to find out later.

But now he gets the opportunity to finally tell you how long you made him wait for this. Mocks you for how naive you were. Brings up specifics from all those videos you sent him. Did you think it would just be left at that? Did you really not realize it wouldn’t be enough? No, of course you didn’t, and that’s why you ended up coming here like the dumb little slut you are.

And look, you even wore something so easy to flip up, practically easy access. You just have no shame at all, do you. See, it goes in perfectly because you’ve been using those toys for those videos, and… ah, so that’s— that’s what it feels like… holy shit… this is what you basically robbed him of all this time? Now you’ll really have to suffer to make up for it…

Well, you wouldn’t get it. It’s about what you did subconsciously, mind games and all that. His torment was intentional on your end, and that’s what matters. Now you'll get to spend a very very long time atoning for it. You should be happy. You won't even have to worry about making money anymore.

This wouldn’t be happening to you if you didn’t do what you did to him, you know. It’s your fault. He tells you so. And when you look up at him, eyes welled with tears, stammering out a question of what he means—

What did I ever d-do to you…?

—he realizes that it’s… difficult to give that question a concrete answer.

What did you do, really...?

The only problem that remains is how you rushed things. He was at least going to wait until you finished the project, but now it’s incomplete… do professors grant extensions if your partner goes missing…?

[elysiangroundsforall]

In the Course of It ...

"You're my only Bambi, Bambi"

Ch-13

The rumors had taken on a life of their own. Every day, there seemed to be new headlines, new speculations, each one feeling like it pushed Y/N and me further into a corner. Our management teams had noticed, too, and were quick to enforce more stringent restrictions. The company didn’t explicitly know about us, but it was clear they wanted to steer clear of any scandal that might put either Regal or EXO under scrutiny. They stressed keeping a low profile, which only made things harder for us.

For weeks, we barely saw each other outside of fleeting moments at award shows, where we exchanged guarded glances from across crowded rooms. The secrecy weighed on us, and though we were both determined to keep going, the strain was beginning to show.

One night, after a particularly grueling schedule, I found myself standing outside Regal’s practice room. I knew Y/N would be finishing up soon, and I hoped to catch her before she headed back to the dorms. When she finally emerged, her face lit up in surprise, a brief glimmer of relief in her tired eyes.

“Baekhyun,” she whispered, looking around cautiously before stepping closer. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”

“I needed to see you,” I admitted, barely able to keep my voice steady. “I know it’s been hard, with everything going on… I just wanted to be here for you, even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

She gave a weary smile, and for a moment, we stood together in silence, the weight of the past few weeks settling between us. There was so much I wanted to say, but words felt inadequate. Instead, I reached for her hand, squeezing it gently, grounding myself in that small, quiet connection.

“It’s getting harder to pretend everything’s fine,” she confessed softly, her voice barely audible. “The rumors, the constant pressure… sometimes, I feel like we’re just waiting for everything to fall apart.”

Her honesty broke my heart. I hated that she was going through this, and I hated even more that I couldn’t take away her fears. I tightened my grip on her hand, my gaze steady on hers.

“We’re stronger than this,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with as much conviction as I could. “We’ll get through it, Y/N. I know it’s not easy, but… you’re not alone. I’m here, no matter what.”

For a moment, she just looked at me, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she pulled me into a hug, her arms wrapping tightly around me. I held her close, feeling the tension in her body slowly melt away. It was a simple gesture, but in that moment, it felt like the only thing keeping us anchored.

The rumors didn’t fade, but neither did we. Y/N and I managed to keep our relationship hidden, holding onto the quiet moments we shared in secrecy. But as our schedules intensified, and Regal’s popularity continued to soar, the stakes only grew higher. The company began enforcing even stricter rules, instructing both of us to avoid any interaction that might fuel the media frenzy.

It was difficult, knowing that our relationship was becoming more of a risk with each passing day. But despite everything, we clung to each other, finding strength in the love that had become our refuge from the chaos.

The tipping point came during a major award show event a few months later. Regal was performing, and EXO was set to follow them on stage. I watched from the wings as Y/N took her place, the confidence and fire in her performance a testament to how much she had grown. She was mesmerizing, captivating the audience with every move.

But as her gaze briefly found mine, I saw the tension she was hiding beneath her polished exterior. In that moment, I realized just how much she was carrying, and the thought of her facing it all alone made my heart ache.

After her performance, we crossed paths backstage. It was a brief encounter, but I couldn’t resist reaching out, brushing my fingers against hers in a subtle gesture of comfort. She looked up at me, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Hang in there,” I murmured, barely loud enough for her to hear. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

She nodded, her expression softening as she gave me a faint smile. “I know. Thank you, Baekhyun.”

That night, after the award show, I found myself alone in my apartment, replaying the events of the evening in my mind. The fear, the exhaustion, the weight of hiding—it all felt overwhelming. But my thoughts kept returning to Y/N, and the quiet strength she had shown despite everything. She was my reason for holding on, for fighting through the challenges, no matter how insurmountable they seemed.

I knew the rumors would persist. I knew we would continue to face scrutiny and doubt. But in the end, I was willing to endure it all for the sake of our love. We were a secret, a fleeting moment of happiness hidden in the shadows, but we were real. And that was all that mattered.

No matter what the world thought, no matter the obstacles in our path, I knew one thing with unwavering certainty: I was in love with Y/N. And that love, fragile yet resilient, would be our strength as we faced whatever came next.

Together.

The rumors had hit a breaking point. Speculation was everywhere, fueled by tabloids and fan forums, each claiming to have “proof” of my relationship with an unnamed individual. Every new piece of gossip chipped away at the careful balance Y/N and I had tried to maintain, and with each passing day, we felt the impact more.

Finally, our company decided to step in. They sent out an official statement, clearly denying any relationship rumors involving me and threatening legal action against those spreading baseless accusations. The notice went viral almost immediately, and it did the trick—rumors slowed, and online discussions cooled. The world moved on, focusing back on EXO’s comeback and Regal’s upcoming concert tour. The intense spotlight faded, giving us room to breathe again.

But even with the rumors at a low, Y/N and I knew that our relationship was still something we’d have to keep quiet, at least for now. The situation was easier, though; the pressure of every glance or small interaction wasn’t there anymore. We could finally exhale, even if it was just a little.

A few days after the notice went public, Y/N and I managed to steal a quiet evening together. I took her to a private, out-of-the-way spot by the river, where we could finally talk freely, without looking over our shoulders.

As we sat on a bench overlooking the water, Y/N sighed, leaning her head against my shoulder. “It’s been hard, hasn’t it? Hiding like this… watching every step.”

I wrapped my arm around her, holding her close. “Yeah, it has. But I wouldn’t change it. Even with all of this—whatever we have to do to keep us safe—it’s worth it.”

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with that steady resolve I loved so much. “I feel the same way. There’s no one else I’d want to go through this with.”

For the first time in weeks, we felt free. Sitting there with her in the quiet of the night, away from the relentless expectations of our careers, I felt a calm that had eluded us for so long. I reached for her hand, intertwining our fingers.

“We’re in this together,” I said softly. “No matter what happens, no matter how hard it gets, we’ll find a way through it.”

Y/N smiled, resting her head back on my shoulder. “I believe that. As long as we’re on the same page, I don’t think anything can break us.”

And with those words, we solidified something between us. It wasn’t an official announcement, no grand statement for the world, but it was enough. We knew what we had, and we didn’t need anyone else to validate it.

The next few months brought a shift in our lives. With the rumors in the past, Y/N and I focused on our careers with renewed energy. Regal’s tour was a massive success, selling out in minutes, while EXO’s comeback broke records worldwide. We each poured ourselves into our music, finding that the quiet strength of our relationship fueled us in ways we hadn’t expected.

The EXO members, knowing our secret, were incredibly supportive, offering cover when needed and stepping in to keep curious eyes away from us. Y/N’s Regal members did the same, watching out for her whenever we found a rare moment to meet. It felt like a family, a tight circle of trust that gave us both the comfort of knowing we weren’t alone in this.

One night, after EXO had wrapped up a concert and Regal had just returned from their final tour date, Y/N and I found ourselves back at the same café where we’d first confessed our feelings. This time, we were celebrating. Celebrating our success, our love, and the strength that had brought us this far.

We sat across from each other, sharing quiet smiles, knowing that despite everything, we’d held on.

“To us,” I said, raising my coffee cup with a grin.

She raised hers too, her eyes shining with happiness. “To us.”

As we clinked cups, I felt a renewed certainty. Whatever lay ahead, we were ready. We were stronger together, and nothing—not rumors, not expectations, not even the world’s gaze—could break what we’d built.

We were in this for the long haul, a shared secret that was, in every way, our greatest treasure. And for now, that was all we needed.

With Baekhyun now holding the position of CEO at INB100, our decision to go public wasn’t just a personal one—it was a professional shift, too. Going public as a CEO with a relationship inside the company came with its own set of challenges, and we both knew this would add a layer of complexity. But the weight of hiding something so important was too much, and we both felt ready to bring this part of our lives into the open, regardless of the risks.

One evening after an intense rehearsal for Regal’s upcoming comeback, we found ourselves discussing what we really wanted. With EXO about to embark on another world tour and Regal continuing to rise in fame, we were navigating both love and ambition at their peak. The timing felt right. We’d spent enough time managing secrets, dodging rumors, and stealing quiet moments behind closed doors. Now, we wanted to step out into the light.

“Y/N,” I said as we sat together in the company’s private lounge, away from prying eyes, “I think we should make this official. I don’t want to keep you a secret any longer—not as your boyfriend, and not as your CEO. You deserve more.”

She looked at me, a mix of surprise and relief in her eyes. “Are you sure, Baekhyun? Going public could have a big impact, especially with you running the company.”

I nodded, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ve thought about it, and I’m sure. Our relationship has only made me better at what I do—and it’s time I was transparent about what you mean to me, to everyone.”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Let’s do it then. Together.”

The next day, I arranged a meeting with the company’s top executives and shared our decision. I could tell they were apprehensive—this was uncharted territory. But I reminded them that transparency had always been one of our principles, and I was committed to maintaining a fair and respectful work environment for Y/N and for every other artist at INB100. After a lengthy discussion, they agreed, and we moved forward with the plan to make the announcement through official channels.

The statement was released later that day via INB100’s social media accounts and read:

"We would like to confirm that Exo member and CEO Byun Baekhyun and Regal member Y/N are currently in a relationship. The couple has been seeing each other for some time and has chosen to share this news with the public. Both the company and the couple respectfully ask for everyone’s understanding and support. Thank you.” INB100

The response was immediate. Social media flooded with messages, both from fans and the media, ranging from curiosity and surprise to genuine happiness for us. As we expected, some fans expressed concern about how our relationship might impact Y/N’s career, especially with my role as CEO. But the overwhelming show of support from Regal’s fanbase and the wider community reinforced that we had made the right choice. Many fans voiced their respect for our decision, appreciating that we were honest about our relationship.

That night, Y/N and I met up at the café where we used to spend quiet moments together during her trainee days. It felt surreal to sit across from each other with nothing left to hide, finally able to enjoy the simple things in life without secrecy.

“You really did it,” she said, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I can’t believe we’re actually here.”

I reached for her hand, my heart full. “I wanted everyone to know how important you are to me, Y/N. I’m so proud of us.”

In the weeks that followed, we worked on maintaining balance, prioritizing our careers and being mindful of each other’s spaces. I was careful in my role as CEO, ensuring that any decisions related to Regal’s projects were handled impartially by my executive team, with the company’s artists and staff confident in our commitment to professionalism.

On the night of Regal’s comeback performance, I decided to surprise Y/N with flowers, showing my support as both her CEO and her boyfriend. As she walked backstage, surrounded by her excited members, I stepped forward, holding the bouquet. The members of EXO and Regal, who had come to celebrate, cheered in support, filling the room with warmth.

She laughed, taking the flowers with a knowing smile. “Is this for the show, or is it a date?”

I chuckled, pulling her into a hug amidst the cheering. “It’s both,” I said, “and a promise for all that’s yet to come.”

From that night on, we continued building our story, now openly sharing our journey with everyone who supported us. Despite the unique challenges that came with being both CEO and boyfriend, our relationship grew stronger, backed by honesty, respect, and the support of those who truly understood us.

With Y/N by my side, I was ready to face the complexities of love and leadership, confident that together, we could handle whatever came our way.

Ch 14 >>>

[wildbornsiren]

Kinktober Day 28 Licking || Jake “Hangman” Seresin/Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Day 28: Licking Summary: Jake Seresin is a menace. Peaches are involved.  734 words: Hangster (slash) squint and you’ll miss it FloydSereShaw Warnings: licking Notes: It’s not October anymore, I know, but I wanted to finish these. For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most. ***Tag list is done. Please follow and turn on notifs for @wbslibrary​ **

Jake Seresin is a menace. That’s what Bradley decides watching the other man eat a peach over the kitchen sink. Rather than deal with the lack of privacy in base housing; he, Bob and Jake split the rent of a three-bedroom beach house. It gave them space to decompress after classes, training runs—time away from each other. There were a few hiccups when they first moved in together, but now, a few months in all the wrinkles had been smoothed out, and it was actually quite pleasant.

Bradley leans against the counter, coffee mug in hand, breathing deep the scent of dark roasted nirvana. Bob had started the coffee pot before he left for his note, a sticky note left haphazardly on the counter next to it, asking them to save him a cup. Bradley can’t take his eyes off Jake. Low slung sweatpants, barefoot, wearing a damn near threadbare white t-shirt, his hair sticking up at odd angles, messy with bedhead, and yet he’s still captivating. “You want a bite or something, Bradshaw?” Jake’s offering the half-eaten peach to him. “No thanks,” Bradley shakes his head with a snort. “You’re enjoying it entirely too much.” Jake shrugs, “your loss. It’s good.” He licks the juice dripping from the side of his hand. It's suddenly very hard to breathe. Bradley swallows his sip of coffee a little too hard, but anything to distract himself from the tip of Jake’s tongue darting out clearing drops of juice from his skin. His mind ever so helpfully, suggests other places that Jake’s tongue would look good, and more importantly feel good. “Those the ones Bobby picked up from the farmer’s market?” Anything banal, anything to distract himself from the way Jake’s throat bobs when he swallows or the satisfied little hum of pleasure at eating something tasty. “I think so.” Jake regards the fruit thoughtfully. “Either way, he needs to get more of these.” He finishes it off, tossing the pit into the trash. Jake passes by, on the way to the sink, and before he can realize what he’s really doing, Bradley’s got a hold of the other man’s wrist. “Can I wash up?” Jake asks, arching an eyebrow at him. Slowly, giving Jake every chance to pull away, Bradley brings the man’s hand up. Keeping his gaze focused on those gorgeous green eyes, he licks Jake’s fingertips. The peach flavor is sweet, lingering on his tongue as he sucks one of Jake’s fingers into his mouth. A second finger slides past his lips, and he sucks tasting peach, and Jake. Jake’s fingers press down against his tongue, and Bradley can’t stop the soft moan that comes from somewhere deep in his chest as he sucks. Jake steps closer, his other hand landing on Bradley’s hip. The touch is warm and solid, Bradley letting his eyes close. Jake’s fingers slide from his mouth, and he chases more of that sweet taste, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Jake’s palm. There’s salt here as well as the cloying sweet of the fruit, teeth scraping lightly over tanned skin. “That’s it, sweetheart.” Jake gasps. Looking at the man through heavily lidded eyes, Bradley realizes Jake’s flushed, his chest rising and falling rapidly. They’ve walked a razor’s edge, tiptoeing around each other. After the initial growing pains of moving in together, the three of them drew ever closer and closer, balancing on a tipping point. Apparently, it was here, early morning in the kitchen, both of them sleep addled, tasting of peach. Bradley had taken the first step off the ledge, and Jake was there waiting. It was intoxicating, and there was a subtle slow shift to everything. Jake pulled Bradley closer, that large, warm hand at the small of Bradley’s back. Jake’s kiss is soft, hesitant, Bradley responding in like. The sound of a third man clearing his throat when they pull apart, brings another deep flush to Bradley’s face. Bob’s standing next to the coffee maker, watching him and Jake. “You just had to eat the last peach didn’t you Jake? You couldn’t just tell him that you wanted to kiss him?” Jake huffs out a soft laugh, his tongue tracing along Bradley’s lower lip. “He’s not you. Bradley needed a little push, you’re much more direct.”   Correction. Jake Seresin and Robert Floyd were menaces. And the longer Bradley thought about it, the more he liked it.

[traditionalproduct]

Bronze Cookware Collection

Introduction: In the world of cooking, where new ideas and old traditions often come together, the Bronze Cookware Collection shows how beautiful and useful this classic material can be. Bronze cookware, which is made with great care and accuracy, has an ageless beauty and usefulness that has captivated chefs and home cooks for hundreds of years. A Symphony of Craftsmanship: The Art of Cookware Made of Bronze Along with being a set of kitchen tools, the Bronze Cookware Collection is also a work of art that shows how skilled metal workers can make beautiful things. For each piece, the skill and commitment of artisans who know how to work with this versatile material are shown through their work. This collection mixes form and function so well that it's not just a set of cooking tools, but also a work of art in the kitchen. Bronze's Many Uses: From the Stove to the Table Bronze pan is known for being very useful in many situations. From frying pans to saucepans, each piece in the set is made to do a certain type of cooking really well. The material's high heat conductivity makes sure that food cooks evenly, and its longevity makes it a good choice for many types of cooking. It's easy to move the Bronze Cookware Collection from the stove to the table. This makes food look better and adds a touch of elegance to any meal. Culinary Chemistry: How Bronze Can Make Food Taste Better Bronze cookware gives foods a subtle, unique flavor. This magical effect in the kitchen is most noticeable when cooking slowly or boiling, which lets the metal add its flavor to the food in a subtle way. This gives meals cooked in metal a depth of flavor that sets them apart from meals cooked in other materials, making a culinary experience that goes beyond taste. The Beauty of Bronze in the Kitchen: A Mix of Style and Function In addition to being useful, the Bronze Cookware Collection makes any kitchen look better. Bronze's warm, golden tones give each piece a sense of classic grace that makes it a pleasure to look at. The collection's designs often include fine details and beautiful handles, which turn cookware into works of art that can be happily shown off. Heritage in the Kitchen: Using Bronze Cookware to Bring Generations Together There are many kitchen styles that come and go, but the Bronze Cookware Collection is always a good choice. These pieces have been passed down from grandmothers to mothers and from mothers to daughters. They are treasures that remind us of many meals shared and family practices kept. Because bronze is so strong, these pieces will last for generations and become treasured treasures that hold the history and traditions of each generation. Caring for Bronze: Time-Tested Tips to Make It Last Bronze cookware needs a little extra care to keep its shine and usefulness. To keep the shine on these culinary gems, clean them regularly with a mild solution, avoid rough stones, and dry them by hand after each use. Bronze gets a natural sheen over time, which makes it more interesting and adds to the charm of each piece in the collection. Finding a balance between style and functionality Even though cooking trends come and go, the Bronze Cookware Collection is still a classic buy that will always look good and work well. Bronze cookware is beautiful, no matter if you're a professional chef or a home cook who loves traditional recipes. Each piece in the collection is both useful in the home and a beautiful example of how well-made things can last for a long time.

[rushescapegameme]

Unlocking Adventure: The Best Escape Room Experiences

Welcome to the thrilling world of escape rooms! In this blog post, we will take you on a journey through the exciting and immersive experiences that the best escape room Melbourne have to offer. Get ready to unlock your inner detective, solve mind-boggling puzzles, and work together with your team to beat the clock.

Escape rooms have gained immense popularity in recent years as a fun and unique activity that combines elements of excitement, problem-solving, and teamwork. So, buckle up and get ready for an adventure like no other!

What are Escape Rooms?

For those who may be unfamiliar, escape rooms are interactive games where participants are locked in a room and must solve a series of puzzles and find clues to escape within a set time limit. The concept is simple yet captivating – you and your team are thrust into a themed environment, such as a haunted house, a mysterious mansion, or a pirate's cove, and you must work together to find the key and escape. The themes of escape rooms can vary widely, catering to different interests and preferences, from horror to mystery to fantasy.

Why Choose Escape Rooms?

Escape rooms offer a multitude of benefits that make them a must-try experience for adventure enthusiasts. Firstly, they stimulate critical thinking skills as you analyze clues, decipher codes, and solve intricate puzzles. The mind-bending challenges will push you to think outside the box and test your problem-solving abilities.

Additionally, escape rooms encourage teamwork and collaboration. You and your teammates will need to communicate effectively, share information, and combine your individual strengths to overcome obstacles and escape the room. It's a fantastic opportunity to strengthen bonds, build trust, and improve teamwork skills.

Moreover, completing an escape room successfully provides an adrenaline rush and a sense of accomplishment. The satisfaction of solving a challenging puzzle or finding a hidden clue cannot be matched. It's a unique form of entertainment that leaves you with a lasting memory and a feeling of triumph.

Tips for a Successful Escape Room Experience:

1. Assemble a Competent Team:

When choosing your escape room teammates, aim for a diverse group with different skills and strengths. This will ensure that you have a wide range of perspectives and problem-solving approaches. Effective communication and collaboration are crucial, so select teammates who can work well together and trust each other's instincts.

2. Pay Attention to Details:

Escape rooms are all about the little details. Encourage your team to thoroughly examine their surroundings, paying attention to every object, symbol, or clue that may hold significance. Sometimes, the key to solving a puzzle lies in the smallest of details. Train your eyes to spot the hidden gems that will lead you to victory.

3. Time Management:

One of the biggest challenges in escape rooms is managing time effectively. It's easy to get caught up in a single puzzle and lose track of time. Prioritize tasks and allocate time for each challenge. If you find yourself stuck on a particular puzzle, don't be afraid to ask for hints or move on to another task and come back to it later. Time management is key to completing the escape room successfully.

Conclusion:

The best escape room Melbourne offers an unparalleled adventure filled with excitement, challenges, and the opportunity to unlock your own potential. The recommended escape room experiences mentioned in this blog post are just the tip of the iceberg.

There are countless other themed escape rooms waiting to be explored in your local area. So, gather your friends, family, or colleagues, and embark on a thrilling escape room adventure that will leave you with memories to cherish. Remember, have fun, embrace the challenge, and let the escape room magic unfold!

Now it's time to unlock your own adventure. Are you ready?

[mitsukui]

good girl | g.w.

Pairing: George Weasley x female reader.

Summary: stress from the shop is visibly taking its toll on George, so you decide to help him out a little bit. (PART 2! + PART 3!)

Word Count: 1,4k.

Warnings: smut! Spitting kink, face slapping, choking, dirty talk, mentions of oral sex (male receiving) and daddy kink.

Disclaimer: none of the pictures used in the edit below belong to me; I simply put them together.

A/N: this is the first time I’m writing something after a long, long, long pause, so I’m quite nervous about it.  (｡╯︵╰｡)  I hope you all enjoy it! Please, leave me some feedback if you feel like it! My askbox is open for your opinions, thoughts and requests. Thank you so much for your time and attention!  ♡

Masterlist!

His eyes glistened with lust as he looked down at you. You had your body on the floor, thighs placed together with your delicate hands over them. With your eyes closed and tongue stuck out, the sight was almost like a mirage to George Weasley.

“Say it again.” One of his long fingers ran over your jawline, blood pumping through his veins in a rather quick way. He had been entirely bewitched.

Your eyes fluttered open, and it did not take long until his dark brown eyes met yours once more, both of your cravings for each other becoming mixed. “Let me suck your dick. Please.”

The pleading word suddenly sent novel shivers down his spine. He used the rest of his fingers to squeeze your cheeks lightly, enough only to form a pout on your already swollen lips. George loved how your lips looked after he devoured them.

It had all started out as kissing. You had been aching for some intimacy with him the entire week, but he had been exhausted due to the shop. You would never even dream of actually asking him to touch you in a different way than the one he was already touching you. The Holidays were a blessing to the twins, but they were also a curse, draining all of their energy. Your sly eyes did not fail to notice how tense he had been looking for the past few days, so you obviously had to do something about it. And you longed for him and his touch so much that you did not even care about your pleasure anymore. You were certain you would feel better only by hearing him moan.

Earlier that night, you finally got the type of attention you sought from him. It was a Sunday evening, and you bodies were spread across the couch in his flat’s living room. Your tongues easily found each other, and your hips rolled against his as your lips soon began to trail kisses down his neck. At that moment, you had him going.

When you felt him hard under your touch, you broke the contact existing between the two of you, and heard him groaning in disappointment. You allowed your body to fall down on the wooden floor, asking ever so innocently to wrap your lips around him. And now, there you were: looking up at his standing figure, and pleading again.

“Please.” Your tongue ran over your own lips, as a form of seduction and also of bringing back some comfort to you. He was acting slightly weird towards the situation, taking a long time to reply to you. “I know you have been tired, but I just want to help you relieve some tension. We don’t even need to do anything afterwards. I just really need to feel you fucking my face and getting off.”

“Open your mouth.” Once again, it took him a few moments to say anything at all. You were ready to stand up again and apologize for your bold actions and stupid babbling. But then, out of the blue, his voice interrupted the silence. It was deep and demanding, and you loved it.

This time, you did not close your eyes, since your curiosity did not allow you to. You simply opened your mouth in an O-shape, and stuck you tongue out as further as you possibly could.

Honestly, you hoped for him to thrust right inside your mouth. However, when you spotted his yet clothed manhood, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. And suddenly, you felt something.

A string of saliva traveled out of his mouth towards yours, his tall silhouette leaning down and one of his hands still holding your face. The warm liquid hit your tongue and you moaned unwillingly, surprised by how pleasant that was starting to feel.

His eyes captured the image and let it sink in for one second or two until the moment he ordered you to play with his spit. His instructions, which were voiced out in a breathy whisper, were crystal clear: you had to use your fingers, and you could not swallow it yet.

Quietness hovered over you two briefly, but he groaned once your index finger touched your own tongue, the muscle wrapping around your skin. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked yourself, your imagination bringing some of your favorite memories back to life. George felt his member twitching inside his trousers and his tip becoming slightly wet.

Truth be told, George was a rather kinky man. And, often times, he would feel embarrassed to share everything with you. But watching you so desperately try to help him gave his insides a new wave of confidence.

Your playtime went on for a little while, but he was soon leaning down again and giving you more saliva. This time, he missed his aim a bit, and a thin string got to your chin. He was captivated by your actions and by how messy this could get.

“Swallow it.” His fingers squeezed your face with more strength as the hot fluid went down your throat. In no time, he let go of your face only for his hand to come down against it, a light slap hitting your skin. Your eyelashes blinked repeatedly out of shock, but you remained quiet. “Good girl. I bet you’re dripping for me already.”

And you were. It was hard to focus on your cunt at that point, especially because the cheek he had slapped was burning. But it was true: when you were able to finally pay attention to how you were feeling and to your own sensations, you realized your panties were heavy with arousal.

“Can you slap me again? A little bit harder this time, please…” You pleaded, and George fulfilled your wishes. A reddish spot was creeping its way to the surface, but you enjoyed the feeling.

This was all very new to you. Your boyfriend had always been pretty dominant with you, but he had never spat in your mouth or slapped your face before. Although it was a new experience, your throbbing cunt was deliciously nourishing desire in your whole body.

“Just look at that…” His deep voice pulled you out of your own trance. Your eyes darted up and met his, which were dark and devious. “My little princess looks so beautiful with a red spot on her cheek. Care to match both cheeks, darling?”

Even though his words were sweet, you felt utterly filthy. Things had escalated pretty rapidly, and you liked them enormously that way.

You slowly offered him your other cheek, the one that still had not received any attention from the delightful violence his hands gave you. His thumb ran over your skin and, for one second, you enjoyed a soft touch. However, that was soon destroyed by the stinging pain that stroke you again.

This last slap hit you hard. He murmured he had to match the color on the other side, so you just needed to be a good girl and bear the pain. Tears welled up to your eyes, but George wiped them away before they could even roll the entire way down your cheeks.

The pool of arousal in your stomach was getting into a tight knot. That moment was supposed to be about him, but you were so turned on by his recently revealed violence that you could not stop your own juices to wet your inner thighs.

“You are such a good girl, sweetheart. Being slapped and not making a fuss out of it. Maybe I should do it more often, hmm?”

You failed to hold back a raspy moan, and he smirked at your reaction. His words echoed in your ears, your head nodding up and down in agreement. You wanted to feel his hand against your skin like that whenever possible.

“Good girl. I’m so proud of you. You look beautiful like that, babe.” Both of his hands now cupped your face as he gently caressed your cheek bones. You closed your eyes at his comforting actions, but you could not lie and pretend you did not want more from him. “I’m gonna fuck your face now, okay? Gonna thrust into your mouth so deep you are going to be unable to speak properly for a while. And you’re gonna take it like the good, little slut you are, yes?”

“Y-Yes, daddy.”

At the mention of the never before used pet name, his breath hitched up in his throat and your eyes watched as he used his free hand to unzip his trousers. The other one was slowly sliding down your body. He kept it on the move until his fingers found your neck. George gave it a not-so-gentle squeeze and you felt air being cut from you, rolling your eyes to the back of your head in pleasure.

“Good girl.”

[junisfics]

Heavy Petting ft. Armin Arlert (Day V)

Focus: Heavy Petting

Warnings: Sexual Contact / Nsfw 18+

Word Count: 2k

They’ve been gone for three days, they should’ve been back within a few hours. Where the hell are they?

Armin left with the others days ago to go on a supply run. Days. This trip should have taken them only a few hours to get done. They’re on horseback, they should’ve been back ages ago.

“Stop sulking around waiting for them to get back, they most likely came across a live town and are trying to trade or something...” Eren explains.

He can’t blame me, how am I supposed to sit around doing nothing while Armin- they’re out there practically begging to be eaten alive. 

I pace Mikasa and I’s shared room in the cottage, Eren sitting on her bed as I walk from door to window and back again.

“You need to drink or something, you’re livid.” He says.

“You need to stop acting like youre completely unbothered. I know it pisses you off just sitting here, you hate being excluded from helping.” I spit back.

“You’re just acting like a bitch because you don’t have an eye on Armin for once,” He stands up, “You’re obsessive.”

“I-I am not! I- at least I care! You let Mikasa be a suicidal hero for you and you sit around doing nothing in return!” I shout at him

“She’s just chopping wood, you need to relax.” He groans

“She was just thrown around, she needs to rest!”

“They’re back.” He mutters.

“Shut up you bastard- wait what?” 

He stares blankly at the window before turning and making his way down the hall and downstairs. I’m on his heels, practically shoving him down the stairs before pushing past him. I hastily push open the door too see them getting off their horses and stabling them.

“Armin... Armin!” I cry out. I see his blond hair whip around as he turns to face me. He’s tying his horse back up into her stable.

“y/n! Sorry, we ended up getting turned around, it took a little longer than ex- oh.”

His sentence is cutoff as I run up to him and practically throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, his own make their way around my torso and I hold myself flush against him.

“We were only gone a few days, are you alright?” He asks, speaking into my hair.

I let go of him and take a few steps back to look at him. His hair is coated in sweat and dirt that sticks to his forehead. It’s obvious they came in contact with a few titans, the give away being the cuts and bruises that litter his hands and face along with few rips in his clothes.

“Yeah, sorry. Are you?” My hands prod at him, inspecting any possible injuries I missed before. I take his hands in mine, examining the surface cuts. Then, I take his face in my hands and shifting it slightly to look over it. My eyes get caught at a thin gash below his left eye.

It was supposed to be just a little supply run, to get food and medical supplies, that’s it.

“Ah-” He grimaces, jerking back at my touch. I let go of him.

“Go wash up then meet me in the kitchen. I need to clean it.” I gesture my head to the house

He disappears off to the backyard where the water spout is and I make my way back inside, a little to quickly for that.

He’s alive. He’s alive. Relax, y/n.

I through the kitchen cabinets for my medical box. I’m pulling things and shoving things around when I realize I had leant it to Jean.

“Jean!” I shout

“Jesus, y/n, I’m right here, what do you want?” He sets down what I assume to be a sack of potatoes onto the counter.

“Where’s my med bag?” I ask.

“I put it in your room, under your bed. I didn’t know where else it’d go.”

It’s right where he says it was. I take it apart and pull out alcohol, gauze, needles and sutures. I lay it out accordingly onto the bedside table. Staring at it, shifting each tool an embarrassing amount of times.

Relax, he’s fine. He’s here.

“y/n?” Armin says, rounding the door frame. 

His once dirt soaked hair is now clean and wet, messily hanging into his face. His shirt clings to his still damp skin. In the absence of the dirt I can now see bruises littered across his jaw and cheekbones. His forearms are all scratched up as well.

I pat beside me on the bed gently. He closes the door quietly and takes a seat beside me. I pour a bit of alcohol onto a gauze pad and hold him by his chin to keep him still. He winces when contact is met.

“Sorry, sorry” I mumble, wiping and patting at the gash below his eye.

When It’s as clean as I think it can get I reach for the sutures and tweezers, pushing it through the damaged skin as gently as I possibly can, “I’m sorry, I know”

I can feel his eyes boring into mine and I grow obviously uncomfortable as I try and complete my work.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks suddenly. His voice quiet, nervous.

I look down to his lips, a slit in the bottom one, then into his eyes. Slowly and sheepishly, I nod, letting my tools drop to the floor.

His lips meet mine, cold but soft. He takes my face in his hands and my own drop from his and reach around his neck to toy with his still damp hair. 

My heart lurches out of my chest, his fingers gently tracing the skin of my cheekbones. His touch is overwhelming and I feel my own skin growing hot. I grab at the front of his shirt, twisting it into my fist to pull him closer. 

I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about kissing Armin, actually, you’d have to be stupid to think I haven’t. 

“I- closer, come closer... please.” Armin mumbles quietly, his hands pulling at my waist.

I hesitate, but only momentarily, then make my way closer, shifting inch by inch before something inside him snaps and he pulls me atop him. Our lips detach and my forehead rests against his, my legs straddling his waist but he remains upright, his back up against the wall.

“Armin..” I’m out of breath, my chest noticeably raising up and down with every pant.

“Fuck, just kiss me.” He pleads and I do. I tilt my head down so my mouth meets his again, this time with more passion.

His hands skim up and down my sides and back, touching almost any place he can without overstepping his boundaries. He needs more, I can feel it. It’s almost too much to handle, my body and senses completely flooded by him. He’s everywhere all at once.

I shift slightly to be flush against him my hands still around his neck, pulling him closer. His grip drops to my hips and squeezes them harshly before taking in a sharp inhale. Before I can kiss him again he tilts his head slightly so our noses bump together.

“You- God- you can’t do that... please.” This time he’s the one out of breath, overwhelmed and his skin hot.

My eyes closed and lips still searching for his as he pleads.

“You don’t- God, y/n, stop fucking moving.” He hisses, sitting up even more so to where his nose is in line with my jaw.

Hearing him swear is a rare occasion, let alone multiple times. It’s captivating, the sexuality of his frustration is so incredibly attractive.

His breath is hot on my neck, I can feel his lips tracing gently before kissing the tender flesh. My eyes flutter shut and my mouth drops open, a shiver goes down my spine and to my center.

Oh. 

Tiny whimpers leave my lips and I feel his tongue lick up my jugular.

“Armin,” I breathe.

“I don’t want anything from you, just this... please.” His voice has dropped a few octaves.

It’s so much, but so not enough. I feel stupid, completely dumbed by him. My head is clouded and all I can even think about is him, his lips and his touch. His fingers are gentle as they slip under the hem of my shirt to tickle the skin there. Another pathetic sound escapes my mouth.

His hips shift and a wave of pleasure ripples through me. 

“Armin, I-I can feel you.” I giggle quietly and he pinches the supple skin of my hips.

“Shit, I’m sorry- God” He groans into the skin below my jaw and ear, “It’s just- you’re just perfect.”

He sucks gently on my skin, marking the surface with little nips and bites every so often. The warm and wet gliding of his tongue along my skin has me shaking in his lap and every move I make I can feel him beneath me.

My hands rake down his chest and stomach then up under his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tense beneath my fingers. I never expected Armin to be so muscular, yes he’s rather lean but my fingers can feel the obvious divots between his abs. 

As my hands feel over his hot skin, his chest begins to rise and fall at a more rapid pace. His once innocent hands begin to sheepishly travel towards my backside. I try to encourage him by arching my back ever so slightly... and I wouldn’t say that hurt our situation but it definitely didn’t... help.

A groan rumbles deep in his chest as I do so and his grip on my lower back releases so he can grab my face and pull me away from him. My hands rest on the bare skin of his chest as he looks into my eyes and holds my jaw between his hands.

“You drive me insane.” He says under his breath, more to himself than to me.

His thumb follows the dips and mounds of my lips before finding resting tenderly against the center of my bottom lip. He uses his thumb to pull it down before letting it flick back up.

I try to lean forward to catch his lips in mine but he holds me still. A tiny smile upturns the corners of his lips as I try again with no prevail, only bumping the tips of our noses together once more. My mouth hangs open faintly, begging him to kiss me again.

I dig my nails into his bare chest, scratching gently.

“Ah-shit” He hisses, his eyes fluttering closed and head resting back against the wall.

“Kiss me, please.” I whisper, “Please.”

He blushes, pulling his head off the wall and looking into my eyes. I will never be able to get over how absolutely beautiful he is. The cool depths of his blue eyes are captivating; the gentle rises and falls of the bone structure in his face, the flexing of his muscles with every movement is so incredibly alluring.

He taunts me, leaning in then leaning out once I do the same. His pretty teeth showing with every smile.

I open my mouth and poke out my tongue, taking it and reaching to lick at his open lips. He twitches beneath me and I snicker quietly.

“Hey y/n! Have you seen Armin, Eren wants- oh!” Sasha pushes open the door and I scramble off of him, stumbling to the floor and taking a seat there. 

“Eren! I found him!” She calls to downstairs, then returns to us, “I knew it!”

christmas special taglist ;

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[charlie-rulerofhell]

For they know exactly what they do

Today there was a pretty long article published in the German newspaper FAZ, written by Julia Schaaf. Since there were quite a few interesting topics raised in it and Måneskin talked about some new aspects (or in more detail), I translated the whole thing (it might also have helped me to procrastinate).

Full interview in English under the cut.

For they know exactly what they do

June 22, 2021

Four young rock musicians from Rome are today's hottest band. Måneskin are enchanting Europe. Why? We met them for an interview.

Every romance needs its founding myth, an anecdote from the beginning, something you can tell later in more difficult times for self-assurance.

In the case of the band Måneskin, who first had Italy and now half of Europe wrapped around their fingers, and who are now trying to conquer the rest of the world with their rock music, there is the story of the shoe box. Rome, around five years ago: Four teenagers who are meeting every day after school in their rehearsal room to make music together, and sometimes they play their songs on the Via del Corso in the city centre in front of a changing audience. One day they want to record their own stuff. They find a studio that they can actually afford and as they go there they bring a shoe box, with the name of the band written on it, 'moonshine' in Danish, the bassist's mother is Danish. In the box: around seven kilogram of coins. The things you get from playing music on the streets. Everyone searching through Instagram for photos from that time can find four hippies with children's faces, three boys in batik, the girl is wearing a straw hat.

As they have to pay [for the recording], frontman Damiano David, 22, says that there was this guy, Angelo, and his bandmate Victoria De Angelis, 21, is interrupting: “No, Andrea, not Angelo”, and all of them have to laugh because a rigid studio manager with the Italian name 'angel' would be even funnier for a founding myth. David continues his story: “The guy was completely dumbfounded. 'We can't do that.' We went: 'Sure we can, that's worth the same even if it's just 20 cent coins, it's still 300 euros.” Thomas Raggi, 20, the guitarist of the band, is gasping for air as he laughs, while drummer Ethan Torchio, 20, is smiling dreamily. David finishes: “And then we snuck off before he was able to count it.” [the German text says 'verdrücken' here which is just a colloquial way of saying 'we left', but it entails some sort of a dramatic exit, so yeah, let your thoughts get creative how they left exactly :D].

Four young musicians on the verge of global fame are sitting on a white interview sofa in Berlin, completely styled, babbling across each other like overeager teenagers.

Ever since the Roman band first won the music festival Sanremo and then also the Eurovision Song Contest, carried by the enthusiasm of European viewers, you could say Måneskin has become a phenomenon. “Rock 'n' Roll never dies!”, Damiano David yelled fueled by the adrenaline of winning, and the insinuation that circulated on social media of the singer snorting during the counting of votes in front of a live camera – including their strict denial followed by a negative drug test result – might have given an additional boost to their public interest, their exploding album, ticket and merch sales, and their outstanding success on Spotify.

“We think it's a shit prejudice against rock music that there always have to be drugs involved. We fully threw ourselves into our participation with the utmost professionalism. We give everything for the music. So of course we don't want people to think that we can only do that because we take drugs.” – Victoria De Angelis

Prior to Eurovision, Måneskin was more of an insider's tip outside of Italy. Handmade rock music, not creating something entirely new but paying homage to the good old times with classic guitar riffs and cracking drum beats, being a lot of fun but also quite fragile and vulnerable at times and, first and foremost, conveying a captivating energy. Finally, on the stage of Rotterdam, live after so many months of isolation and renunciation, this wave of energy spilled straight over into European living rooms. It seemed easy to (mistakenly) interpret the winning song “Zitti e buoni” (Shut up and behave) as a declaration of frustration of our youth in times of a pandemic. In fact, singer Damiano David is singing about the favourite topic of the band: the unrelenting need to, against all odds, be yourself, despite or perhaps because you are different. The message fits their provocative sex appeal, which the band uses to demonstrate their independence of gender norms at any given time. But the core essence of rock music has always been the promise of unlimited freedom.

Thus at the first moment, the meeting with Måneskin is kind of startling. It's Wednesday, we are in the top floor of the new Sony head quarters in Berlin. The four Italians have just started their two-week long promotion tour through Europe. In the afternoon there will be a live concert in a queer club [the SchwuZ, but that's not mentioned here] in Neukölln, which will be streamed via TikTok. Around one million viewers will watch the show, some of them even from Brazil, so people at Sony are pretty excited [for Måneskin to come here]. But at first, these stunningly gorgeous creatures [yes, that's the exact wording :D] are standing surrounded by an entourage of people – their management, PR team, a stylist, a photographer, people who can hold a smartphone or a cigarette if needed [this paragraph is worded a little weirdly, especially taking into account that basically their whole team / 'entourage' is just friends of them, but it seems like the journalist didn't know that or maybe they just wanted to describe their first impression]. They seem like fictional / artificial characters out of a Hollywood movie. Transparent frill blouses with blazers and flared leather trousers, even the platform boots, everything brand-new, the makeup makes their faces look like a glossy magazine cover even in person. The smokey eyes of De Angelis and Raggi make them look smug and bored. Later, on the pictures it will probably look cool.

So of course your first impression might be: This band is under contract to industry giant Sony ever since their success on an Italian casting show [X Factor] in Winter 2017. The music industry must have its hand in the game when a band is photographed half-naked by Oliviero Toscani and styled by Etro. Also, one does not simply rent a villa with a pool in Rome to produce new music there, isolated from the rest of the world. And who else went to London for two whole months, shortly before the winter lockdown, just for inspiration? After the TikTok concert in Berlin – De Angelis and David are now wearing fishnet shirts that sparkle with every move, their bare nipples covered with an X of black tape – the band is posing with a few influencers. In the world of social media you would call that 'producing content'. But what does that mean for a band who are preaching their hosanna of authenticity? How authentic is Måneskin? And is their pointedly casual approach to sexuality and gender cliches in today's pop-cultural spirit more than a marketing strategy?

We're in the interview, the recording device is running for not even five minutes, when Victoria De Angelis says: “Actually, we just try to be ourselves and do what we really want to do.” And really: The more you listen to those four how they speak about the early days of the band in their slurred Roman dialect, about the shoe box and their own experiences with being different, but most importantly about their shared obsession [with music], the more you realise that [De Angelis] is  very serious. Ethan Torchio, who got his first drum kit at the age of six or seven from his father because he was beating everything he could reach, says: “For me, music is like food. I cannot live without it.” The bassist next to him laughs at his pathos. Singer Damiano David applauds the otherwise more reserved friend for his truthfulness [it says 'klarer Punkt', meaning 'for the point he makes', but it makes it seem like Damiano is agreeing with Ethan here, although it doesn't indicate whether he agrees that yes, music is everything for Ethan or that he understands and feels the same].

De Angelis and guitarist Raggi already knew each other from middle school and they were the ones who tried to form a band at the age of only 13, a band that actually took music seriously.

De Angelis: “It's just difficult at that age to find other people who really put everything into music and who truly commit themselves and are willing to invest a lot of their time.”

Raggi: “We set strict rules and scheduled fixed times for the rehearsals, for every day.”

David: “Fever, stomach ache, there was no excuse. Even if you were feeling sick in the rehearsal room. At least you were in the rehearsal room.”

The way the four of them talk across each other, completing each other's sentences, taking turns in talking and sometimes joking about each other, seems intimate and playful. Singer David remembers how at first bassist [De Angelis] was merciless towards him when it came to her first metal band project, as she told him that he wasn't committed enough [to the music]: “Back then I was still playing Basketball. I was one of the people that Vic absolutely didn't want [in her band].” Drummer Torchio was later discovered through Facebook, even though there had already been a drummer, a close friend, but he was not good enough. It seems as if even back then music was everything for them. Even if it meant that only Raggi managed to graduate.

And why rock, why rock music of all things? Because it's great, the four of them say in unison. David adds: “Actually, it's a genre that allows you to do everything you want to do.”

When they played on the street, they were laughed at by their classmates. But not only there. De Angelis explains that she never wanted to be a typical girl: “I was always deterred by those stupid boxes that people put you in, and that are just restricting and constraining you, because something is only regarded as male or female. I always rejected that. Instead, I just wanted to do the things I enjoyed doing, I went skating and played football.” Torchio says: “Friends who are not friends anymore were already telling me at the age of ten that those“ – he grabs his long, silky black hair – “were wrong. Because I'm a boy and boys are meant to have short hair, long hair is only for girls. I was bullied a lot for that.”

“Compared to the past, people in our age became much more open-minded. It gets better.” – Thomas Raggi

Frontman David on the other hand, for whom eye shadow, jingling earrings and nail polish as well as his bare torso with the tattoos have become trademarks by now, says: “I was actually more of the average boy.” De Angelis convinced him to try out some eyeliner, which he describes as a spiritual awakening: “I liked myself much more [with makeup]. I saw myself more as myself. As if it had been a suppressed desire of mine.” On a trip to Copenhagen with the others, when he realised that it really didn't matter what people were thinking about him, he got his first fake fur [coat? the article doesn't specify that] in a second-hand shop and let his clothing style be guided by his own love to experiment: “I realised that my whole life I was just going at half speed.” When it comes to diversity all four of them are becoming almost missionary.

At the same time, their success is not only opening doors for them. Back home in Rome they are barely able to go out on the street due to all the paparazzi. “[You need a] hoodie and huge sunglasses”, David says, “the mask is quite helpful, too.” And still, none of them is complaining, and Torchio explains why: “Even if those experiences right now may have sides that are not so pleasant, we still know that for us a dream is coming true. We experience something that we always had in our minds, so we are willing to face every consequence that this entails.”

So is the band facing difficult times, is Måneskin going to change with all the success? Again, all of them answer at the same time.

David: “I'm not worried about that.”

Raggi: “No way!”

De Angelis: “On the contrary. Everything that happened to us happened because we are who we are, so we want to continue the exact same way and stay ourselves.”

Just a few hours later, they are at the stage in Neukölln, bouncing around like pinballs, hammering at their instruments, flirting with each other. “We are out of our minds, but different from the others”, David sings their winning hymn against conformism, and: “The people talk, unfortunately they talk.” Here on stage, the four paradise birds [a German word describing someone with a flamboyant personality] with their half-nude-glittering outfits are radiating an incredible energy with the utmost sincerity, and you begin to wish there was a live audience instead of the TikTok cameras, absorbing and spreading this energy. Måneskin. A cry for a life after the pandemic, a cry for freedom and a better world.

“We do what we wished for all our lives.” – Ethan Torchio

[demonologistfucker]

In Love with an Artist💛✨

Obey me! Boys x gn! Mc who is a professional artist. I try to be vague about what sort of art you make so that anyone can fit in. As well as what your goals are as a professional artist. This could be someone who just posts art online, does commissions, whatever. I put in some gallery shows cuz those are fun to think about.

this is SFW Fluff💛 rest of the brothers under the cut

Lucifer

- he saw on your file that you did art, but wasn’t really thinking too much about it. Though when you arrived to your dorm you were greeted with a set of art supplies. A nice sketchbook, a couple pencils and pens. As well as rather high end paint set and brushes. He will never bring it up.

- if you do art out where others can see he’ll try to get a look as what you do, but if you’re private about it he would be respectful. Lucifer doesn’t enjoy when people step over his boundaries, and wouldn’t want to do that he you. He knows enough about artists to understand that ones work is personal.

- when he does get to see what you make he will be internally blown away, but outwardly just ask questions about your process. Trying to figure out if there is symbolism you are drawn to, or what you were trying to capture. There is always a little more to art than just the subject.

- if you want to continue being a professional artist in the Devildom he would be a great support. Would give you advice on who to contact and what venues would be best for your work. He seems to have had the information all prepared. He wouldn’t flex his power too much because he wants this to be your own effort, but is happy to help if you want it. 

- At shows he’s a an easy presence besides you. Though he likes to be admired. he knows when to step back at let you shine. If nerves catch your tongue or the social work becomes to much. Lucifer will step in with smooth answers. He knows your work backwards and forwards. So can easily answer any question a patron might have. 

Mammon

- “oh you should draw me!” It’s up to you if you actually do, but that’s one of the first things out of his mouth when he learns you do art. He does have a pretty face, and would make a good life model....

- Doesn’t verbalize that he thinks your art is cool, but he does want to see every little thing you make. Finds even your doodles to be mesmerizing. So if you’re do art while he’s around be prepared for him leaning over your shoulder to get a good look.

- If you’re trying to make money off of your art Mammon is extremely helpful. his sway over people’s spending could magically get people to be interested in you, but he’s also just good at setting prices. He will not stand for you setting your prices too low, and will come after people who try to skip out on paying.

- Will try to get your art hung up in every establishment he has a connection too. Not every place will be your vibe though so you get to choose where your art actually ends up.

- Though his room style is more modern minimalism. He has several of your pieces framed around his room. A couple you were sure had been sold...

Leviathan

- as a proud otaku he knows how to treat artists right 👏🏻👏🏻 if he wants you to draw something for him he’s gunna tip out of his ass. Leviathan has definitely worked with artists before. Commissioning cosplay, or fanart, and each time he tips outrageously. So be prepared for what he might do to try and impress you.

- Initially gets a little over eager with the commissions, but is able to figure out that.. you might want to do some art just for fun. Or enjoy other things too. Talk to him and he’ll relax. He just wants to support your beautiful art!

- really loves it when you show him what your working on. Especially when you show sketches or work in progresses. It makes him feel really special to see the unfinished product. Being trusted with your genuine ideas and imperfect thoughts means a lot to him. 

- if your art is story based at all. He will want to hear All about it. Might say it reminds him of anime’s he’s watched but he means that as the highest compliment. Your idea are just as good as his beloved shows. Your ideas might even be better because he gets to love the person who made them.

- If you have an art show... He will leave his room for you. He will look so dashing, but so uncomfortable. There with you as long as you need him, but if you are fine on your own he might hang out in a corner. Or go home early. 

-When you get home he will make it up to you✨

Satan

- He isn’t going to push you to show off your art if you don’t want too. Even if you are drawing in the same room as him. He just can’t see himself being able to interrupt you. Your focused expression is delightful. Though curiosity will eventually get the better of him if you don’t show him yourself.

- Once you do he is captivated. His face is still calm and collected. Expect for his eyes which are wide and sparkling. If you let him he’ll spend a full hour looking at just one of your pieces. Satan will try to spot every little detail, and see how it all comes together. Both as a reflection of what your are trying to capture but also you. What he see’s only makes him more captivated. 

- Asks good questions about what you’re working on, as well as complimenting by comparing to other artists in the realms. You had no idea what he meant when he said your worked reminded him of the great Venia the Dark Slayer. So he showed you his books on Devildom artists. You were surprised that Venia the Dark Slayer really did have something in common with your work. Weirdly enough. He also has sections for earth and the celestial realm artists. You are more then welcome to look through them whenever you like.  

- When you’re not around he talks about your art a lot. Always so proud of the latest piece he saw you working on. Satan conveniently forgets that some of his friends are gallery owners. He won’t sign you up for any shows without your informed consent, but he definitely help you get shows much easier.

- Whether he helps you get the show or not. He wants to help set up. His eye for detail makes hanging all the frames easier, as well as making good labels for the work. Whenever you can’t come up with a name for a piece. he’s pretty good at coming up with something clever. 

Asmodeus 

- Also going to lean over your shoulder to see what you’re making. Then is absolutely captivated by what you’re able to make.

- ART DAY! Asmo wants to be creative with you as much as you’re willing for. So you’ll both take up a table and have your art supplies shared in the middle. Asmo is planning his never dress design, or possibly a make up look he’d want to try. Stops to talks to you a lot. Wanders the room and ends up against you to peak at what you’re working on again. 

- He’ll ask for your opinion on his outfits and make up, as well as any other creative project they’ve gotten involved with. See’s you as a creative equal. 

- Thinks everything you made is brilliant, but also gives good constructive criticism when you want it. 

- When you get your first Devildom Galley. It’s going to be the biggest event that whole week. Asmo will not stand for anyone not going to this wonderful event. Takes over most of the party planning. Which makes you worried it’s going to be a big flirty party with Asmo at the center of attention. When you get there it is beautiful. Asmo has decorated the place to fit the theme or your art. There is catering and drinks. All of which again are themed to your art or just your favorite foods. 

- He’s so proud of you of course he had to make this event special. 

Beelzebub

- :OOOO 

- Really blown away by what you’re capable off. Asks you to send him photos as you work on pieces. Very quietly supportive. When you do art with him around he feels so happy. There will be a small smile on his face the whole time. Which breaks out into a beam whenever you show him what you’re working on.

- If you need a life model👀👀👀 Beel wouldn’t mind posing for you. 

- Very used to you coming up and asking him to hold something, or do something with his hands. So that you can reference it. Either holds the pose or asks you to take a picture if busy. 

- Commissions you to do art for his brother’s birthdays. Not only does he get to support your work, but he knows his brothers will be thrilled to have one of your pieces. 

- If you give him any art it will be treasured till the end of time. Neatly framed and kept somewhere he can see everyday. 

- Makes sure you stretch before and after doing arts. Making art requires a lot of fine motor skills that can put serious strain on your body. It’s important to take breaks and stretch. 

Belphegor

- His face makes a good desk when he falls asleep on your lap

- Might want to do art with you from time to time. He’s got a lot of thoughts in that brain and getting them out on paper feels really nice. If he can’t come up with something to make. he still gets to watch you make art which is always nice. 

- Wants to know the meaning behind your artwork. Even if he doesn’t particularly like an art piece. He wants to know what it meant to you, and its importance. Or lack there of. Some art is just shits and giggles. Belphegor just wants to know the intent of what you’re doing. 

- Has never gone to a gallery before, but for you?? He will be there on time. Hair brushed, face washed, and freshly shaved. Maybe even wearing a suit.

- “How many commissions have you been doing? no get your ass to bed.”

- Very good at reminding you to take breaks. Or getting in your way so much you can’t work and Have to rest.

[hex-obsession]

Silver Lining- One

word count- 2,066

content warning- language, mild violence

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You knew your day would be the same; week after week, month after month. But, sometimes, very rarely, something exciting (and unfortunate) would happen. New survivors would be drawn into the entity's realm, and you would have one more friend to share this dismal future with. Unbeknownst to you, today was one of those days.

Waking up was exhausting, busy night and all. The entity called upon (or, forcefully dragged) you much more than normal last night. There was a pleasant breeze drifting through the windows of your shack. The kind that consumed you as a child, gluing you to the earth as your soul itself smiled and you, briefly, felt true peace. A feeling you missed terribly and held close to your heart. A feeling that captivated your subconscious presently.

Getting anything done was a struggle. The amount of down time you had was always inconsistent. Luckily for you, your extended time here allowed for you to organize your belongings and you required very little time to be prepared. Rolling out of bed, you already had today’s plan in mind. You let out a content yet louder than intended groan as you stretched your legs toward a chest in the corner. You flicked the unlocked clasp open with a fluid motion, allowing you to lift the heavy lid, exposing your rather large collection of items. Given your justified attitude from being sleep deprived, you grabbed a mediocre toolbox, meticulously stuffing wire and a hacksaw inside.

“Today is not the day,” you mumbled to yourself, annoyed yet smirking.

The sun hadn’t risen completely yet, so you threw on a light sweater and headed out the door. In an attempt to feel a tad less disheveled, you bowed your head forward so far you almost thought you might tip over, shook your head vigorously, and with what probably looked like a majestic swoosh of y/c hair, flung it all back behind you. It was then that you caught sight of them. Two people who you’d never seen before sitting at the fire. A man, young, blonde, mid-twenties if you had to guess from a distance, and a woman, also young, brunette, and, would it be too hasty to say attractive? Maybe it was the outfit. Instinctually, you jogged over to them to welcome them and offer as much emotional support you could offer someone in their situation. As you got closer, you determined your suspicion was correct. The young woman was indeed very attractive, catching you off guard for just a fraction of a second, sending a twang through that jealous bone in your body. She was busy talking to Kate, who was sitting close beside her. Her body language signaled that she, although inevitably being unsettled, was taking things well. You wondered what could have possibly conditioned her for something like this. The thought left your head as quickly as it entered and you shifted your gaze left to the man sitting next to her. Your eyes met; he was already looking at you. From afar you didn’t realize how incredibly good looking he was. Couldn’t see much past the hair anyway. His eyes… multiple shades of blue, piercing yet comforting, relaxing yet stimulating. Your mind stumbled, or was that physical? Hoping you showed no signs of being taken back, you walk into the group to introduce yourself.

“Hi, I’m y/n,” you say warmly, holding your hand out to him.

His hand met yours. “Leon,” he responded. “Kennedy.” His hands were so soft, aside from his calloused fingertips. It sent shivers down your spine. Or was that the morning air?

A few veteran survivors were already around them, so you didn’t want to prod. Who knows how long they had been talking, or how many times they’d repeated themselves.

“If you ever need anything…” you trailed off. Why were you suddenly so inarticulate?

“Thanks. Same to you.”

You nodded your head appreciatively and turned back to the new girl.

“Y/n, this is Jill,” Kate announced through the chatter.

“Hello,” her voice was soft, yet strong. It was clear she was sure of herself regardless of the abrupt change in her life.

“Like I told him; I speak for everyone when I say if either of you ever need anything we’re all here for you.”

She shut her eyes for a moment before giving you a forced smile.

“Thank you, y/n. I greatly appreciate that.”

Zarina nudged your arm, directing your attention behind you. The fog was rolling in.

“I hope the debriefing was finished,” you said, slightly worried your new comrades might be unprepared for what came next.

“We got the gist of it,” Leon shot Jill a comforting glance.

“Then good luck everyone.”

Autohaven. Disliked by many, but you didn’t mind it. Maybe it was the frequency of which you were here, but maybe you even liked it a little. Quickly assessing your surroundings, you see a familiar face. Nea sprints past you, flashlight in hand, ready to start a ruckus.

“We’d be so lost without her,” you admit to yourself.

The trial seems to be going normally. Two gens have been completed and miraculously no one had been hooked yet. You, Nea, and Adam had seen each other in passing, but knew you worked best alone. Spread out to get more done. You were repairing a generator in one of the corners of the map, near an exit gate. Stealth was your forte. Like a rabbit in an open field, you checked your surroundings constantly. In the distance, near the gas station, you caught glimpse of Adam looping the Plague. Despite your empathy, you were thankful she hadn’t seen you yet. Rushed footsteps off to your right made you jump, almost missing a skill check. It was him.

“Hey!” you called to him in a hushed yell. He looked up from his totem and replied with a quick half smile. He remained crouched down and quickly shuffled over to you. Silently the two of you worked together. You barely heard Adam yell out in disgust over the sound of the machinery clunking and whirring, almost fully to life at this point. Without forethought, you involuntarily looked over to Leon. His face, illuminated by the sparks of the gen. Damn. Did your heart just flutter? Why were you suddenly thinking about how beautiful this man’s eyelashes were when death was on the line?

An abrupt, booming ding brought you back to the present as your gen was completed. You nearly yelled to be sure he could hear you over the generator. “You stay here to power the exit gate when the last gen pops. I’ll go back to help Adam.” He nodded his head reluctantly as you ran toward the center of the map. Following your heartbeat, you came up on them near a pile of cars. Adam was visibly amused, but also visibly exhausted. Drenched in sweat and panting, puking on anything close to him. Like clockwork, Nea completed the last gen opposite of you. Whistling to Adam, you gained his attention just long enough to motion toward the door, which was now buzzing loudly. Adam’s face went serious as he spun around the killer and darted toward the exit. She swung at him but missed, thankfully. Following close behind, you were near the gate now, thirty feet at most. Leon was out of sight. That wasn’t good. Adam slid over a pallet in one of the constructions near the gate, home free. The Plague had to double back and go around to follow him. Hand on the switch, he looked back at you with a grin, pleased at how well the match had gone. Before you could smile back, the Plague was behind him, arm reared back ready to swing. The exit gate opened and her censer cracked down onto his back, sending him to the ground with a sharp wail.

“Oh God,” you whisper. “No one escapes death.”

You scurry behind the closest rock to assess your situation. Nea had surely opened the other gate across the map by now, and who knew where Leon was. If you could find the totem you could make this considerably more promising.

As the killer carried Adam to a hook, you ran off in the opposite direction in search of someone else or a totem, or both. Nea was sprinting toward you, emitting pure confidence as usual despite Adam’s screams behind you.

“I think I know where the totem is. There was one out in the open near the gate you opened,” she said, proud of herself for not feeling the slightest bit challenged.

“Leon cleansed that before the gens were finished,” you sighed. “I got two others earlier, what about you?”

“I got one, and I think Adam was too busy to get any. There should only be one left. We’ve got to find it.”

You turned toward the back corner of map but before your foot touched the ground, a monstrous crack of thunder rang through the sky. You look to Nea overwhelmed with relief.

“Leon!”

The two of you bolted toward Adam, just in time to see Leon sneaking around the corner beside him. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted a window. Without warning you veer away from Nea and vault the window. Exactly as planned, the Plague came toward you. You peaked around a wall to make sure she caught sight of you, but instead she was walking back toward the hook.

“Fuck.”

Racing toward the hook, Nea was far ahead of you and had borrowed time to give. She cries out in agony but once around the corner, you see her and Adam running toward the gate. The Plague lashes out at him again. This time not knocking him down, but giving him a second injury, splattering blood on the ground around him.

Not far behind them, “Go!” you demand.

Cutting her losses, the killer turns toward you, inhaling deeply. You dip behind the hook Adam was on to sabotage it while also avoiding her repulsive expulsion. Rounding the corner, her censer slashes against your shoulders, cutting you deeply. You scramble, kicking up dirt behind you. Just as fear begins to envelop you, Leon reaches around the corner, grabbing your hand, violently jerking you backward. You’re too fixated on escaping to say anything to each other. A warm, putrid liquid splashes against the two of you causing you to wretch uncontrollably. She’s right behind you, gate directly in front of you. Leon tugs your arm hard enough to get you in front of him and with more force than needed, pushes you forward into the gate. Now you’re the one pulling him. The Plague lands one final swing on Leon, a protection hit, and you both run like hell through the exit.

“Nice job, rookie,” you declare, hoping the appreciation in your voice was still detectable through your nonchalant attitude.

“Yeah yeah,” he lets out a relieved chuckle.  

You suddenly realized you were still holding hands and a wave of heat washed over your face. You gave it a gentle squeeze and shake to signify gratitude and let it go, slowly. You desperately needed to lie down and address your thoughts after that one. Which brought you to your next point; Leon and Jill had been placed next to your shack. During the commotion this morning you failed to notice. Not that you minded, but knowing he would be nearby made you feel lightheaded.  

“Oh yeah, this is just what I needed,” you think. “Let’s add more drama to the already chaotic hellish world we’ve been cursed to. Just as a joke, it would be funny. Sure. Why not.”

You let yourself fall backward onto your bed, eyes pinned to the ceiling, not moving a muscle. You could tell yourself whatever you wanted, but deep down, you knew damn well this was the most exciting thing that’s happened to you since you were brought here and you reveled in it. Your entire body was alive with infatuation for this near stranger. Releasing a drawn-out sigh of acceptance, you shift your focus to the dilemma at hand. Either you tell him, probably make a fool of yourself and make things permanently awkward, or you keep it to yourself. There’s no way in hell someone like him would go for someone like you so, although there was hope buried deep inside you, you didn’t delve deep into any day dreams where you got what you wanted.  

Leon.  

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Silver Lining masterlist

[haikyu-hoe]

Study partner

Kageyama x reader

one shot, fluff

warnings: none

If you like this fic, a reblog/ like is appreciated, and you can check out my other fanfics too! :)

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You were always a good student, but you didn’t stand out so much. You had a small group of friends, followed the rules, did what was asked of you without questioning it. So when your math teacher asked you to tutor another student, you accepted, not even asking who it was. Looking back on it, you should have. You never hated anyone, but like every human being, there were people you’d rather… avoid. Kageyama Tobio of class 1-3 was one of them. Despite having a rather reserved personality, you were really friendly deep down, and were a quite enthusiastic person. Kageyama was the opposite. He never so much as smiled, he only frowned and scowled. But it was too late- you accepted, and you couldn’t let down Mrs. Nakamura. So, taking a deep breath in, you opened the door to the school’s library and walked in silence to a table where a seemingly angry black-haired boy was sitting.

“Hi, Kageyama. I’m y/k”, you said in a prudent tone. He already seemed upset, no need to make it worst. In an hour or two it would be done. You checked the clock, took a deep breath, and took out a manual.

Kageyama was quiet the whole time, and you didn’t even try to make conversation, simply talking when he needed explanations. His homework was progressing at a good pace, and you were even already done with yours. You could be out of there in, let’s see… half an hour maybe 45 minutes. That was ok. Feeling snacky, you took out a box of homemade cookies from your bag as Kageyama solved a problem. As you took a cookie out, you could see him eyeing it.

“Did you want one?”, you asked politely, tipping the box over to him.

“N- sure.”, he said and quickly grabbed one, as if you were going to change your mind if he didn’t hurry. Strange boy.

As you had thought, after half an hour, you were walking out the library and all the way to your house.

———

It was now Thursday, time for your second appointment with Kageyama. You headed for the library, a tad less nervous than the first time. This time, you had brought him a nice box of cookies, maybe that would warm him up to you.

“Hey Kageyama, I brought you more of the cookies. Are you ready to-”

“I don’t like your cookies, let’s just work.”, he cut you off. His face was all red, and he was looking away. You weren’t sure why this hurt so bad, but tears flooded your eyes. You dropped the box on the table anyways and calmly walked away. Your vision was blurry with tears, but you still grabbed a book on the way out, you had been waiting for that one.

You weren’t expected home for two more hours so you headed for the nice student break room, where you could read in peace. There was practically no one, and you got captivated by your book, forgetting about Kageyama Tobio of class 1-3.

Who knows how long you sat there? What matters is that you got interrupted suddenly by… Kageyama.

“I need help with number 3.”, he said in a cold tone. You looked up. You sighed and got up.

“Fine, let me explain it to you.”, you brought him to a table and helped him, and then got back to your book. You left about half an hour later without a goodbye.

———

Monday again, third studying session with Kageyama. You show up reluctantly, but to your surprise, he isn’t even there. You were going to do your homework anyways- you sit down at the usual table when you notice a piece of paper.

it reads “Meet me at the school gate. Thanks.”

You recognize the bad handwriting; it’s Kageyama’s. What does this mean?? Maybe he just wants to study elsewhere. It would be mean if you stood him up, and you weren’t rude. Putting your books back in your backpack with a sigh, you realized you were feeling stressed about this. With a sigh, you left the library and walked to the school gate at a quick pace.

He was indeed standing there. He was fidgeting as if he was also feeling stressed. This was getting weirder by the minute.

Taking a deep breath in, you wave at him.

“Kageyama! What’s up?”, you say.

He turns abruptly towards you, as if he wasn’t expecting you to show up.

“I wanted to, well, apologize. I did like your cookies. Follow me.”, he said quickly, as if you’d change your mind and go away.

You stood there a few instants, in shock. Where was he taking you? Kageyama was so strange, and you were a bit scared, yet excited. You blinked and realized he was already several feet’s away. You jogged to get back by his side and you walked in silence until he stopped in front of a local restaurant.

He went in, still not saying a word. You asked several questions, but without paying any attention to you, he ordered you guys some food, and went to sit at a table by the window. Giving up, you sat in front of him.

“Thanks for the food, Kageyama. Although i don’t understand why you’re doing this”, you said digging in your plate. You looked out the window and into the lively streets.

“Because… Because i reacted badly to your tutoring since… since i have a crush on you.”, he said blushing like mad, looking very grumpy.

“What??”, you were so confused, but yet it kinda made sens right? That’s why he had been so shy! “Since when? I’m still confused”, you added.

“Ever since the beginning of the school year. You’re an idiot if you didn’t notice.”, he mumbled.

“Hey!! Wait is this a date then?”, you said laughing a bit. Kageyama was really cute with his pouty red face, deep blue eyes and dark silky hair. And it is true that you caught him staring a few times…

“NO!! Are you stupid? Why would this be a date? I just came to apologize-”, he said, clearly panicking.

“Relax, this is nice. And how about a real date this weekend then?”, you said, still laughing.

“Sure”, he replied, calming down and looking a bit surprised.

You left a few minutes later, kissing his cheek before walking home, leaving him to blush on the sidewalk.

———

Today was your date with Kageyama, the real one. You were waiting for him on a park bench, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. He sat silently besides you, and you took his hand silently to guide him further. There was a nice fountain deeper in the park, and you sat in silence in front of it. The view was beautiful,just a few days of sunshine piercing through the clouds. The trees were blooming and Kageyama looked so sweet in this golden lightning.

“You know, you didn’t have to act so rude… I wouldn’t have judged you. Besides, i like hanging out with you, this is fun!”, you said calmly.

Kageyama blushed a bit, and muttered a bunch of incomprehensible words. He then got closer to you, putting his hand on yours. His other hand went up to your shoulder as he dragged you closer. With your free hand, you got his hair out of his face to look in his deep eyes, before trailing it down to his neck. You both got closer and closer, until your lips met in a soft kiss.

He backed off suddenly after a few seconds, cheeks flushing pink. He looked confused and shocked.

“Wait. Does this mean you like me too?”, he asked with a mistrustful look in his sapphire eyes.

“Pftt who’s the idiot now? Are you really asking yourself that question?”, you said, mocking him a bit, before getting closer to him again.

“I understand… I think.”, he said in a shy tone before kissing you again. You shared a passionate kiss for long minutes, sometimes stopping to look tenderly at each other, touching your foreheads together. His hand went all over your arms, stroked your hair, grabbed your tights, like he couldn’t get enough. Meanwhile you we’re hanging on tight to his neck, another hand on his heaving chest. Your fingertips twirled in his jet black hair as the kiss got rougher.

You eventually let go of each other, simply holding hands in the pink and orange sunset.

“So, am i your boyfriend? Like how does this work-”, said Kageyama, breaking the comfortable silence. He seemed nervous again, fidgeting with his hands.

“I’d like that, Kageyama”, you said softly before kissing his cheek.

[mymegumi]

aere perrenius

pairing: akaashi keiji x gn!reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, writer!akaashi and librarian!reader

word count: 2.7k words

warnings: disgusting amounts of fluff

summary: more lasting than bronze. a once in a lifetime opportunity turns into a twice in a lifetime chance, and before you realize it, it just turns into a potential lifetime

dedicated: to miss issy ( @cafemiya ) kind beyond words, incredible beyond compare

You’d once thought that life was cruel to you, a single librarian that ended up helping children find picture books and nasty teenagers that had to pay their overdue library fees. You often just moved through the movements, walking to the library every single day, picking up coffees for everyone that worked with you that day, and nothing ever really changed.

Until today.

Today, when you walked into the coffee shop that was only a block away from the library—a small little out of the way place that served the best croissants with chocolate butter you’d ever had before—you were shocked to note that there was another singular figure in the shop with you.

Typically when you went in, it was early enough in the morning that you beat out the high schoolers and people who went to their 9-5 jobs, yet you always managed to miss the people who worked night shifts, so the barista often told you.

Today, however, there was a singular figure sitting at a table, laptop on the table with a small white mug of coffee in his hands, glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose as he seemed intent to read whatever it is was on his screen.

His hair was curling over thin golden frames, flowing over his forehead and spilling against his ears as he pressed his lips to the coffee mug, blue eyes focused on the words before him. The morning light had not yet seemed to crest the mountains of skyscrapers that littered the Japanese skyline, so the warm lights of the cafe seemed to soften the edges around him, making him angelic as he just relaxed there.

Perhaps it was the pure shock of seeing him, or even just the lack of sleep you always seemed to suffer from in the mornings following a weekend, but something led to your mistake of forgetting to conceal your admiration of him.

In your trance of adoration, you simply forget the cafe has a bell over the door.

He glances his up when he finishes taking a sip from his drink, offering a smile your way in the way that two people up way too early would share a smile with each other—as if only the two of you knew the secrets that the sunrise would whisper if only you would wake early enough to listen.

“Your usual?”

The barista, a sweet girl named Akira who seemed to be pumped full of espresso for she was way too peppy for this time of the hour, draws your attention away from the man sitting by himself at the window table.

“To go, right?” When you shake your head, she laughs slightly, inputting your usual order into the computer just for her to end up making it only a few seconds later, “What’s with the change today, you always take it straight to the library.”

When she sees you steal a glance at the mysterious stranger, she leans in with a hand cupped around her mouth, devastatingly wicked glint in her eyes as she whispers to you, “He came in a couple of minutes of go, saying he’s new in town. A writer, if you could believe it. Maybe you could warm him up to the area?”

“I have to go to work soon,” you hiss back softly, feeling the warmth take over your cheeks as you resolutely refuse to look back at him in case he heard her gossiping.

“Yet, you’re taking your coffee here?”

She, unfortunately, raises her eyebrows suggestively at you as she slides your drink to you in a small white mug resting on a dish, steaming and hot with a less heated croissant on a separate dish. You make a noise of disbelief as you carefully adjust your bag on your shoulder, taking your breakfast with you to a seat, not too close to the writer and yet not too far away that you are unable to admire him.

Pulling out a book from your bag, you are content to just read and settle in for a few minutes that you would normally spend in the library doing random work until the doors unlocked. It’s a newer novel you’d just picked up from a bookstore, and it was only because the author would be visiting the library soon, so you wanted to get a feel for the writing style, in case there were any questions that the people had for the staff.

“A good read, is it?”

You don’t really register that anyone is talking to you, at first, instead intent on just reading In Regards to Aces before it clicks in your mind two facts; one, that you are indeed holding a book and reading, and two, that you are only one of three people in the establishment, not to mention one of the three was just a barista making herself a coffee.

When it hits you that the stupidly attractive man at the window is indeed talking to you, you shove a bookmark in the spot you were reading as you turn to him, “Ah, yeah, it is, though I don’t have much to say on it considering I just started reading it.”

“Initial thoughts, then?” His smile soothes you a bit, making you relax from the initial tension you’d felt, “I’ve found the author tends to use verbiage that rambles on, but that’s my own opinion on it.”

“Well, from what I have read so far,” you set the book on the table, star embellished cover twinkling in the lights of the cafe, “I like the way that the author describes the character’s feelings—it felt really authentic, and added to the atmosphere for the story.”

“Well, just wait until you read the ending,” he raises an eyebrow at you and a playful look comes across his face for a second before disappearing, “it’s a real gutwrencher, honestly, I’m surprised the author had decided to take it in that direction.”

“Well, hopefully I’ll be able to read a good part of it before the end of the day,” you muse, hand running idly along the edges of the pages, “I’m hoping to be able to talk to the author during the meet and greet later today at the library.”

He makes a thoughtful noise, a small content smile on his face as he sets his mug down on the saucer. There’s a look in his eyes, something that says that he knows something that you don’t, and yet when you go to ask about it, he says instead, “Tell me what you think of it when you finish it, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.”

You watch as he begins to pack up his things, tucking the laptop away into a sleek black backpack, all while sipping gingerly on your drink, “Of course, perhaps I’ll see you again, I’m usually here before work.”

“I look forward to it.”

He shoots you a smile over his shoulder as he leaves the cafe, throwing away his things and setting aside his dishes before he exits. Watching him walk down the street, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Gosh,” Akira’s voice makes you jump in your seat slightly, “he was really pretty; you think he was a model?”

“I don’t know, but he could be if he wanted to be,” you smile to yourself as you check your phone, swearing as you realize you might be a few minutes late, “I gotta get to work, I’ll see you tomorrow morning!”

Chugging the rest of your drink, of which has cooled significantly, you end up rushing out of the door of the coffee shop, leaving a good tip for Akira before you go.

A meet-cute. Is that what that would’ve been considered?

Walking into the library, you have a dopey smile on your lips, and the meeting from the morning lets you float your way through work as if your feet haven’t touched the ground.

The writer meet and greet wasn’t for another few hours so when you were putting books back on the shelves, and when the flow of people tended to slow down, your nose was tucked gently into the pages of the book you’d picked up.

It was wonderfully written, with words that seemed to suck you in and captivate you, unable to truly pay attention to what you needed to be doing. You were so ecstatic to be meeting the author, to be able to see what sort of person they’d turned out to be.

They had been pretty secretive, declining interviews left and right and no one has been able to figure out who they were. No one really knew if Akaashi Keiji was their real name, or just a pen name either, a ghost writer who wanted to leave their mark on the world without claiming any credit for the impression they’d leave behind.

Truth be told, it was something you admired in them.

There was something special about someone wanting to create something, and yet walking about their daily life knowing that not a single person would recognize them for it. They weren’t doing it for fame, or for money, but because they truly enjoyed writing and creating books for people to enjoy.

“If you keep yourself in that book, you’ll never get these shelves done,” shit, you’d thought you tucked yourself far enough into the autobiography section that your coworker, Kaori, wouldn’t be able to find you, “what book is it this time?”

“In Regards to Aces…”

She raises an eyebrow at you, glancing at the big poster of the book’s cover displayed only a few feet away from the pair of you, “Uh-huh, gonna suck up to the writer? Get you a rich, anonymous sugar daddy?”

“Pft,” you smile at her with a crooked grin, “let’s be inclusive here, we don’t know if they identify as a guy, Kaori.”

She shrugs a shoulder at you as you begin to push the cart filled with returned books into the aisle, making your way to the front of the library, “Actually, Akaashi and I went to high school together. When he got famous, everyone at our school, like, made a silent pact to respect his privacy.”

“You know the Akaashi Keiji?” You give her an incredulous look, feet planting firmly in front of the help desk of the library, “As in, coming to our library, has won multiple National Book Awards in a row for their novels Akaashi Keiji?”

“Yeah,” she picks something off of her shirt with a sour look on her face, “I’m pretty sure Bokuto threatened a guy that said he’d leak Akaashi’s school name, but it might’ve been the whole group of them, honestly.”

“Bokuto…” you look at her with a bewildered look in your eyes, “Bokuto Koutarou, MSBY wing spiker, Bokuto?”

“Yeah,” she smiles brightly at you, which you quickly erase with a hand smacking her firmly in the arm, “Oh my god, what was that for?!”

“For not telling me you were surrounded by future celebrities in high school?!”

“Oh, as if there isn’t one person from your school that got famous,” Kaori levels a glare at you as she rubs her arm.

The pair of you are sitting at the reception area now at the front of the library, watching people flow into the seating area set up for the meet and greet. A copy of the book’s cover is set up next to the author’s seat, which is on a small raised platform behind a small red barrier.

“I’m pretty sure a kid in the grade above me moved to Argentina?” She laughs at your answer, a hand over her mouth as someone steps up to the desk, taking both of your attention away from the conversation, “Hey, how can we help yo— oh! Hi, again, how are you?”

Standing before you, straps of his backpack slipping off of his shoulders and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. There’s a little bit of a smile on his lips as he sighs, “Oh. Hello, I’m good. I rushed here because I was worried about being late—Kaori?”

“Akaashi,” she smiles at him, hand reaching out to shake his hand easily as you stare at the both of them flabbergasted, “Didn’t you get my text earlier about you coming to the library?”

“No, I was busy with the moving vans,” he turns his gaze on you and you swear your mouth dries up a little bit, “After I got a cup of coffee, I was arguing with the movers about a van of stuff that got lost. Turns out they were on the wrong side of town.”

“You mean to tell me,” you interrupt, hand coming up to stop Kaori from speaking, eyes trained on the wavy-haired man in front of you, “that you asked for my opinion on your book? Your own book?”

He gives a cheeky grin, teeth showing as he raises an eyebrow, “It’s easier to hear honest opinions if people don’t know I’m the author.”

You roll your eyes at him before he turns back to Kaori for a quick second, “Kaori, would you mind getting me some water, oh and maybe even a snack?”

She nods easily, hair swishing lightly as she pats you on the back and leaves, “‘Course, meet you up on the stage, bigshot.”

When she leaves, there’s a bit of an awkward silence, something like you don’t know what to say, and yet you know if you were to say anything, something might change. It’s only a feeling, but you suddenly want to spend as much time with this man as possible.

Now in the late afternoon light, you study him in a way you didn’t get to before. The warm sunlight that filters in through the windows makes his hair seem a bit light, but still just as unruly as it was this morning. His eyes are inquisitive, sharp in a way that observes and analyzes all within a moment’s notice.

There are patches of red and blue light dancing along his shoulders, refractions from the sun through the stained glass windows. His shirt is a little wrinkled but otherwise neat, one of the sides untucked as his loose tie hangs from around his neck.

He’s even prettier in the daylight, you decide.

“I’m sorry lied to you this morning,” his voice drops a little bit, inflection careful as he looks at you, “I promise I won’t lie to you anymore, if that means anything.”

“Well, if I catch wind of you lying,” you start, sidestepping the swinging door of the counter to start walking towards the stage area, “I’ll make your life a living nightmare, I know where you get your coffee, sir.”

“Oh, not the coffee,” He holds his hands up in surrender, “I loved their dark roast, where else in the town am I supposed to get it?”

“That, mister, sounds like a you problem,” you want to see him smile more, is the first thing you think when he laughs, “but only if you get on my bad side.”

“Do you think going out for dinner sometime might put me on your good side?”

There are moments in life that can shatter and alter the way that you think and perceive things for the future. For instance, that one time a teacher had given you a recommendation on a book had jumpstarted your love of reading which had turned into a job with lovely friends. If not for that one teacher, who knew where you would be now, because life is funny and doesn’t work out the way you think it will when things aren’t set exactly in motion.

This is one of those moments, and you know it is, because as he asks you out on, assumably, on a date, you envision a life for yourself.

A life filled with moments and snapshots with Akaashi Keiji at your side. He kisses your cheek one morning as you both make coffee for each other, his hand is warm on the small of your back as he leads you through the grocery store, and his voice is loving as he whispers to you at night before you fall asleep.

Now, you’ve always been somewhat a romantic, but you think this is the first time you’ve ever envisioned a life like this upon a second meeting. As Akaashi waits for your response, face neutral but content, you smile to yourself.

“Yeah,” you respond, leaning close to bump your shoulder against his gently, “I think getting dinner might boost your standings with me.”

[jinkicake]

Freak Like Me

Headcannons for Doja Cat’s ‘Freak’

Bokuto Koutarou x Reader 

Kozume Kenma x Reader 

Tendou Satori x Reader

For anon! I’ve heard of the song but never really listened to it, its a shame it's not on apple music. TT It’s so good I could not get it out of my head.

SMUT ☜（ﾟ∀ﾟ☜）

WC- 1,427

~~~

Bokuto Koutarou

Call you daddy, give me a nickname, I ain’t afraid of a little pain.

PLEASE, my mouth is watering at this

Bokuto would love having such a personal secret, having a good girl act so bad only for his eyes

Sometimes he will stare at you and think about how he has the power to make you wither against his sheets, cry until your voice gives out as he pounds into you

You’d just be talking to Akaashi and Bokuto would simply stare, getting turned on more and more each second

He can feel drool pooling in his mouth as he thinks of your voice cracking, screaming for him as his hips painfully smack against your ass

Right now you just look so innocent standing there, as you’ve never had a dirty thought in your head

It blows his mind how the person who looks like a baby kitten was on their knees the previous night, getting their throat royally fucked

It makes Bokuto go light-headed, your duality that is, and if he stares at you any longer he might explode into a horny mess

He loves pleasuring you, watching your face contort into a perfect mess, Bokuto never fails to take care of his pretty baby

When you finally catch his staring, you stiffen and are unable to look away, you know damn well just from the look in his eyes exactly how roughly he’s going to treat you

“Daddy.” You whine, back arching as Bokuto holds your thighs apart with his large hands. His warm mouth is sucking harshly on your clit, rolling it with his tongue, emitting loud noises simply for the effect.

“Yes, princess?” His voice is so low and he withdraws his mouth from your center to kiss at your inner thighs, gently biting the skin. Bokuto looks up at you, waiting for you to respond. Those gold eyes hold you in place as you stare back at him, you let your head fall back against the pillows while you squeeze your eyes shut. Bokuto simply clicks his tongue. “We can’t have this.”

The cry that leaves your throat, scraps up your insides as Bokuto bites down harshly on your thigh. The sensation causing you to clench around nothing and a curse leaves your mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” You try to push your hips up into the air but Bokuto simply pins them down to the bed, continuing his assault on your bare thighs.

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you swear and you know this, baby, don’t you?” You can only nod and let out a pathetic whimper. Bokuto hums before licking a long strip along your inner thigh, he runs his tongue anywhere he can reach. Anywhere but where you need it.

“Then you can endure a little punishment.”

Kozume Kenma

You never been with no one as nasty as me. Spice up your life, come get a freak.

Kenma is so quiet, so introverted

He wouldn’t ever share his little toy with anyone, even if you gave him the consent (consent is very important) to share any of the details of your personal endeavors with him

Kenma would probably torture you, in a teasing and loving way, for even suggesting that

Just like Kenma, you don’t really give off that certain vibe, the vibe that screams I pleasure my s/o in the lockerrooms type of vibe, so no one ever suspects a thing with you two

It’s a wonder how you complete him, how the two of you got so lucky to find the other

Kenma always felt like he was missing something, he never knew what he wanted sexually simply because he had no one to experiment with

Then you came into his life, quite literally, the first time he made you cum you came all over him

Kenma is such a handful, he might not have the energy to fuel your desires all the time but it doesn’t matter because he will do whatever you want

He will leave you satisfied for days and you always do the same

You make it a mission to leave him utterly fucked

“Fuck.” Kenma hissed between his teeth, glaring down at where you are cheekily smiling at him with one of his legs on either side of you. It’s lunchtime, you’re in a janitor's closet, and Kenma is horny. His head tilts back against the wall when you gently press your lips to the tip of his cock, taking just a tiny bit of him into your mouth. You take your time, swallowing softly around him, running your tongue along his slit to listen to his muffled whimpers.

Every time you hear footsteps outside the door you do something to make him moan loudly. Whether that be taking him into your mouth and down your throat in a split second or moving to suck one of his balls into your mouth. Every action causes sweat to build up along Kenma’s hairline, you go so quick from 0 to 100 and then back to 0.

When he glances down at his watch and notice there are ten minutes till lunch ends, Kenma takes a handful of your hair and tightens it around his fist. Bringing you all the way down on his length, pressing your nose to his abdomen.

“If I don’t cum before class then I won’t touch you for a week.” His warning does not go unheard so you simply bob your head, ignoring the spit pooling out of your mouth. You can’t help but moan every time his hand jerks your hair, the burning sensation against your scalp making you clench your thighs together in desperation. “Maybe I will touch you, tease you until you cry, and make sure that you get no release. You would like that, wouldn’t you (Y/N).”

Tendou Satori

Tease him just enough to hate me, tied it tight enough he can’t break free.

Tendou would love, adore, his little freak

He’d be one of those people who actually looks nasty as they are, you are the same, he seriously met his match when he fell in love with you

You simply amaze him

It’s a wonder how you go from utterly and completely fucked underneath him to using him for your own personal pleasure, not letting him cum and solely getting off on teasing him

It would be hard to tell that you are totally kinky, you always looked like a pretty vanilla person but there were subtle giveaways in your each of your movements to Tendou

The way your fingers would curl around his wrist whenever you were desperate to leave the situation you’re in, only so he can satisfy the weeping mess inside of your core

Or the way you would hide your face in his neck with your hair covering your face so you can freely bite down on him, hard, that’s how Tendou knew you weren’t going to play that night

He would be so captivated by your utter existence, you seriously have him wrapped around your finger

There is just something in the way the two of you click, just like magnets

Maybe it’s because you can fuck him just as hard as he fucks you

You let out a low chuckle, placing your hands more firmly against Tendou’s exposed chest. Slowly you drag your clothed core along his bare cock, reveling in the feeling of his thick length dragging against your slit. Tendou simply stares up at you, his face in awe, his mouth left agape. You can’t help but lower your lips to his, jutting your tongue out to lick his bottom lip before shoving the warm muscle deep into his mouth and down his throat.

The room is filled with a mixture of your moans, your breathy whimpers, and Tendou’s low groans. You suck too harshly on his tongue and the vibrations from the suction bounce off the walls causing you to pant against his lips and move your hips faster against his own.

“Fuck.” You bite out, pressing your lips to Tendou’s once more when the tip of his hard cock presses perfectly against your clit. Your tongue falls out of your mouth as the pleasure builds up insides you and you spill all over his center. The dampness from your core completely drenching him. “I think you’re ready for me to take you now, huh?” You ask him before tugging on the soft ropes that tie each of his arms to the bedposts. “Or maybe I’ll just keep getting myself off since you’re all tied up.”

[cdyssey]

Holiday

Summary: Grace and Frankie have a heart-to-heart after 7x03. | AO3 Link

—

Grace makes margaritas that night to celebrate Grankiekuh, the new holiday that she and Frankie just made up to celebrate the fact that Frankie doesn’t feel the need to make up holidays to avoid her anymore.

“You just squished our names together and threw the -kuh from Hanukkah at the end,” Grace accuses, chuckling. 

Light.

Playful.

Simply exuberant.

Just an hour ago, she was guzzling martinis on the couch with her ex-husband trying to figure out the quickest way to apologize to Frankie for a twenty-year-old mistake.

And now they’re planning a fake holiday together, and everything is somehow right in a world that also features her current husband sleeping in a jail cell.

“You have to admit—it has a certain ring to it,” Frankie hums determinedly. “We could be the new Shefani, the octogenarian Bennifer!”

“Well, don’t expect me to passionately hold your ass on a speedboat anytime soon,” Grace teases as she carefully measures tequila in a cylinder and then pours a little more than the recommended amount just to be safe.

“Nah,” her partner winks conspiratorially. “Just my hand across a candlelit table will do.”

And so they light a scented candle on the dining room table and drink incredibly boozy margaritas and eventually eat Del Tacos takeout that arrives half-an-hour late because the DoorDash driver couldn’t find the beach house. And Frankie laughs about Grace tearing the poor delivery kid a new one. And Grace quietly admires that Frankie still gives the twerp a twenty dollar tip anyway.

“At least he’s got a stronger constitution than Bugs Bunny,” Frankie snorts as she closes the door on yet another shell shocked human being who has encountered the wrath of Grace Hanson.

“That isn’t an impressively tall bar to surmount,” Grace replies, wrapping a fond arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

They talk, they eat, and then they talk some more when all that’s left at the bottom of the brown paper bag are tortilla chip crumbs. They talk a little bit about everything, really—the surprisingly pleasant weather these past few days, Bud’s apparent penis problem, Robert being useless at the dishes, and how delicious Del Tacos is. 

And between them, talking about everything is certainly not the same as talking about nothing.

Because even if they’re only talking about the weather or the dishes or the abysmal states of their children’s genitalia, it’s because they enjoy each other’s company enough to implicitly understand that it’s nice to just sit together at the end of a long, hard day and hear each other’s voices.

Because the little things are nice sometimes.

The day-to-day minutiae and routine of living with another person.

Sharing space with them.

Being present.

Being kind.

And in experiencing another’s unadulterated kindness, becoming whole.

When Grace gets salsa on the corner of her pink mouth, Frankie reaches over and thumbs it off with a kind of casual intimacy that was hard won between them, fought for and so lovingly, so painstakingly earned. 

They love each other.

They’ve surpassed the point where they constantly have to say it aloud.

I love you, Frankie says when she takes extra care to clean the dishes just the way that Grace prefers—something Robert Hanson never quite learned after forty goddamn years of marriage.

And I love you, Grace replies when she unthinkingly puts Frankie’s phone on charge because she realizes it’s on four percent, and her friend can’t fall asleep until she’s listened to meditative whale noises on YouTube for an hour.

And I love you, Frankie doesn’t say when she extends her palm to Grace and tells her that they should stargaze tonight because “Saturn’s vibin’ in the sky.”

And I love you, Grace replies when she threads their fingers together so snugly that their rings clink and replies—without sarcasm, without judgment, without weight, “Sure.”

And I love you, they tell each other as they slowly stagger their way out onto the deck, Grace assuming the right cushion and Frankie taking the left, arm in arm until the very last moment when it makes more sense for them to let go, to find their own equilibrium as the sea breeze sweeps gentle fingers through their hair.

The sky is star-freckled tonight, blushing purple and inky blue.

In the natural silence that follows, however, the moon and the stars and the supposedly vibin’ planets don’t particularly captivate Grace’s attention for very long, so she finds herself staring at Frankie, who’s staring off into space, her tall features bathed in amber porch light.

Something has shifted in her expression in the few elapsed moments since they’ve been outside, her thin brow furrowed, a frown threatening to tug at her lips where there had once been an easy smile. Her slender hands are clasped below her chin in a gesture that Grace has come to associate with introspective thoughtfulness, tinged with a kind of subtle melancholy that Frankie has always maintained that she detests and tries to consciously avoid. 

“Frankie… are you—?

“We only fought for two hours this time,” Frankie interrupts softly, nodding towards the outdoor dining table where the Hanson-Bergsteins had yet another disastrous brunch together. (At least no one broke a bone or got hit with a wiffle bat this time.) “Ha, that’s a new record if I’ve ever heard of one!"

But the joke doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Grace’s heart sinks somewhere beneath her ribcage. It throbs in her uncomfortably full stomach. She had naively assumed that three margaritas in a piece, the two of them could just skip the part where they rehash the day’s events and openly reflect upon them—but she should have known.

These emotional reckonings are Frankie’s chosen form of healing.

She’s always processed better aloud.

“Fighting with you is the most uninspired pastime I can think of doing these days,” Grace tells her truthfully. “I’d rather resolve our conflicts in five minutes than five hours, so we can catch Jeopardy! together without sitting on the couch in passive aggressive silence… I think we’ve reached a point in our friendship where we can do that… yeah?”

The question comes out a little more vulnerably than she would have liked.

Open-ended and hesitant, it requests an equally honest answer.

And while she knows that Frankie has no qualms about being emotionally honest, Grace also innately understands that she has chronically shied away from honesty about all matters pertaining to herself. 

(When she initially told Nick that she wanted to redefine their relationship, she couldn’t have even told herself what the hell she meant either. She supposes she wants to have her cake and eat it, too—to be in a relationship with Nick and go home to Frankie. But maybe that means she doesn’t really love Nick, that she’s just using him for the ample entertainment he provides: the romance, the easy companionship, the sex. And maybe, at the heart of that unsettling hypothesis, she’s just as much of a stone cold bitch as everyone around her seems to think. Her husband is in jail, and she doesn’t lose any sleep about it. In fact, in her queen-sized bed in the beach house she shares with Frankie, she’s slept better than she has in all the many elapsed and miserable weeks since she said, “I do.”)

“Of course!” Frankie exclaims, her brows arching in surprise. “You say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to, and then we kiss and passionately makeup. That’s exactly where we are nowadays.”

“Then why do you still look like a kicked puppy?” Grace asks shrewdly, folding her arms across her chest. “Or like Sol after his supposedly well-trained dog shit in his Birkenstocks.”

“Does being marginally tipsy on tequila count as an acceptable answer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then and damn,” Frankie sighs, waving a defeated hand around the empty air. “But don’t hold it to me if I’m not making sense, Grace. I’m thinking rabbit trails tonight. And not, like, rabbit trails of criminally-tampered-with poop, but circles and other weird thoughts that don’t seem to be heading anywhere.”

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere—I’ve got all the time in the world to listen,” Grace replies easily, and this is love, too, without ever uttering the word.

Twenty years ago, she did everything short of making up a holiday to not spend a single moment alone in a room with Frankie Bergstein.

And now, she's done everything short of divorcing her husband to ensure that they're never apart.

Frankie's eyes briefly widen in pleasant surprise at this seemingly unexpected gesture, her parenthetically enclosed mouth curving into a gentle smile—tender and sweet.

Lord, she’s beautiful, Grace thinks to herself as Frankie mulls on her next words.

She thinks this at least twice a day and chalks it up to passive jealousy that someone can look so radiant without ever really trying, by just simply being herself.

“Mm, okay... so I was just thinking about how my thing might actually be worse than yours… and you killed my son’s beloved rabbit,” Frankie says bluntly.

And so clearly!

Like she already fully believes it.

Grace blinks rapidly, not entirely computing what she just heard.

“How the hell did you come up with that conclusion?” She asks, nonplussed. “Like you said, I killed your kid’s rabbit and lied about it for some twenty-odd years. You and Sol just played an elaborate game of hooky.”

Frankie looks torn on whether to laugh or shake her head in clear exasperation of Grace not getting it.

“But the ethical jury in the sky isn’t in on me creating a religious holiday just to avoid you,” she protests with a half-smile. “Or even worse, admitting that’s the reason after all these years. I hurt you, Grace, and I don’t wanna hand wave that away just so we can watch Jeopardy! in peace. I want to check in with you and make sure you’re really okay.”

Even after many years of slowly but surely becoming acquainted with Frankie’s uncanny sensitivity to her emotions, somehow, it’s always still a pure shock when Grace is met with the unadulterated and unconditional extent anyway. She’s still unlearning Robert’s idea of emotional care, which largely involved having a stockpile of generic gifts to placate her various moods and whims.

And frankly, she’s not the most empathetic woman of the year herself.

I hurt you, Frankie said candidly and made no attempt to defend herself, to excuse her actions.

I hurt you, she declared, and it was an I love you at the exact same time.

Grace can hardly swallow, her throat a hundred emotions thick. 

“Hey now,” she eventually rasps, “don’t go all revisionist on me now. I was so fucking mean to you. We don’t play wiffle ball anymore at waffle-and-wiffle brunches because I hit you with a bat.”

“You told me there was a bee in my hair,” Frankie rubs the back of her head wistfully. 

“There totally was,” she grins painfully, “but the bat was a highly unnecessary measure.”

“Grace!” Frankie groans. “Don’t get me sidetracked. I’m trying to be real with you here—I wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination! I could be shitty to you, too.”

But Grace firmly shakes her head at this, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her rebuttal already locked, loaded, and innately known to be true.

“Not as often as I was to you, and rarely did you instigate because I’d already started it,” she insists, venom in her voice, raw and undeniable self-loathing. “If I’d been you dealing with me… God, maybe I’d have needed to make up a holiday, too…”

And even as she says it, the uneasiness in her stomach suddenly solidifies into sharp clarity and even crueler pain as she realizes what’s really been bothering her these past few days—a burgeoning feeling that she’s every bit as “harsh” and “vindictive” as Robert told the FBI lady she could be, even though she’s sworn she’s changed, even though she's wanted to be better.

God knows she's tried to be.

Because of Frankie.

Or maybe even for her.

The two reasons are interchangeable in her mind.

“I… I wasn’t like you, Frankie,” she eventually continues, glancing away so she doesn’t have to face the other’s expression—fearing confirmation of all her awful feelings, monstrously craving pity she’s sure she doesn't deserves. “Hell, I’m still not like you. The fact that my ideal marriage includes my husband being in jail more or less proves that.”

Grace Hanson doesn’t tip confused delivery boys thirty-percent after botched deliveries.

She doesn’t make up fantastical stories about magically disappearing bunnies for her kids so they believe in themselves.

She rarely apologizes for her mistakes.

And she makes a hell of a lot of mistakes.

“Robert called me harsh and often vindictive,” she chuckles humorlessly. “Well, I guess he’s got my number almost better than anyone.”

The ensuing silence following this proclamation stretches long and thin, like a tightrope strung precariously taut, and Grace is about to cave in to the temptation of looking at Frankie again when all of a sudden—

“Bullshit!” Frankie exclaims ferociously. “That’s a whole lot of bullshit, Grace Hanson.”

“Frankie, don’t defend—“

But she quickly reaches over and tightly curls her palm over Grace’s spiny knuckles, demanding her attention and getting it.

In so many years and throughout the span of them, she has been the only one to ever truly earn it.

Grace turns her head and finds Frankie’s oceanic eyes inches away from her face, storm-like in their intensity, piercing all over.

“Robert doesn’t get to use the present tense with you because he doesn’t live with you anymore,” Frankie insists when she knows she has Grace, when Grace can no more look away than a rabbit can actually disappear in a hat. “He doesn’t get to see you the way I do. And let's be honest here, I'm not sure he ever really has."

“And how do you see me?” Grace can barely breathe, only dimly aware that this is yet another needy question, one that can only engender a frighteningly vulnerable response.

Her heartbeat quickens.

She feels the exact striation of Frankie’s finger that is resting on the quarter of a million dollar wedding ring Nick bought for her in Vegas.

In the semi-lit darkness, Frankie’s sharply hewn cheeks feather themselves sunset pink. 

Grace blindly assumes it’s the humidity.

“As someone worth discovering,” she murmurs, “and by discovering, understanding that you’re a pretty darn amazing person to love beneath all those expertly erected walls.”

Frankie leans forward then and presses a chaste kiss on Grace’s head, quick and habitual, like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her floral perfume wreathes her like a warm embrace. Beneath the perfume, she smells like acrylic paint and sea breeze and strange but rich incense—complex and earthy and full of so many vibrant notes.

Heat rises to Grace’s face.

This must be the humidity, too.

“Some people don’t get that,” Frankie continues, moving back to her own cushion again, “and that’s their loss. They’ve never had to carve a pretty statue outta stone before, have never had to work on a relationship with you over time.” 

“So what you’re saying is that it takes work to love me, huh?” Grace raises a teasing eyebrow, even though she's not exactly sure that this is the appropriate time and place to make a joke. But the alternative to lightly joking is to internalize the words that Frankie just said, to truly contemplate what it means that there's at least one person in this world who'll wait for her—despite her many walls and damn them.

“It takes work to ever love anybody, really,” Frankie shrugs easily. 

It’s an unsurprisingly sage take—Frankie’s always been good at emotions and relationships and all of the other important and dauntingly human stuff—but it’s also one that gets Grace to thinking about Nick again, about his kindness and his persistence and about his dedication to wanting to make things to work.

She’s beginning to get an inkling of what it might mean that she doesn’t want to meet him halfway, kind and persistent and dedicated though the man might be.

That if she had to choose again between husband and home, there would be no contest.

There would be no hesitation.

So perhaps there are two people in the world who would wait for her, but of those two, Grace knows there's only one whom she would invite to stay.

“Happy Grankiekuh, Frankie,” Grace says, leaning her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “I like discovering you, too.”

“Well, you should! I’m a fucking delight.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Ha, never.”

But in the end, Frankie intertwines their hands together, and the silence of this action is its own unmistakable and resonant reply.

I love you.

Grace Hanson is loved.

[homesteadchronicles]

Original Writing Excerpt: “To Me”

Hello, my homies! I have an unexpected piece of writing to share with you all today, one not related to my known WIPs. Instead, this comes from the world I detailed here, one I’ve now been given permission to flesh out into a full-fledged story.

You don’t need to know the world in order to read, but I’ve provided the necessary context below in order to dive on in!

CHARACTERS:

Ero “Del’Gris” Idess: An intergalactic music idol in service to her agent, Kiladian Wellthane, who enlists her help in exposing his enemies’ corruption. Yoselle of the Starsea (”Ghost”): Ero’s bodyguard and long-time employee of Kiladian Wellthane whose unspoken feelings for Ero grieve him.

CONTEXT:

Ero and Yoselle have been dispatched by Kiladian to the Polaris Nightclub in order to secure information on the corrupt CEO of a pharmaceutical empire. When Ero botches her mission, she seeks comfort from a source both she and her target know can only lead to complications.

THE EXCERPT:

You are a specter: ethereal, immaterial, insignificant. She is a spotlight: illuminating, enticing, unyielding. These two halves cannot hold one another. These pieces fit different puzzles. But she needs something to elucidate and you did not hallucinate her invitation to centerstage. Still you skirt around the sidelines, flirting with shadows, fearful of exposure. She stands, a beacon in the clubhouse, awaiting your answer.

You refuse to reply.

Polaris, you convince yourself, requires better surveillance than the shoddy bodyguards provide it. Expensive liquor, lavish decor, and a distinct lack of security – the omen of emergencies. It was everything you loathed and Ero loved.

She didn’t seem to mind now, not that she ever had before. Why would she? She has you. Needs you. Wants you, a part of you thinks, hopes, refutes. Ero plays her role without shame. Flattery reserved a permanent space in her mouth and her lips make use of their eternal inhabitant to elicit information even when her hips were in motion.

Your place lies elsewhere. Astride. Afar. Procurer and protector both had their parts to play. Separately.

Then why does she keep staring at me?

It is your fifth circuit around the dance floor when you notice her attraction attention. Her gaze ought to be on your target, on Gentarou Hongou, on the mastermind of a corrupt pharmaceutical company. Her hand would bat his chest as her lashes bat her cheeks and he would indulge her as everyone always did. Their mission depended on his entanglement. Did she expect to seduce him with a half-given gaze?

Either Ero or Gentarou comes to the same conclusion, as she discreetly excuses herself to evacuate the floor and he does not even bother watching as she goes. You give chase, coming to a heel behind her as she reaches the dancing’s edge. Stress tugs her brows together. She has disappointed her target. Disappointed herself. Worse, you realize, she has disappointed Kiladian.

“You’re off your game,” you note. A comment and a question intermingle therein, indiscernible.

Ero maneuvers through the crowd with angered grace. Each foot falls just shy of stepping on another’s toes, the click of her heels on the metal beneath like a tongue snapping against bared teeth. “Hongou’s harder than I thought,” she mumbles, “and not in the way I need him to be.”

The bar comes quickly into focus as you follow her. It’s going to be a long night.

Ero glides into the shaky comfort of a barstool. Before you can intercept, she has the bartender concocting something with a name you won’t remember for a price you cannot fathom. Ero’s erratic when inebriated and adamant when infuriated – not a winning combo for their cause.

She beckons you over with a caress of the empty seat beside her and you stiffen. Your place is beneath behind her. But, for a moment, weariness cracks her mask and the lonely soul inside creeps out. “Ghost,” she drawls. Her fingers walk up your chestplate, eyes unblinking in unspoken expectation, and you will indulge her as you always have. “To me.”

The seat is filled before you can stop yourself.

Two drinks slide along the countertop and stop in front of them, one a glittering gray encrusted with crystal and the other a dusty yellow clouded by rising mist. Ero cradles the latter before acknowledging the former. “Oops. Looks like I ordered one too many.” Her tone holds no remorse, only mischief. She nudges the glass towards you. “Guess someone ought to keep me sober.”

You can’t deny that. Deny her. You drink.

Each sip is a burning kiss to your lips, searing all the way down until the sweetness kicks in thereafter. It’s easier to forget the sting when the aftertaste settles in. You swallow again. Again. Again, until you learn to love the flames, too.

Ero only toys with her order. It’s not her usual selection, not her Nightfire. The glass in front of her holds Del’Gris’ favorite - all flash and fruitiness - but no bite. Which means she believes the show must go on. Which means Del’Gris gets an encore.

You need to navigate this delicately. “Hongou gave you the slip?”

“He may as well have. Kiladian’s information was off – Hongou’s not involved.”

“You’re sure?”

Ero dips her head as if to nod before it droops in defeat. “Honestly? I don’t know. Making heads or tails of the man is more complicated than making eyes at him.” She retrieves the cherry inside her drink and rips it clean off the stem. “I’m not myself tonight.”

“That’s not true.” The words slip out before you can subdue them. An unfortunate error, but Ero appraises you with wide-eyed surprise and you wonder whether it was a blessing in disguise. “You were not Del’Gris tonight, true. Del’Gris holds every man captive in her grasp. But you were Ero tonight – and any glimpse behind the curtain is enough to fluster a lesser man like Hongou.”

Ero twists your words around in her mind like the stem she knots in her mouth. When she pulls the stem free, her answer spills out too. “You know me too well.”

Not as much as I’d like, you think. Still not enough to keep you safe. It is an unbidden - but honest - admission. Not one Ero would adhere to half-plastered and wholly penitent. You settle for “well enough to know when you’re not well.”

She scoffs into her cup, a bitter laugh against sweet liquor. “Can’t get any worse”. Ero raises her hand and requests another round of liquid courage: Nighfire on the rocks. It’s a slow burn, she told you once, reeking of booze and other bodies, just the way I like it.

You hadn’t liked it. Hadn’t liked the way her hair ensnared your shoulders, encircling you in her scent as you scraped her offstage. Hadn’t liked the lingering kindling of body heat. Hadn’t liked how much you dreamt of her touch afterwards.

The bartender brings her his poison and she tips it back in one go. Tipsy, but standing, Ero advances towards the dance floor. “Well, if our mission’s botched, must as well bust a move.” Half-lidded eyes hone in on you. “Don’t make me do it alone.”

There’s a plea beneath that tease, but the implications complicate your reaction. To stay would be wise. To go would be wine, a gradual inebriation, a delight today and a mistake tomorrow. A slow burn.

Noticing your hesitance, knowing your heart’s a mess, she approaches. “I’m not the only one unwell,” Ero whispers. Her tender denouncement strangles your judgment. “But we both have to choose health.”

She steps away. The crowd begins to swallow her, enclosing on all sides. Ero extends her hand to you. “Ghost,” she calls out. Her fingers curl inwards, a gambler clutching their stake. “To me.”

Your hand finds hers before you can stop yourself.

Polaris’ patrons shove you deeper into the throng of hedonism. Writhing bodies surround you on all sides, ushering you and Ero closer, closer, closer along to the beat of a song. You can’t make it out – not over the beat of your heart. 

But Ero can. She leans into you, giggles sending shockwaves against your skin, and it’s then you realize: the woman on the soundtrack is Del’Gris, but the one in your arms is Ero.

In my arms. The thought locks into place before you can register that your arms are, in fact, around her. Mechanically? Yes. Uncomfortably? Undoubtedly. Neither of you seem to mind, if the way she slides her hands around your neck and nuzzles into its crook is any evidence. 

Then again, you always were the problem. After all, what right have you to hold her after haunting her for so long?

“You’re overthinking it,” Ero says. You’re not the only one who knows the other too well. “Maybe I ought to take the lead.”

You both laugh at that, at yourselves, at everything that your twisted lives have led to because if you don’t laugh, you might both break. Then again, at least you’d crumble into one another.

Ero only leans back and leads on. Your hands keep her feet aloft, her back aligned. This imperfect rhythm, this imbalancing act, leaves you both in synchronized breathlessness.

Neon lights illuminate your mingling skin in a patchwork of discordant colors. They rise to wreath Ero in a heathen’s halo: green envy, violet ire, scarlet lust. The crowd around exalts her alias - “Del’Gris! Del’Gris! Del’Gris” - but Ero has only ever worshipped you.

Always the star, you muse, and I am but the planet trapped in orbit.

“They’re calling for their queen,” you tease.

“They’re calling for Del’Gris,” she clarifies, “but I believe someone requested Ero.”

“You must have heard a ghost.”

Whatever impish inclinations Ero might otherwise maintain were exorcised in an instant. Seriousness seats itself in place of playfulness, mouth thin and eyes taut. Her hand rises to graze his cheek. “Ghost you may be to everyone else, but you’re always Yoselle to me.”

You have been brutalized by mobsters, held for ransom by hitmen, and crushed by an atmospheric crucible more times than you can count, but nothing has ever taken hold of your heart half as hard as that. “I never mind playing the specter if it means shadowing you.” And it’s true. You would spend the rest of your days in obscurity if it meant skirting around her radiance.

But Ero has never been one to settle for second best.

“Oh, is that so?” That ruinous mischief reclaims her lilting smile as she presses herself inward, upward. “In that case,” she whispers and her breath is a phantom promise against your lips. “Ghost, to me.”

Your mouth finds hers before you can stop yourself.

[itsallyscorner]

west side + bucky barnes + headcanon if possible & congrats on 700 bby!!!!!

West Side is a vibe ngl👀 Also thank you my love! I hope you like it!!💛

This is SO long for a headcanon, but I always get carried away and too detailed..enjoy:)

💌.

west side

Warnings: a smidge of smut*

I don't wanna think too much

I just wanna feel

You know that it ain't no rush

Let me keep it real

Just let me be in your life like that

In your life like that

I'll bring the light right back

I'll bring the life right back

Bucky Barnes has always interested you. Ever since you’ve seen him at the airport in Germany having a stand off between Tony and Cap.

You didn’t know why but he just piqued your interest. The mysterious aura he had behind him and the way he would just silently stare into space.

You wanted to know what went on in his mind. You wanted to know more about him.

When he first moved into the tower, he only talked to Steve. Then it expanded to Sam, Nat. Sometimes Tony and Bruce because they had to help him with his arm.

He never really talked to you. The most he did was nod as a greeting towards you whenever you walked into the room.

Though that didn’t make you oblivious to his lingering stares whenever you were in a room.

You knew he was interested into you too. If he were some normal guy you would’ve pushed him into admitting it or heavily flirted with him until he would give in.

But no, he was Bucky. A soldier who’s been held captive by Hydra who they used as a murdering machine. He’s been through so much, you didn’t want to put more on his plate.

So you dealt with his sneaky glances and the way he would avoid your eyes when you talked to him, it was the only way you could get close to him without rushing.

He only began talking to you after you busted into his room one night. You heard his cries and screams through the wall that divided your room.

You hovered over him trying to wake him up. You tried calling his name, even shook him awake, but it didn’t work.

You ended up straddling his body, settling yourself on his stomach to make him feel your weight. Maybe it would ground him.

You weren’t gonna lie, the feeling of him underneath you made you excited, but not like this. While he was having a nightmare.

He woke up with a jump, his eyes widening when he saw you above him. His hands gripped onto your thighs as he caught his breath. Your lively eyes were like a light in the darkness of his room.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just a um— a bad dream.” He breathed as he took in every detail of you.

“I thought you don’t get those anymore? Didn’t Shuri help you with them?”

“They come back now and then.”

“What will help you back to sleep? Can I do anything?”

“Can you..can you hold me?” He nervously asked you.

“Of course I can.”

I'm gonna make you want more (More)

I'm gonna be your new favorite

Tell 'em you closing the door

I am the only for sure

Oh, babe

The moment you two shared that night helped formed a new relationship between you two.

He smiled at you now, even held a conversation with you. You guys even hung out alone watching movies and helping him catch up with what he’s missed.

A few months later and he’s been feeling more confident in himself. He was like a new man, but to Steve, Bucky was turning into his old self.

The charming flirt who could pick up any gal with just a smile.

Tony had parties at the tower almost every weekend. At first Bucky was quite uncomfortable but once he got the groove and caught the eyes of a fine woman, he was chilling.

Maybe chilling a bit too much for your liking. The more he got comfortable, the more he was seen leaving the party with a new girl on his arm in some skimpy dress.

You’d find yourself scowling at his back whenever he left the party as you took a swig from your drink.

You shouldn’t be jealous. He wasn’t yours. But it was the fact that you two were constantly tip toeing around each other.

You knew his eyes drifted down your chest when you had a v neck on. You knew he felt the electricity whenever your hands would brush up against each other. You were feeling whatever he was feeling, yet he avoided it and took a girl back to his room every weekend.

Tony was having yet another party. You were leaned against the bar in between Wanda and Nat, looking at the crowd.

“(Y/n), looks like you’ve caught a certain super soldier’s eye.” Wanda tells you as she nudges your arm. You look to where her attention was and see Bucky’s eyes scanning your figure with his jaw clenched.

“He’s been looking at you for a while now. You should go over there.” Natasha hummed suggestively.

You scoff in reply, “He could find his own way here” You were tired of tip toeing around the bush.

Best believe that man found his way to you. Finally noticing your challenging looks and the way your lips lingered on the rim of your cup.

The night ended in his bedroom. He was about to take control but you stopped him, shoving him down to sit on his bed. While you were on your knees pressing light kisses onto his length, you stared up at him with those bright eyes of yours.

“I bet those other girls you brought here made you do all the work, huh?”

“They just wanted you to fuck them, didn’t they? Did they ever pay attention to what you wanted, James?”

“No, only you.” He said through gritted teeth.

After, your bodies were flush against each other, tangled in the sheets. His back against your chest as his head rested between your neck and shoulder. He held onto you as if his life depended on it.

You were shocked when he slipped his cock into your seeping pussy, sighing as he basked in the feeling of your warm walls wrapped around him.

“Just wanna feel you. I can’t get enough of you.” He dreamily sighed as he held you closer to him.

Hold up, there shouldn't be no hold up

There's more love if you follow emotions

Show up, now if you're down to roll up

Meet me on the west side for me

The morning after wasn’t awkward at all. You woke up to him stroking your back as he randomly pressed kisses onto your face.

“Morning, doll.” He greeted you with his morning voice. Deep and rough.

“ ‘s that what you tell all the ladies after they spend the night?”

“No one spends the night, they’re usually gone by the time I’m up. You’re the only one.” He confessed as he smoothed down your hair.

The two of you end up having a morning pillow talk. Finally confessing your feelings for each other. Turns out he was just as done with beating around the bush as you were.

“I don’t want anymore stupid hookups to get over you. They were pointless, all I could think about was you. I’m following my emotions. I want to be with you.”

“Are you sure, Bucky?”

“I don’t need anyone else, I only want you.”

I don't want it if it ain't your touch

It's better every time we chill

You ain't gotta bring no stuff

We got all we need right here

Just let me be in your life like that

Be your wife like that

I'll bring the light right back

I'll bring the life right back

You and Bucky were inseparable. Steve even got jealous a few times.

You two shared a room, holding each other to bed every night.

When his nightmares came back, you were there to hold him in an instant. Though that rarely happened anymore.

The time you both spent together usually took place in your shared room. Whether it was sex, movie nights, you had all what you needed right there. With each other.

The only exception was food.

He only liked it when you touched him. He wouldn’t even let Steve hold him in a hug for more than a minute.

That didn’t just count for hugs or any other kind of intimate gestures. It also counted when he had any cuts or wounds on his body.

When he was cleared for missions, he would come back with a few marks. When they were minor scratches or grazes he went straight to your room.

He would sit on the toilet seat as you cleaned his wounds, while you asked him about his mission.

If it went bad, the two of you remained in comfortable silence. He just looked at the way your face contorted in concentration as you patched him up. The sight made all his stress just fade away.

He absolutely adored the small and simple things you did to take care of him.

It was the simple things like: bringing him tea late at night when he couldn’t sleep, combing his hair, and even cleaning his metal arm when you saw it looking a bit iffy.

Those were the things that made him realize that he wanted you for life.

Homeboy wanted to wife you up, sis.

You meant so much to him. You brought the light and life back into his own life making him feeling like the luckiest man on Earth. Even after all the shit he’s been through, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because it led to you.