#or people speak at the same time and only one gets a response

[ijustwannabecool]

Defending Your Honor

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader Summary... When online hate targets you, Charles takes matters into his own hands. A fan gets banned. The fandom gets obsessed. And you? You get reminded that Charles will always choose you—loudly, publicly, and intimately.

Trigger Warnings: Online harassment, misogynistic slurs, public confrontation, smut, explicit language

A/N: enjoy reading this little piece. let me know how you like it. dont forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts. request are open guys, so feel free to request anything. have a beautiful day :)

--

Charles wasn’t always online—but when he was, it was either to scroll through memes Arthur had sent or to check your Instagram.

Even after a long race weekend—press conferences, media obligations, debriefs—he always made time to find you.

That night, you were curled against him on the couch of your Monaco apartment, fast asleep in one of his red team shirts. The TV hummed softly in the background, showing some home renovation show you’d both forgotten to change.

He should’ve gone to sleep too. But instead, he opened Twitter.

You were trending.

Not in a fun way.

#JusticeforYN

His brows furrowed. Clicking into the tag, his stomach tightened.

A video from the Canadian GP paddock. You and Charles, walking hand-in-hand, laughing at something he’d whispered. Normal. Sweet. Intimate.

Then another clip.

You talking to Arthur, sipping on an iced coffee with a soft smile. And in the background—loud, jarring, hateful voiceovers:

“Charles’s hoe.”

“She’s only famous because she’s fucking him.”

“She thinks she’s special? Please.”

The woman recording was clearly visible. A bright red Ferrari crop top and cowboy hat. Screaming over the barrier.

Charles’s jaw clenched as the screen glowed against his face. You hadn't even flinched. You hadn’t heard any of it over the music and crowd.

But now he had.

Scrolling deeper, he found more: the same account tweeting threats. Saying she’d be at Silverstone. That she was going to “ruin” you. That she’d won a meet and greet through a sponsor.

Not on my fucking watch.

You found him pacing the kitchen the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, wearing nothing but boxers and a deep frown.

"...yes, I want her name off the list. Immediately. No, I don’t care who approved it. It’s a safety concern."

You rubbed your eyes. "Cha? Everything okay?"

His expression softened. He pressed the phone to his chest. "It’s handled, mon coeur."

--

Silverstone.

You were chatting with Lily and Carmen near the espresso machine when Charles stiffened beside you.

“She’s here,” he murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to ask who. You saw the flash of red and country through the corner of your eye.

She was in line for the VIP meet and greet.

Charles excused himself with a kiss to your temple. You watched him cross the room with that quiet, purposeful energy that always made people stop and stare.

“Hi,” he said politely to the girl.

She lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god! Charles, I’m such a fan—”

“Can I speak with you? Privately.”

They moved off to the side. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you saw her face fall. Security flanked them moments later.

Charles returned a few minutes later and wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“She won’t bother you again. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, tucked in your hotel bed, his hand slid beneath your shirt.

“Still thinking about it?” you asked softly.

He kissed your shoulder. “Only how I should’ve found her sooner.”

You turned in his arms, straddling his lap. “You’re not responsible for every idiot with a Twitter account, Cha.”

His hands gripped your thighs. "Non. But I am responsible for making you feel safe."

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. "I feel safe."

His lips were slow, reverent, then suddenly needy. His hands pulled your underwear aside and you gasped into his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin, over and over. “Only mine.”

----

Fan Footage, Later That Week:

A blurry video of Charles sneaking a kiss against your neck before heading into the team garage. Captioned: “he’s obsessed with her and I love that for him.”

A Polaroid posted to your Instagram: your feet resting on Charles’s lap in the motorhome, coffee cups on the table, his hand on your thigh. Caption: quiet moments.

Another clip from a fan outside the paddock: Charles lifting your suitcase out of the car while wearing your name embroidered on the back of his jacket.

----

Twitter Aftermath

@f1gossipgirl: charles leclerc handled that like a KING. his wife is off limits, period.

@slowmoferrari: she didn’t even flinch. queen behavior.

@theylovecarles: charles removing a fan for disrespecting yn, then going out and qualifying P1? the husband energy is CRAZY.

----

That night, as you curled into his chest, Charles whispered, “They’ll never understand what you mean to me.”

You smiled against his collarbone. “They don’t have to.”

He kissed your hair, heart steady now. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

[inkjunn]

🩰 - PIROUETTES

𐔌 singledad!jaemin x afab!reader 𐦯

⌣⌣         ◌⃘    warnings: none ~ genre: fluff, single dad au

೯ ⠀ ⁺ word count: est. 1.8k ໋ 　

Jaemin had never imagined himself as a ballet dad.

He'd been a performer, sure. Idols understood stages, movement, the electric buzz of an audience. But tutus and tiaras? Those were things he'd only seen in cartoons until his daughter, Harin, had fallen in love with ballet.

It had started with a video. A sparkly YouTube clip of The Nutcracker had entranced her four-year-old soul. The beautiful dancers, the soft, graceful movements, the magical setting—it all made sense to Harin in a way it never had for Jaemin. From that moment, Harin was hooked. There wasn’t a day she didn’t twirl around their apartment, pretending to be one of those fairy-like creatures.

And Jaemin? Well, he became her reluctant audience. The kitchen table became her barre. The coffee table became her stage. And Jaemin, despite his best efforts, became an expert in holding his position as both her dance partner and sometimes, an unwilling cushion.

When Harin turned five, she made it official: she was going to be a ballerina. “dad, I want to be like the girls in the video,” she'd declared one day, bouncing on her little feet. Jaemin had smiled, ruffling her hair, unsure of what to do next.

The solution came in the form of a local ballet academy. Neo Street Ballet Academy. Harin was excited, Jaemin was skeptical. Ballet? Wasn't that for rich, delicate people? But Harin had looked at him with those wide, hopeful eyes, and somehow, he found himself signing her up for Saturday morning classes.

Ever since, every Saturday became sacred.

Each Saturday at 10 am, Jaemin found himself sitting on the slightly uncomfortable bench outside Studio 7A, his fingers nervously gripping the edges of his coffee cup. Harin’s pink glittery backpack always sat at his feet. And there, he sat with a slight knot in his chest, watching the door as parents came and went, always feeling out of place.

But it wasn’t just the kids or the dance class that made him anxious.

It was you.

You, who made everything seem effortless. You, who glided into the studio like you were born for this. You, who greeted him with a smile that made his heart skip a beat every time. You weren’t flashy. In fact, you were usually dressed down in sweaters, leggings, and sneakers. Your hair was in a simple ponytail, and your makeup was soft. Yet you had this radiance about you—like sunlight followed in your wake. And the way you spoke to the kids... it wasn’t just about teaching them steps. No, it was about giving them your full attention, making them feel seen, like they were the most important thing in the world.

And somehow, Jaemin couldn’t get you out of his head.

“Good morning, Mr. Na.”

He snapped back to attention. His coffee, still in his hands, was perilously close to spilling.

“Guh—Good! I mean, good morning! Hi. Hello.”

Your lips twitched, the corners curving in amusement, and Jaemin’s heart jumped into his throat. He wanted to hide, to melt into the ground. Every Saturday, it was the same thing: his clumsy, stammering response whenever you greeted him. How could you make him so nervous? Why did he forget how to speak when you were around?

Harin peeked around Jaemin’s legs, and in her usual no-filter way, giggled. “Dad’s being weird again.”

“Again?” you asked playfully, crouching down to Harin’s level. Your voice was soft, warm, and without even realizing it, you’d already won Jaemin’s heart.

“She says I get nervous when you talk to me,” Jaemin explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

You grinned. “She’s very observant. But you don’t have to be nervous, Jaemin. I don’t bite.”

Jaemin’s face was so red, he could feel it burning. How does she do that? he thought.

“I—I’m not nervous,” he stammered. “Just... regular... parent tension.”

“Right,” you said, raising an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

Jaemin felt like he was melting into the floor. He had to change the subject. “Harin’s really excited. She’s been doing spins in the kitchen. Nearly knocking over a plant.”

“She’s improving so much! Her balance is really impressive.”

“She gets that from me,” Jaemin said confidently, then paused. “Wait, no, that’s a lie. I can’t stand on one foot without looking like a flamingo in distress.”

You laughed. It wasn’t a chuckle. It was a genuine laugh, and Jaemin felt a rush of warmth spread through him.

“Alright,” you said, eyes twinkling. “Let me get them started. You can hang around, if you’d like. We don’t mind the company.”

“Me?” Jaemin blinked, startled. “In the studio?”

You shrugged casually. “Sure. If you're up for the flamingo challenge.”

Just like that, Jaemin’s weekend went from routine to completely unexpected.

Inside the studio, everything was different. The warm, comforting scent of fresh air mingled with the faint smell of wood polish and leather. Soft piano music played in the background as tiny feet tapped in rhythm, their movements full of innocence and energy. The sound of children's laughter echoed around the studio, and Jaemin stood there, feeling like an intruder in a world he barely understood.

You were the opposite of everything Jaemin had expected. You weren’t cold, calculating, or distant like some teachers he’d met in the past. You were warm and approachable, moving effortlessly between each student with gentle encouragement.

Harin caught him watching from the corner of her eye. “Dad! Come here!” she shouted, waving dramatically, her tiny arms flailing in every direction. You turned toward him with a smile. “Wanna help us with pliés?”

Jaemin froze. “I don’t want to cause a scene,” he muttered, but your gentle expression seemed to pull him forward, like you were asking him to just... be himself.

“You’ll be fine,” you assured him, your voice soft and encouraging.

He stepped hesitantly onto the floor, feeling awkward. He stood among a group of five-year-olds, all in matching leotards and skirts. His tall frame towering over the tiny dancers made him feel out of place.

You demonstrated a plié, your movements smooth and graceful. “Like this, everyone,” you said. “Bend, heels stay down. Nice and slow.”

The kids followed your movement, perfectly. Jaemin? Well, he tried. He bent, his legs wobbling beneath him. The kids didn’t seem to notice, but one of the little girls whispered loudly, “He’s not very good at this.”

Jaemin rolled his eyes, but his heart raced. “Hey,” he said, “I’m trying.”

You smiled and moved closer. “You’re doing great, Jaemin. Don’t worry, ballet is about progress, not perfection.”

“Isn’t everything?” he murmured, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror.

For a moment, something passed between you—something gentle, tender, yet undeniable. Jaemin’s heart skipped.

After class, the connection deepened.

As the kids finished up their routines, you handed out stickers, your voice full of encouragement. Harin was the last to receive hers, skipping happily over to Jaemin with a huge grin on her face.

“I got a star sticker!” she said proudly.

“Because you’re a star,” Jaemin replied, brushing her bangs out of her face, his smile softening as he admired his daughter.

You walked over, your hand brushing against Jaemin’s arm as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “She’s a natural,” you said, watching Harin twirl in the studio.

Jaemin’s smile faded slightly. “She gets that from her mom,” he said softly, voice tinged with something unspoken. “Harin’s mom was... she danced too. Not ballet, but she had the same fire.”

You paused, sensing the sadness in his words. “I didn’t know,” you said gently.

“It’s been just us for a while now,” Jaemin continued, his voice low, almost distant. “She’s a good kid. And I try my best.”

“She’s a great kid,” you corrected him. “And she’s lucky to have you.”

A silence fell over the two of you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a space where understanding quietly lingered, both of you soaking in the weight of the moment.

Jaemin shifted slightly. “You’re really good with her,” he said. “With all of them. You make them feel seen.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. “Thank you, Jaemin,” you whispered.

Weeks passed, and things slowly changed.

Every Saturday, Jaemin and you exchanged smiles, waves, and small conversations. Harin flourished under your teaching, and Jaemin found himself becoming more involved in the world of ballet—practicing pliés at home, helping Harin with her turns, laughing at how clumsy he was.

But more than that, Jaemin found himself drawn to you. He didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, you had become a constant in his life.

One rainy afternoon, as the class practice ends, you handed Jaemin an umbrella from the staff closet. “Didn’t bring one?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“No,” Jaemin admitted, chuckling. “Harin begged me to let her wear her ballerina cape, and I forgot to pack one for myself.”

You laughed softly, your eyes sparkling. “You always let her wear the weirdest things. I love that about you.”

Jaemin blinked, surprised by your words. “You do?”

“I love that you let her be herself. Not all parents do that,” you said, voice quiet but full of sincerity.

Jaemin’s heart ached at the warmth in your tone. “I just want her to feel safe. Happy.”

“She does,” you said softly. “Both. Because of you.”

Jaemin swallowed, suddenly aware of how close the two of you had become. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just nodded, grateful for your kindness. The rain pattered softly against the windows. Harin was twirling in her ballerina cape, laughing as she imitated one of the older dancers. Jaemin smiled, watching his daughter.

Then, you spoke again, your voice quieter now. “Jaemin, if you ever want to hang out... outside of class... just the three of us... I’d love that.”

Jaemin’s breath hitched. “Are you asking me on a date?” he blurted out, a bit too loudly.

You flushed, your cheeks turning pink. “Only if you want it to be one.”

Jaemin stared at you for a moment, feeling like the world had slowed down. He didn’t know what to say. His heart was racing, his mind running through a thousand thoughts. But in the end, there was only one answer.

“Okay,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

And just like that, everything changed.

back to masterlist !

[fluhfish]

REVERENCE

it's legit 1 am rn and my heads about to explode. enjoy.

★ - obligatory mature content warning.

If there are any good galra, they’ve had 10,000 years to take down Zarkon. I would never count on them for help.

“Hey.”

Cuphead snaps out of his thoughts, whipping his head around. Bendy stands holding his helmet to his hip. The orange hues of the sunset — as close as this planet has to a sunset anyway — dance across his honey-brown skin. An easy smile rests on his lips.

Radiant as ever, Cup thinks.

He forces his eyes away.

“Jeez,” Bendy barks a laugh. “You look like an angsty middle schooler brooding out here by yourself.”

Cup only scoffs, unable to hide the mild tinge of annoyance in his voice “Don’t you have a princess to be wooing over?” Bendy frowns at the obvious bitterness in his words.

He flops down next to the red paladin and huffs a small sigh, “Ya know she didn't mean any of that, right?” Settling his helmet on his lap, he leans his arm on it, looking at Cup with a look the blonde can’t quite place. The same one he had when they saved him and Felix from Sendak, but Cup is trying not to think about that right now.

Pointedly, Cup doesn't look at Bendy, only offering a small scowl in response. He’d think of some sarcastic quip but, in all honesty, he's too busy still trying not about how utterly fucked he is.

We are a good team

Welp.

This was a horrible idea. He should've just gone to his room. All these feelings swirling around and nagging at his chest like a parrot in a bird cage — he doesn't know how to act around Bendy right now. Of all people why did his brain pick Bendy fucking Bbro whos known for flirting with every damn girl in the galaxy and- and ..Alice. It's always Alice.

At the start it had just been an annoyance, like a buzzing too close to his ears. He could ignore it — them — like he always did. Even back at the garrison Cuphead convinced himself, willed himself, to pretend what he was feeling was nothing more than simple animosity towards the other boy.

It's just like Bendy had said all those months ago — they were neck and neck, right?

Rivals. That's all they were and all they ever could be.

Momentarily he contemplates setting off the red lions defenses and seeing if it’ll just end both their suffering already.

He doesn't.

“She hates me.” he says instead. The other paladins smile drops and he offers a sympathetic noise in response, “Alice just-” Bendy sighs “She just needs time. I mean the galra wiped out her whole race. I’m sure eventually she'll come around.” It's a weak excuse and they both know it, but at this point what else can he say?

Cup swallows down his arguments.

Noticing his inner turmoil, Bendy moves closer and puts his hand over Cuphead's “I mean.. who cares what she thinks though. To us- To me, you’re still you galra or not.” Cuphead scoffs, unable to fight back the small smile tugging at his lips.

He can feel the warmth of Bendy’s hand on his and suddenly he’s acutely aware of the lack of distance between them. Despite the paladin uniform, Bendy’s touch felt like fire on his skin.

It’s quiet for a tick — yes, a tick — before he decides to speak.

Cup looks over at him, “How do you do it?”

Bendy blinks owlishly before scrunching his face in what Cup can only place as mild amusement. “Do..what, mullet”

“I dunno. How do you be so- this.” He vaguely gestures to Bendy with his unoccupied hand. “How do you just.. not care? You're so unbothered by all of this, by me, I- I don’t get it” he snaps his mouth shut and opens it again, trying to come up with something- anything to try and explain the deep yearning gnawing at his chest. “You should hate me. O-or at the very least be- I don't know- weary?” he combs his free hand through his hair anxiously and looks away.

Before Bendy can get a word in, Cup continues babbling “I mean what if she's right and- and when it comes down to it I really can't be trusted at all. What if zarkon gets me and does some weird alien-galra brainwashing shit or my weird galra instincts take over and I hurt someone? I mean, it's not exactly like I know what alien puberty is like-” he snaps his mouth shut again. Nervously, he glances back over at Bendy.

The other paladin has his brows pinched together, furrowed, staring at him like he's one of Boris’ weird pieces of tech he can't figure out.

Cup inwardly holds his breath, shrinking slightly under the others gaze.

He should just leave — pretend this whole thing never happened. Pretend he can’t feel the others body heat on his hands mixing with his own. Pretend said heat isn't rapidly rising to his face. Pretend Bendy isn’t moving slightly closer, thigh bumping against his own.

Pretend he can't feel the odd tension in the air.

Maybe with enough luck – of which he's definitely not known for having, but a guy can dream – Bendy will just forget this whole interaction even occurred, go back to using his cringey one-liners on Alice, and Cup can just wallow in his misery forever.

“I know-” Bendy starts before seemingly deciding against it and biting his lip. He sighs, “I know we aren't like best pals frolicking in the field together and man I've wanted to just throttle you a good few times but—” He inched a little closer, their faces barely a few inches apart. “I do care about you Cup like- a lot. Nothing's gonna change that anytime soon. And if I gotta stick through some weird alien puberty then, so be it.” He makes a point to do finger quotes around ‘alien puberty’ — almost as if he was trying to emphasize just how ridiculous Cup sounded which- yeah. Okay. Maybe he was being a little nonsensical.

Cup can’t quite place the emotion in his voice – or well he can but some part of him chants he's just being hopeful – nonetheless he believes every word. As if his brain could do anything else.

He doesn’t know what to say so ultimately Cup ends up just staring back at him like an idiot.

It’s silent for another few ticks.

Bendy sighs again, something akin to annoyance graces his features before it's quickly replaced with hestiance. He seems to come to a resolution on whatever internal conflict he was having because with quick precision – one only a sharpshooter could manage – Bendy’s hand shoots out.

Cup doesn't register what's happening until suddenly the back of his neck is grabbed and their lips are being smashed together.

He sucks in a breath of surprise and pulls away.

“What—” Cup breathes. Was he pitying him? Had Cup been that obvious this whole time? He didn't think Bendy was that cruel. Was he?

“You want this, right?” Bendy interjects his quickly spiraling thoughts, piercing him with a look that makes Cup think he's seeing right into his soul and – considering what's happening right now – maybe he is. “Tell me you don’t and we can just- stop. Pretend it didn’t happen.”

Oh

Oh

Okay.

Cup takes a moment to stare back before answering, taking in the others features. Bendy’s flushed face and dilated pupils mixed with the way he’s looking at Cup make a shiver go down his spine, goosebumps rising on his skin.

Fuck it, he thinks.

Cup grabs both sides of Bendy's face and crashes their lips together with a feverish vigor.

Maybe this is all a dream or some stress-induced hallucination or maybe he's finally fucking losing it; either way he can't find it in him to stop. This’ll definitely come to bite him in the ass later.

Bendy presses their mouths together harder, tilting his head and deepening the kiss and shifting again. Before Cup can even think to pull away to breathe, he's being straddled and vaguely he registers the other paladins helmet tumbling off somewhere beside them. He’d hope it's not damaged but honestly, he’s been internally praying for this day since he was 15, the helmet is a worthy sacrifice. One Felix will most definitely scold them for later.

Finally, they parted to breathe. If he didn’t know any better he’d think Bendy was trying to devour him. Cup goes to speak but the other beats him to it, “I love you.” Bendy murmurs before going back in to kiss him again, looping his arms around Cup’s neck.

Cuphead doesn’t care if he means it. He doesn’t care if it’s all just the heat of the moment because god did it feel so right. Somehow, for once, nothing else mattered. It all just melted away as their mouths gradually started to move together in tandem.

Bendy pulls away first, a ravenous look in his eyes.

“Are you? -”

“yes-” Cup pants without missing a beat.

The blue paladin huffs a laugh, it’s a low, frankly dangerous noise. “All for me, huh?” he mutters, eyes half lidded, twirling a loose strand of Cup’s hair. Bendy grinds his hips down and Cup keens. A small, choked whine escapes his lips and he barely stops himself from rutting upwards, desperate for more- something— anything.

“We - ughn - shouldn't do this here –”

“Cmon baby,” Bendy coos “have a little backbone.”

“Eugh—ah- don’t call me that-”

Bendy huffs something akin to a laugh, “You gonna stop me, blondie?” He teases. His hands move from around Cuphead’s neck to wind themselves around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer. Their already hardening dicks pressed together even more. The friction felt like electricity on Cup’s skin, digging down into his very bones. He licks his lips and swallows, mouth dry.

“M-maybe-” Cuphead croaks. His eyes dart down to Bendy’s kiss swollen mouth; Cup really, really wants to kiss him again.

So he does. Hands travel from the sides of Bendy’s face to his hair, gloved fingers making themselves at home in his raven locks, tugging. The other lets out a drawled out moan at the action. Yep, that went straight to his dick — as if he could get any harder than he already was.

Suddenly Bendy pulls away, panting. “Lets- hah- move this along yeah?” His hands caress up and down Cup’s sides, sending tingles of arousal up Cuphead’s spine. God he wished he wasn’t wearing his stupid fucking paladin uniform. He wanted to feel the others touch on his bare skin, wanted to drown in the sensation and pray he never woke up from it.

His daze was quickly broken by the misplaced sensation of the cool breeze hitting the base of his spine, Cup cringed and tried to squirm.

“Huh.. I forgot these things were a two piece” He hears Bendy mumble.

Cuphead feels him tug at the hem of what would be considered Cup’s pants before pulling away slightly, hesitance swimming in his eyes.

“May i?”

“Bends- hah- i swear to everything in the known galaxy if you don’t just fucking- touch me already im going to kill us both.”

All remnants of hesitation melt away from Bendy’s features in an instant and he finally- finally frees Cup’s — borderline painfully — hard dick from the confines of the under suit. Cuphead gasps before moaning, long and drawlled, cutting off into a desperate whine as the blue paladins gloved hand wraps around his shaft.

Bendy pumps it once experimentally all while staring Cup down, seemingly gauging his reaction.

“Hnn..fuck-” Cup breathes, bucking his hips up in an attempt to chase the feeling.

Seeming satisfied, Bendy repeats the motion, swiping his thumb over the tip every few strokes. Cuphead lets his arms fall and wrap around the other, grasping at any loose areas of fabric he can possibly find, dropping his forehead to Bendys shoulder.

“f- ah- fast-”

“Faster?” Bendy whispers, voice laced with honey.

“yes- nn- yes yes- hah please.” The whines rip out of him like a prayer, repeatedly- uncontrollably.

Cup cuts off his own hazy babbling and nips at Bendy’s neck, licking and sucking at the small sliver of exposed skin available. The boy above him sucks in a surprised gasp, breath hitching. A hand snakes its way back into Cup’s curls grasping – but not tugging.

Bendy’s rutting down on him, panting, and Cuphead can feel the peak of an orgasm almost- barely making its way into his gut.

The babbling is back and Cup can only just make out what he himself is saying. Words start tumbling out, mixtures of begging and repetitive yes's tear out of him with vigor.

A gloved hand twists and Cuphead swears he sees what used to be altea before his vision goes blank. A knot in his gut Cup didn't even realise had formed, comes undone.

“Ben- hnng-” His body tenses, mouth forming an ‘o’, eyes blown wide. Cup's fingers claw at Bendy’s back and he spills over, painting the others hand and his own abdomen in white.

The red paladin melts against the Bendy’s warm body, panting, trying to collect himself.

Bendy bites his lip, still rutting down on Cup desperately.

The blonde vividly registers a small alarm noise blaring somewhere beside them, he blinks his eyes blearily and squints. Huh.

“Be..Bends-” He chokes out, barely above a whisper.

“hn- yeah?-”

Before Bendy can even get his question out, Alice's voice cuts through the air, alarmed.

“Paladins! Hello?”

Cuphead’s spine straightens out so quick he swears he hears something pop. Bendy startles, falling backwards off his lap and – very gracefully – slams into the ground, scrambling for his helmet.

“Y- ow- Yes, princess?”

“Where the hell are you two?! We need to go! NOW.”

Well.

At least Cup knows what that alarm was now.

They both stumble to their feet. Cuphead makes a noise of mild distaste to the state of his uniform and Bendy’s hand. The other scoffs, pulling out a wipe from one of the compartments attached to his hip, and wiping them both down haphazardly.

Bendy looks around for a brief moment before just tossing it over his shoulder and putting on his helmet, wincing – presumably at Alice’s scolding.

“Yeah, we really gotta go mullet.”

“What about-” Cup gestures down at Bendy's- problem.

The other smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. “Don't worry, you can just make it up to me later, blondie.” He assures with a wink.

Cuphead’s cheeks flush darkly and Bendy barks a laugh.

“My room, yeah? 10 pm?”

Cup huffs, though a small smile finds its way to his lips, “Sure, sharpshooter.” He mutters.

[marimayscarlett]

We're all so quick to reblog these posts about keeping fandom spaces alive, but look at the Rammstein fandom, look at it! 😭 It's getting quiet and nobody wants to admit it. 😓 Everyone is just quietly lurking or waiting for someone else to do something and it's heartbreaking!Same cycle, different fandom. 😣 We say we care, but we don't engage, we don't reblog, we don't hype each other up anymore! Some just resort to like posts as if they were on instagram! No reblogs! Some blogs that used to be so active just vanished! Where are they? 😭 We need to actually show up if we don't want this space to disappear like so many others! Thank god at least you and some other blogs still post content! 😭 I'm not aa creator, but I try to reblog everything with commentary, but it's getting increasingly frustrating because I'm screaming into the void😭😭😭

Hi 👋🏻

I guess this is in regards to this post.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts on this. I suppose it depends on how you look at the matter. Allow me to describe my impression:

I entered this fandom on here in 2015 and spent some time here. It was admittedly very lively, very open — lots of people reblogged things with their thoughts added in the caption (which admittedly isn’t as common anymore, at least from what I’ve noticed). There was a lot of joy and excitement when Rammstein in Amerika and Rammstein in Paris came to theatres.

And after I came back to Tumblr, I witnessed the same excitement for the tours in the last two years! Which isn’t surprising, considering the tons of new concert material we got in the form of official reels and pictures, as well as the vast amount of fan videos (which was absolutely not a given during the festival tours, mind you).

I’m not sure I share the view of the Rammstein fandom as stated in that ask, but I do understand the feeling of looking back wistfully and yearning for more excitement, joy, and togetherness. Surely, the activity on here isn’t as high as during the tours, but I think that’s only natural.

Let’s not forget that there are various reasons for reduced activity:

– No new material: no tour or other events this year, so there’s not much new apart from a few selfies of the band members. Reblogging and posting older content is always nice and plays into the bittersweet emotion of nostalgia, but even I can’t spend my whole day on it.

– Real life happens! Plus there are different focus points in life. The members of this fandom don’t only exist on this little platform. They have family, work, responsibilities, friends, worries, and things to deal with, as well as offline hobbies and other fandoms they’re part of — which is a good thing! There’s a risk of becoming too absorbed in one thing when there’s no variety. I can only speak for myself, but I also find joy outside of Rammstein in other areas of interest. Which is nice, life’s too short to miss out on all the fascinating topics this world has to offer.

– Other fan spaces: Instagram seems to have a considerably large Rammstein fandom, and there’s a fairly active (I think) Discord server for this fandom here as well. Some people just need a change of pace when it comes to platforms sometimes.

And yet — we’re still here. We have wonderful and incredibly skilled artists who spoil us with beautiful Rammstein art. We have very talented and creative fanfic authors among us who bring the band to life in various scenarios. We have diligent gif-makers who pick out funny and striking moments for us to stare at endlessly.

As someone without an ounce (!) of creativity in my body, I deeply appreciate all of them, as well as every single person in this fandom. Every like, reblog, and written thought — whether it’s opinions or thirst — contributes to keeping this fandom alive. 🤍

It’s always good to encourage more engagement — I totally get you! But I don’t think this fandom is in any danger of dying out anytime soon. At least from the blogs I interact with and based on my dash, there's quite a lot of activity happening. Maybe not as much as there used to; yet perhaps it will be more if we get new content ✨

[altruistic-meme]

oph, hey anxiety ✌️

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[thewingedwolf]

i gotta type out all my feelings in this show let’s get into it.

I think 1 and 3 were best served by the one shot gimmick (i mean gimmick affectionately). For episode one, forcing us to find out everything’s that happened from the father’s PoV was very good. Even though we follow different PoVs besides the dad, there’s still this withholding of information from the audience the way there’s withholding of evidence from the father. Forcing us to identify with Jamie, as the perpetrator, first. The third episode is especially good with this as well - now instead of from the PoV of someone who loves Jamie, without the knowledge of what he has done, we are looking at him from a completely detached PoV. The woman is unsettled by her interview with him, sure, but this is ultimately her job, one child in a long line of cases where she is reviewing whether someone is capable of standing trial. I think episode 2 is mostly okay although imo it drags a bit in some spots because of the one shot thing. Episode 4 imo really stumbles because its so tied to the family's PoV and never really allows itself to break away even for just a moment.

But getting back to what's done right, I also think there’s this element of like - look at how cruel this system is even when it’s being used in a compassionate way, in the correct way. Bascombe is kind to Jamie, understanding of his fear. And yet there’s this level of manipulation, of purposeful shock factor, in how the case is presented. There’s a level of massive dehumanization of the entire family - busting down the door, the whole “well EYE was never accused of a crime as a teenager which is why it’s okay for us to not properly comfort and talk you through us strip searching your child”, and of course the way the footage is purposefully presented at the very end, without them telling the lawyer or father what it is they’re getting into. "Well you know EYE was the one who told you to get a lawyer" okay, well, you're still clearly trying to set a trap in this conversation rather than simply presenting the facts as they are, purposefully attempting to rattle the father and lawyer - even talking down to the lawyer for being a little too energetic, as if this lawyer has any idea what's coming, which he doesn't because the police are purposefully allowed to conceal evidence to a certain point like this. Bascombe thinks he is the solution but he is very much part of the problem.

And this carries into episode 2 because Bascombe and Frank make this big to-do about how Katie is the real victim not Jamie, and they’re trying to get to the truth of the matter, and why is everyone being so hostile to them and why is everyone gossiping, and completely ignore the fact that THEY helped start this. Bascombe points out that the school is not a functional environment with all the screaming and bullying and lack of control but well, is that not exactly what he did by breaking down the door and bringing the entire neighborhood into this case? Could he not have found a quieter way of handling this arrest, a way that respected the privacy of Katie, her loved ones, and the details of the case? HE is directly culpable for the culture of violence, of shocking gossip, because of the nature of how arrests and police work yet he casts judgement on Jade, a scared and struggling young girl who has just had her entire support system ripped out from under her. No understanding, no kindness for this little girl, for a victim of this crime. Implying to her face that her friend brought on her death, however much he doesn't mean it in exactly the way Jade takes it.

And the worst part of that is that even at the end, he doesn’t get it. His son tried to tell him and he still puts the blame primarily on Katie. The son says this kid is part of a group of boys that view women as less than them. This kid made Katie feel like she was less than him, and she had the audacity to hit back and call a spade a spade (or an incel an incel). Everyone is playing dumb, but the reality is that Jamie had a noxious view of women and he didn’t get there alone. And what does Bascombe say? It’s bullying. She bullied him. It’s not to say Bascombe is a terrible man; like Jamie’s parents, he is certainly flawed but he's trying. He takes his son out to eat after a hard day. He listens when his son talks even if he doesn't understand. But he doesn't understand.

Where I think the show stumbles is episode 4. I think Katie herself should have been brought up again - maybe they run into Jade at the store. But whereas she is so present in the first three episodes even though we barely see her face, she is entirely gone from episode 4. No one is emphasizing to Jamie that no matter how good he thinks he is for not raping Katie's dead body, he still murdered her. No one is emphasizing that Jade has completely lost everything. No one is laying flowers at Katie's memorial. She's just gone. Maybe that's the point. But I think when the first three episodes do such a great job of emphasizing that she is the victim here, even as the adults around her look for a reason to blame her, episode four isn't even doing that. It's all about how hard this is for Jamie's family. Jamie killed her, and now she's not even a character in her own death.

[nezuscribe]

you try not to get jealous. it does you no good. but sometimes you get a little miffed when it comes to how women treat your husband, arranged!gojo.

you see how the women giggle at him, how they bite their lips whenever he walks by. you see them giggle to each other, the way they try to catch his attention.

and though most ladies of the high society act this way, some of the servants around the estate, the women of the town, and others behave like this too.

they act as if he’s not married, as if that ring on his hand is purely for decoration. and sure, maybe a couple months ago it was for show but now things have changed and you don’t appreciate those ladies all that much.

and gojo notices.

he knows you’re getting better at talking to him about what ails you, but he also knows that it’s a a lot to get used to at once. he sees the way you tense up at their whispers, the glares you throw their way when you hear his name in their conversation. he understands because he’s the same as you, his feelings mirroring yours.

so he decides to comfort your worries a bit indirectly.

“what…” you whip your head around as gojo stops at a random spot in one of the hallways, taking you away from your tea time with shoko as he fails to give any explanation for his hurried responses, “what are you doing? you have that meeting with your counsel and-”

“missed you,” is all he’s able to say as he slams his lips onto yours, earning a surprised yelp in response.

your back hits against the stone wall, one of his hands against your head to protect it from bumping back as your gasp in surprise, letting him slide his tongue in your mouth as he sloppily kisses your lips.

“satoru, w-wait,” you try to stop yourself from whining out loud, your fingers cuing into his artic strands as his hands move down to hold your waist, “it’s daytime, p-people, people can come…” you can’t speak anymore because he doesn’t let you, lips slotting against each others as your eyes screw shut, heartbeat in your throat as he hands squeeze as your skin.

“i missed you,” he just repeats, nipping slightly at your bottom lip as you mewl, feeling his lips trail down your chin to your throat as you tilt you head upwards to give him a better angle.

you almost want to laugh because it’s only been hours since you’ve seen each other, but for gojo it feels like days since he’s seen you.

you peek slightly too look at him, see the way his lips attack your skin, sucking and biting, surely leaving marks as he makes his way down. you love the way his hair is slightly wavy, most likely from his bath after sparring.

you’re almost too intoxicated from his feverish kisses to notice the sounds of incoming footsteps, but the loud overbearing giggles is what pulls you back to reality.

you tense up, scrambling to push him away from you but he won’t budge. if anything, he seems to be motivated, moving back up to your lips to steal your words away.

“t-there’s people coming!” you try to warn him but he doesn’t seem to care, his blue eyes gleaming with a different look as your whine from one of his hands moving upwards to your chest, giving one of your breasts a light squeeze.

“so?” he murmurs, lips hovering against the corners of yours as his brow cocks upwards.

you go to say something else but he tilts your chin upwards to meet him, one hand balancing on the wall behind you, one on your hip, his hair messy from your fingers gripping at him.

you don’t feel like moving, too drunk off of him to even notice the ladies as they round the corner, not looking their way as you hear their squeals of shock, the way they try to hurriedly leave.

you glance slightly to the right as gojo moves back down to your neck to get a look at them, your fingers still tangled in his hair, one hand draped over his neck, squinting slightly as you remember their faces from last week, when you overheard them talking about your husband.

there’s a slight tilt in your lips as you hear their scrambled apologies, the way they try to leave as fast as they can. you try not to gloat too much in their looks of envy and jealousy.

and if you focused just enough, you could feel the smile on his lips.

“you missed me?” you ask a little breathless, a coy tilt to your voice.

“so much,” he mumbles as he glances up at you from his white lashes, his pupils blown wide, lips messy with spit, red and swollen as he presses a slopping kiss to the slight skin showing of your chest.

“you’re so immature,” you chide, trying to look away, the hide the bashfulness in your face but his hand cups your jaw, pulling your face back down to see his.

“they had to see for themselves,” he tells you, his voice wavering on something darker, “had to see who the only lady gojo is.”

and you smile, eyes a little hazy as your fingers slightly tug on his soft strands, reveling in the way his eyes roll back and his lips find their way back up to yours.

yeah jealousy wasn’t the best. but thank the gods your husband was just as petty as you.

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.

tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !

satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.

you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.

your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.

‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’

it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.

satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.

he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.

“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.

you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.

“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.

you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.

. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.

he understands why you’re feeling that way.

the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.

perhaps they need to be reminded once more.

satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.

the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”

“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.

“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”

satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.

“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.

it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.

satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.

the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.

your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.

satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.

he wants to make it up to you, somehow.

once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.

satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.

that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.

“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.

“thank you.”

it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.

your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.

“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.

“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.

you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.

sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.

“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.

without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.

the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.

his want and need for you.

satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.

“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.

he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.

“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.

his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.

“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.

your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.

you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.

the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.

satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.

“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”

your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.

your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .

you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.

your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;

“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”

[anyonghalimaw]

i rlly do not think white global northerners understand how fucking bad the anti sinovac psyop was in context of the philippines and other targeted countries being from the global south, with a history of economic and military intervention and destabilization by the usa specifically.

i live in the philippines and sinovac was the only available vaccine for MONTHS of the pandemic. people were fucking dying and we had no pfizer, no j&j, no astrazeneca, no moderna. sinovac was the ONLY vaccine supply we had. and the supply wasnt even enough for even my small city. we do not have the infrastructure to manufacture our own vaccines and tests. we were entirely reliant on imports from other countries who Did have the capacity to manufacture such things

i got up early for several days straight to go to a pop up walk in vaccination site (were talking there by 7:30am) set up in a fucking public basketball court because it was the only way to get vaccinated, and 3 times i had to go back empty handed so to speak after exposing myself to this massive opportunity for transmission because they fucking ran out of shots and prioritized the elderly and disabled and i didnt have my legal pwd (person with disability) card yet. i had to go to a different barangay (local unit of government) to get my shot MONTHS LATER and only got mine because one of my family was in the local govt and reserved some shots for us.

many filipinos use facebook which is where some of the psyop was conducted because you can use it for free on your phone and it is often where news is disseminated. i know we have that joke about People Believing Anything They See On Facebook but i cannot stress enough that people here get local news from fb the same way you (used to) get news from twitter about shit like localized emergencies and whatnot.

because we are third world, you know that the state of our education system is nothing compared to the states. media and news literacy here is dangerously low and the population is sensitive to mis/disinformation, as can be seen during the 2022 presidential elections where the usa Also interfered lol. i cannot stress enough how much of the population was susceptible to this psyop, especially those in poverty who couldnt afford proper education. hell, even educated people fell for this shit. do you think jhunjhun who didnt finish grade 6 would be able to identify disguised foreign intervention that was in his own language?

we were already recovering from public scrutiny of a different vaccine, a dengue vaccine, which lowered public trust in inoculation. and then the usa goes and does THIS??? i cannot emphasize enough that they are directly responsible for the tens and thousands of unvaccinated covid deaths. they are responsible for my friends having to bury their unvaxxed parents and grandparents at the age of 19. they are responsible for mass death and disability.

but were just a country in the periphery. so who cares about us? our lives are worthless to the usa, which is why they admitted that they did this when they would otherwise "never" to their own population. third worlders arent real people to your government. we are merely statistics and a petri dish for experimentation. so who cares if we die? the real important thing isnt our lives, its that the usa has more control over us than china.

[tide-locked]

i feel like people forget that sometimes characters in fic are written like that because it's a reflection of real life.

people have sex without setting boundaries. people have unprotected sex without talking about their sexual histories or producing recent sti tests. people play with kink without discussing it ahead of time or establishing a safeword. they have anal without 'enough' prep or lube—they may even prefer it like that.

and none of this is really a fantasy. it's all pretty normal. you can feel that it's inappropriately normalised, and you'd probably be right! but it is normalised: one study found that 58% of female undergraduate students on the campus studied had been choked during sex. 20% of those students said that they'd never been asked if it was ok; another 30% said they'd only sometimes been asked if they consented. fully half! (non-paywalled journal article on choking during sex here, including these numbers.) despite a rise in stis of all sorts, condom use is declining. (pdf link to the full text of this study about declining condom use in the us; aidsmap article about an australian study with similar results.)

even when people do talk about things—sex or anything else—they communicate imperfectly. 'yeah, but don't go too far' is consenting and setting a boundary, and also relying that the person you're talking to has the same metric for 'too far' that you do. for some people, 'the trash needs to go out' is a neutral, factual observation; for others, it's a request that the person they're speaking to take out the trash.

even when people understand each other perfectly, people react unpredictably to things sometimes! we behave irrationally! people laugh uncontrollably at funerals, or get angry at the straw that broke their back rather than the enormous load they were already carrying. they get scared and lash out at people trying to help them. when hurt, most people do not instinctively reach for therapy-approved grounding exercises and 'i feel' statements.

pretty much any bad choice that characters could conceivably make is a choice that people make in real life, on purpose, all the time. people do things that can have catastrophic, life-changing effects because it felt like a good idea at the time, or they're leaning into the vibe, or they just didn't think about it all that much, or an infinite number of other reasons.

fiction isn't intended as a guide on the best, safest, and most responsible ways to live your life, and fanfic isn't any different. it's not a narrative flaw to let characters do things that are messy or harmful or downright stupid—it's a reflection of what people are actually like, and not something that authors should feel they have to apologise for.

[deadsetobsessions]

Can you do this fic prompt Danny stuck in justice league dimension, where he can hear and see ghosts in his seated form. A couple of persistent ghosts kept trying to bribe him to get adopted by a fruitloop.

Ghosts are Batman 's parents.

Of course! Sorry for the late response! I seriously never do anything timely.

————

“For the thousandth time, Lonnie, I can’t help you find your gun,” Danny muttered to the air. The people that passed him gave him funny looks but minded their own business. Crazy was crazy and as long as crazy didn’t mean Joker, they figured he was relatively safe to pass. Danny set a brisk pace towards his home, managing to suppress a wince every time a shade flew through one of the living. Honestly, Gotham ghosts— shades, really, since most of these only had enough echo to be visible to him—had no manners. He regrets every single day he’s in this hellscape, trapped with no way back home.

“You never do anything for me, man!” Lonnie complained. “How’m I supposed ta finish my business if you ain’t gonna help?”

“Lonnie, you want me to murder people. I’m not murdering people. I draw the line at making more ghosts, thanks.”

“Spoilsport.” With a pout and a twist of Gotham branded smog, Lonnie flickered out. Danny sighed in relief, hurrying back to his house. Apartment. Hovel, really. When he gets there, he’s hounded by two more ghosts, ones he’d rather not cuss out no matter how much he wanted to.

“Hi, Martha.” He exhaled, glitters of frost leaving his mouth as Danny subconsciously put a little too much ghost in his greeting.

“Danny! Don’t go in, sweetheart. Someone broke into your…” her face flickered with a frown. “Living area…?”

“Thank you for letting me know, ma’am.”

“Oh, dearie, you can just call me grandma!”

“You’re too young to be called grandma, Martha.” He deflected, peering into the dirt clouded window.

“Come now, sport!” Danny jolted as Thomas sparked into existence beside him. “You wouldn’t have to worry about this if you’d just go visit our son!”

“That’s right. Brucie will take one look at you and adopt you on the spot,” Martha said proudly. “I’ll let you know where we kept our magical tomes if you go.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. Your son is, pardon my language, a complete fruitloop. I bet he has a secret basement to do shady stuff like Vlad did, complete with a portal, like a supervillain.”

There was nothing the couple could say to that, as their son did have a secret basement where he did do a bunch of shady stuff. Plus, he does have that portal to the Justice League. Still, it wasn’t their secret to spill. The dead speaks no secrets, after all, even if everyone else failed to get the memo.

“Well, what are you going to do about this intruder then, chum?” Thomas asked, crossing his arms and creasing his bloodstained suit. “You know, if you get adopted by our son, you’ll have access to even better things than this thief is trying to steal. Don’t you want it? Delicious food? Or, we could even do you favors! Anything for our grandson, right, dear?”

Martha leaned in eagerly. “Give him the old one, two! He looks like he has breakable knees, little dove. Bruce could show you how to throw a punch! He’s seen a fight or two in his day.”

“Yeah, or I can just do this,” Danny went ghost, muting the flash of light from his transformation and fading to invisibility and intangibility. He’s not one to overshadow people, but he’s tired and this guy’s looking for treasure in a pigpen.

Danny dumps him three blocks from his house and flies back to flip on his floor mattress. “Gonna take nap. Shhh.”

He paused. “And for the record, I know how to throw a punch, thanks.”

——

“Mom? Dad?” Bruce’s voice echoed in the empty manor hallways. It was a dream; he knew because he was eight again, dressed in the same outfit he wore the day his parents died. He moves his body as he wants to, a trick he learned from a Tibetan monk who could dream walk.

“Brucie!” His dad appeared, lifting him up and cheering. Bruce allows himself to wallow in the memory of the last happy moments he had with his parents.

“Dad!”

“Thomas, set Brucie down.” Mom scolded, walking up and clipping her pearls onto her neck.

“Momma!” Bruce wiggled so that his dad set him down. He hugged her, enjoying the imagery even if he couldn’t feel her. Now… the next few words should be her ushering them to get into the car.

“Bruce, we have something we want to talk to you about.”

Bruce stiffens in shock. What?

“That’s right sport. We were thinking we could have another grandson!” Dad floated to her, placing a hand on mom’s shoulder.

“There’s this boy, on the West End, his name is Danny Nightingale.” Mom informed him.

“But momma, I’m a kid!”

“Are you?” His dad asks, smile creasing into those memorable dimples.

“To us, perhaps. You’ll always be our child, no matter how old you grow to be.” Mom caresses his face, Bruce suddenly sprouting to be taller than her, older. He’s older than they’ll ever be again. “But to him, you’re not, Bruce. Truthfully we didn’t want to resort to this…”

“But he’s stubborn. He needs family, sweetie.” His father clapped his shoulders. “Go get us another grandkid, son.”

Bruce Wayne bolts upright, waking from his dream with a gasp.

Two moments later, and he sits in front of the BatComputer, street cam footage of one Danny Nightingale pulled up.

[heartswithinreach]

your post about sylus essentially conditioning the reader to sit on his lap hasjsakddf that was so perfect and in character 😭 i love it sm its given me so much brain rot - how bout this:

can i request the lads boys reaction to the reader randomly asking to be carried/picked up in the middle of walking? for no other reason just to see how'd they react lol

LaDS casually carrying MC

Xavier

The most casual. He just smiles at you and asks, "Bridal or piggyback?" in the same tone as if he's asking what you want to eat.

And he's not just playing along. He means it. He wants to be the one you lean on — metaphorically and literally.

You can try and backtrack but then you'll get those eyes. The bluest puppy dog eyes that can break the strongest of wills. "Are you sure? We still have a few blocks to go to the café, I don’t want you to get tired..."

You feel like you're holding out on him by not letting him carry you. The mind tricks this man is capable of to get what he wants are ridiculous.

You fold embarrassingly fast and Xavier is happy as can be with you on his back, your arms and legs around him like a full-body embrace. He can see the tactical advantage to carrying you like this during missions, too.

Rafayel

"You want me to carry you?“ Rafayel scoffs. “What if I pulled a muscle in my arm and couldn't draw for a week? No thank you!"

He refuses until you ask if it's not that he doesn't want to carry you, but that he can't.

Now you've wounded his pride. He might not be the God of the Sea anymore, but he can't let this go unanswered! Rafayel will be on you relentlessly to let him pick you up, no matter how long it takes.

"Whoa, be careful, cutie! There's no telling how deep these puddles are from all the rain — you're super lucky your boyfriend is here to carry you to safety."

When you finally break and let him do it just so he can prove a point, he realizes he likes this way more than he thought he would. You're like his adorable little prisoner and the only way you're getting out is in praise and smooches. This will become a regular thing, I fear.

Zayne

“I told you to wear more comfortable shoes.”

Zayne inwardly grins at how quickly you deflate at his blunt response. It's adorable.

But Zayne has a hard time denying you something so innocent as wanting to be close to him. So he guides your arm to wrap around his shoulders and picks you up with a strength that always takes you by surprise.

He waits for you to settle comfortably in his arms before he starts walking. He's aware of the disapproving stares from the people around you and not too long ago, he would've been one of them. How quickly his perspective has changed because of you.

Zayne is brought out of his thoughts when he feels you peck his cheek and now you get that oh so familiar look of gentle reproach from him. "I am working on being more affectionate but I'm not there yet, MC. Now, behave or your ride will end early."

Sylus

Sylus is so caught off guard that, for once, you can see his entire thought process play out through his expressions.

Surprise at your request, suspicion you're just toying with him, the realization you're being somewhat serious, and then the most gratified look you've ever seen on his stupid smug face.

Now you’re speaking his language. So delighted you’re finally catching on, he just picks you up and continues on his way without breaking his stride.

However, you didn't specify how he should carry you. So you're draped over Sylus's shoulder and to keep you there, his hand is dangerously high up on your thigh for being in public. The smack on your ass is so inevitable, you can feel it like it's already happened.

"You just said you were tired, now you want me to put you down? You need to learn to make up your mind, kitten. I'll just carry you until you're sure of what you want."

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[usedpidemo]

Taste (Newjeans/Njz Minji & Danielle)

9k words

—————

No matter how you look at it, one thing is for certain: you’re absolutely screwed.

Aside from having two uninvited guests at your front door this late in the evening, those very same people are, in the company’s words, marked persona non grata. They’re everywhere. They’re a byword. They’re beyond saving. It’s a public relations nightmare for anyone caught in their crossfire. At least that’s what the agency wants you to believe. 

All the less reason to trust their intuition when they’re this damn pretty. It’s a convincing guise. Furthermore, you have common ground to stand on: that this is merely a job, that you’re only there for the pay, and nothing else.

So now:

“How’d you end up getting my address?” you ask the girls, knowing full well you never interact with your coworkers, let alone the idols in the building.

“We—” Danielle rolls her eyes in the direction of her partner, Minji, prolonging the word. Smiling, playful, searching for a compelling reason in real time—and failing. “We have our ways.”

Suspicious. This whole situation raises many red flags. But one look at both of them. Drop dead gorgeous. You wouldn’t be surprised if they came here straight after one of their photoshoots, and their makeup gives off a strong indication. If not for your job, you’d let them in, no questions asked. But you’re a bit numb to it—just a little—if not for the fact that you see them at work everyday.

“Can we please come in?” Minji implores you, sounding innocent in contrast to the flirty Danielle. You hardly need any further convincing. 

“Sure.” 

Without a second thought, you let them walk through the door, and it’s only after they’re inside that you realize: you’re making a huge mistake.

But in the heat of the moment, you reason to yourself that it's a rare occasion; it’s not often you hang out with fellow coworkers after hours, and you’re really stretching that coworker label. Finding excuses to let them in your place.

Minji and Danielle take their seats on the living room couch without even asking, but you allow them. Meanwhile, you’re rushing to the fridge, trying to make do with your leftovers of takeout and canned food you have lying around. 

“Don’t worry about us. We’re not hungry,” Minji shouts from the living room, but her plea goes through deaf ears. 

“Yeah, we don’t really eat much,” Danielle adds, but it hardly changes anything.

Even from the kitchen, you can hear them mumble in the background, mostly incomprehensible to your ears, even while you’re preoccupied with heating the food in the microwave. Taking a few glances from a distance every now and then, still pretty from afar. Thankfully, they’re busy with each other to catch you snooping. You never expected this. These same idols that appear untouchable and have their own private rooms in the building, that never really take a second glance at everyone else—casually hanging out at your place.

To keep your mind from spinning further away from the consequences, you let the food out as soon the microwave’s timer hits zero. You’re hoping this is a quick and casual visit, but based on what you know so far, with the company’s situation in mind, you sense that they’re here for a specific purpose—and it’s certainly not to make friends.

As you offer the reheated food before them, Minji smiles at you, raising her hand. “We already ate,” she says, smiling respectfully, “But thank you.”

You set it down on the table regardless, knowing they won’t take a bite anyway. It’s the thought that counts.

Taking the couch opposite them, a brief silence fills the room, the tension gradually brewing as neither party is willing to break the silence. Until—

“So,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs, feeling a lump in your throat, unable to follow through, but you muster up the resolve to speak: “What are you here for?”

The two girls pause, ruminate on their response, on their intent, trying to find a way to sound convincing. You see the pair exchanging brief glances at each other, with Danielle looking more anxious and deferring to Minji to be their mouthpiece. As much as you want to threaten them, you can’t—not when they look like that. A perfect blend of gorgeous and innocent.

So you’ll let them be. Give them all the time in the world if needed. You’re not their corporate overlord, after all. If anything, you’re in the same position as them somewhat, a slave to the system on the outside looking in.

Eventually, Minji opens her mouth. Swallows her throat, pulls on the collar of her shirt. Talking slowly, ensuring every word is emphasized, she says, “I know this might be hard for you to do, since it’s your job and all, but—”

She suddenly second guesses herself, her gaze heading in the direction of the table, unable to face you. Danielle’s been looking at her, and you can tell the exact moment her confidence drops through her body language. 

“But?” you say, tone low, in an effort to keep them at ease. Probably not the best sounding or worded, but it’s already done. You already know what she means—hell, you had a slight clue that they wouldn’t be here without cause—but you just need them to say it outright.

“We need sensitive information from HYBE’s documents to get us further in the public’s good graces,” Minji forces herself to speak, trembling, “You know about our situation right? You know how much that company hates us—how they want us to take it, and then they’ll shelf us.”

“Yeah. I mean—you’re no different than us, right?” Danielle tries to empathize, finally turning her eyes on you, twinkling, pretty, “You probably hate this company, too.” 

And to be fair, Danielle’s right: you hate HYBE with a burning passion, even when you’re in charge of cleaning all their dirty work. But the NewJeans predicament has turned that hatred up to eleven. There are even days where your overtime extends till the dawn trying to save this company’s ass from themselves and from public scrutiny. It’s a thankless job. You’re fed up, and the only thing keeping you from leaving is how the market everywhere else sucks.

So you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Help them at the expense of your job, career and future, or refuse, and possibly get caught in the fire when they continue their tirade against the company. Worst case scenario, they win, and HYBE goes under, and you’re left with nothing. Essentially, you’re delaying the inevitable. 

Either way, you’re screwed.

And then, you bring up an overlooked point: 

“But this is my livelihood,” you tell them, blunt, direct to the point. As much as you’re willing to take that risk, you are also aware of the consequences, and everything else at stake. At the end of the day, you’re still an average joe living off the bare minimum to survive, but Minji and Danielle are millionaires with brand deals, hit songs, and coming from wealthy backgrounds. Most idols in the industry are like that. Their reputation may take a hit, but not their wallets—something you simply can’t endure. “You will be fine regardless, but what’s in it for me? I get nothing from helping you guys.”

Your response leaves them dead silent. You can sense the realization falling on their faces, and the air of defeat in their body language. Unable to look you in the eyes, the two women sit on the couch, every breath deep. Even from across the table, you can feel the weight put on their shoulders. The despair.

If this is their way to draw sympathy, it’s working to an extent. You do feel bad for them. But you’re looking out for yourself, first and foremost.

“We know how that feels, and we’re sorry for asking a lot from you,” Danielle finally speaks, breaking their silence, before pouring herself a glass of water and taking a sip. “But you have to understand, we also need work too. They won’t let us. So we need not only the public’s favor, but also incriminating evidence of workplace malice to force their hand.”

It’s not a convincing enough argument.

“Think of it,” adds Danielle, leaning forward, “You’re not only gonna help us, but also anyone in the future who ends up in this situation too. We can fight against the system.”

And you’re certainly not the hero type.

“Dani, I’m sorry, but I can’t help.” you say, rising from the couch and picking up the food. As you walk back to the kitchen, you add, “My job is far too important to let go that easily. If there’s any other way, I can offer my help, but not at the risk of my livelihood.”

“I know, I know, but we really really need it,” Danielle continues to implore you, persistent and unwilling to accept any other answer than a ‘yes.’ Minji sits beside her, quiet, deep in thought. You’d assume that being the eldest, she’d put a stop to her member’s antics, but no. She’s convinced that there’s no finality in your answer, that you can change your mind with enough begging and pleading. “Please. You help us this one time, we never ask for anything from you ever again.”

She goes on to list a few of the incentives they’ll give, ranging from signed albums and merchandise to free concert tickets which you have no interest in. Add in a positive word to her mentor, but you know damn well that even without this mess, she’s not to be trusted with. You’re struggling, yes, but not desperate.

“Maybe for a few million, I could do it,” you joke, knowing it’s too much, even for them. It’s the greed they mention and condemn in the Bible. Obviously, they don’t react positively to your counter offer.

“Please. Reduce that to a hundred thousand, and maybe we’ll consider it,” Dani remarks, huge emphasis on maybe, and it elicits a light chuckle out of you.

“Like I said, it’s gonna take a lot for me to risk my job. I also understand you’re also trying to work freely, and I hope you can win your case, but I can’t freely give up my only source of income like that.”

“Right, right.”

You can tell they don’t want to be told the same thing over and over. But here they are, repeatedly begging as if they didn’t hear a single thing you said. What else did they expect?

Danielle then looks to her partner, hoping to get something out of her after exerting this much effort to no avail. And then:

“Hey Minji,” she calls to her, before curling her hand in front of her lips, whispering into her ear. By the way her brows rise, a fresh idea has struck her head like lightning. Minji looks at her, not buying it, but as she rattles on, you see her turn more and more convinced at the notion.

Perhaps it’s the fatigue beginning to settle in, but you seemingly catch a quirk and a subtle grin on both women’s lips. 

What they’re up to—it’s no good.

“We’re asking: please help us,” Minji appeals to you one more time. “A few hundred thousand you want, right? We’ll each give you a couple so it adds up to a million. All five of us. So you can help your family out and you have bail in case you ever get caught and arrested.”

“Thoughtful offer, but I’ve made up my mind a long time ago,” you tell her, having convinced yourself the deal has fallen through. “It’s getting late,” you say, turning your gaze to the wall clock, approaching midnight. “It’s been nice having you, but I’ll see you guys at work tomorrow and then we can talk about it.”

As you’re about to show them the door, Danielle calls to you, drawing back your attention. “Wait.”

You face them to see Minji taking off her denim jacket, leaving only her cropped shirt and pants, giving you a clearer view at her toned belly. Danielle’s not far off too, wearing a similar fit as Minji, all the way down to the blue jeans, the key difference being her tight, body fitting shirt, emphasizing her chest. 

Yeah, they clearly went here fresh off a photoshoot, makeup and all.

“What are you doing?” you ask as Minji tosses her jacket onto the couch.

“We seriously need your help, and we’ll do whatever it takes to get you to help us,” is Danielle’s reply, sultry with a hint of venom laced somewhere. The two women step forward, positioning themselves into a makeshift trap. Of course you’re frozen in place, unable to move as they corner you, seize you with their hands, their gaze traveling up and down your figure. “Don’t you think we look pretty?”

The twosome stroke everywhere—at your hair, at your skin, at your clothes, poking into your most carnal desires. It’s one thing to see beautiful girls like them at your workplace on a daily basis, but up close and like this—their beauty hits harder. Their hands reach down to your pants, squeezing on your balls, forcing a deep grunt from your lips.

“Jesus, fuck—” you moan, tilting your head up, the sensation overwhelming. “Not like this. I can’t.”

Yanking down your pajamas, Minji and Danielle take turns stroking your cock through your boxers. Back and forth, with their hand around wrapping the tent forming in your bulge, both women shooting a passionate gaze through your soul. 

Your fight is completely nonexistent.

“Good enough to convince you now?” Danielle says, her breath hot against your skin. 

You regain enough lucidity to glare back through the pressure, rasping, “I still need the money though.”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, the two girls release their grip on you, promptly taking a step back, leaving you gasping for air.

“Only after you give us what we want,” Minji demands, crossing her arms, shooting you a confident smirk.

“And what makes you think I’ll do that?” you reply, unconvinced that they will fulfill their end of this bargain.

Minji eyes you, as if expecting that very response, and wiggles her hips like she’s on stage, slowly pulling off her jeans, teasing the slightest hint of underwear before stopping.

“Nice try, but I need your word,” you remark, tilting your head, playfully pouting your lips. “I need to know that you’re not pulling on my leg. That you’ll give everything you promise.”

“Such as?” Danielle asks.

“Your pussy. And the money. I better check my account and see a million there tomorrow.”

“Don’t we look trustworthy enough?” she remarks, feeling slighted at your lack of faith. 

“Maybe. For all I know, you just want to run up your pockets with the company’s money,” you tell them, shrugging your shoulders. “And who knows what else that devil is telling you. You seriously don’t need her to be successful. Anyone ever told you that?”

“I’d tell you that you’re out here asking for money like a broke bitch, but hey—since we need your help, I’ll let that slide,” Danielle replies, her grin shifting to more of a scowl. “But because you asked, here.” 

She whips out her phone and taps rapidly on the screen before showing you. A transfer of $200,000 from her bank account to yours.

“Trustworthy enough?”

You merely nod in agreement. You’re getting somewhere.

Grinning, she approaches you, her eyes wide open, demanding once more, “Now give us the data.”

Not flinching, you quickly retaliate. “You’re still missing one thing.”

“Only after you give us the data.”

“Only after you give me the honor of fucking you both.”

“Please stop.” Minji steps between you two, her glare pointed at Danielle, taking the role of mediator. “We’ll send the rest tomorrow, so don’t worry. And we know you’ll give us the data after.”

“At least someone gets it,” you remark, smug. This is all new to you. 

“Don’t act like we wanted this.” Now it’s Minji’s turn to act condescending, redirecting her gaze in your direction. “You know very well this wasn’t our first plan—or second–or third.”

“I know.” Your hands are already pushing down on your pajamas, leaving only your boxers and the evident bulge behind it, suffocating, desperate to be freed. 

—————

“Show us your bedroom,” is their command, straight and to the point. A request you’ll never decline, not in any universe. By the time you lead the two girls there, all their clothes are on the floor, making a trail of their tracks. They don’t give you the opportunity to watch them undress, and to be fair, it’s completely all on you—so focused on the future, that you never look at what’s right ahead.

Nevertheless, even under a dimly lit room, you mark their svelte figures, their fine, tangible curves. Divinely made, as if they were created by the gods themselves.

“God,” you comment, eyes wide, in awe of their bodies, your mouth watering, starstruck. Any compliment, no matter how small, serves to stroke their ego. It’s all over their lips—their taunting, playful smirks. Minji’s sweet bearing can’t hide that. The need for praise and attention never grows repetitive. Like they were born for it.

“If you’re gonna stare there and just watch,” teases Danielle, as both girls walk past you and toward the bed, continuing to goad you. “We wouldn’t mind that.”

Your brain hard resets itself, and you eventually catch on. Turning around, Minji and Danielle are standing on opposite ends of your bed, examining, testing to see if it can shoulder the weight of you three together. At least that’s what you think.

“So—not even gonna finish the job, huh?” you say, referring to your boxers and the way they handled your balls a while back. 

“Wasn’t part of the agreement,” is her reply, direct, laughing. “Could have said: ‘I want your pussy, your mouth, and the money,’ but it seems like you need the money more than anything.”

And God damn it, they got you. Again.

“But since I’m in a giving mood today,” Danielle continues, sauntering toward you, slow, seductive, flattering, until her breath is hot against your skin once more. You feel it again: the measure of her hand on your balls, the grip of her fingers piercing through the thin fabric, tight and suffocating. Turning her gaze to Minji, gesturing with her eyes to follow.

The sensation renders you helpless, but that’s only Danielle. Add in Minji’s fingers, the tug of those damned briefs down your legs, leaving you at your barest—and sure enough, you’re drowning. So hot to the touch, so overwhelming to the senses, like you’re breathing in nothing but nitrogen. Tilting your head up, moaning like that’s the only thing you can do—and that’s exactly it: you can only voice out your pleasure through this madness.

“Feels good, right? Never had girls do this to you before?” Danielle never lets up, continues her assault on your senses and your life like it’s a form of personal revenge. You’re too preoccupied with their touch to catch their satisfied expressions, only in brief, flashing blurs. You don’t even acknowledge how they’ve added a few kisses here and there on your collarbones and shoulders, all while taking turns to fondle your balls and stroke your cock. 

As if you weren’t already in the gutter, it gets worse. 

Dropping to their knees, their lips kiss the tip of your cock, and Christ. It demands your entire resolve not to come undone right then and there. You’re biting on your lower lip, sighing deeply and holding your breath, doing everything in your power to not buckle underneath all the pressure building and building. All it takes is a little spark to create fire. There’s no stopping it; you can only hope to contain it for as long as humanly possible. 

And that’s just the initial contact.

A brief glance at what’s beneath and behold: it’s imagery straight out of your deepest fantasies. There’s no other way to spin it; it’s pornographic. Minji and Danielle down on their knees, taking opposite ends before your cock, their fingers wrapped around your base and on your balls, with your hands gripped on their scalp, on their long, dark locks. Soft hums and little kiss sounds coming from below fill the room and satisfy your ears. The control is nonexistent; in reality, it’s them who are having their way with you, setting pace, constantly putting you on the backfoot with little resistance on your end.

And to be quite honest, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

They know what makes you tick. What gets you to fold. What pushes you to give out. 

Bobbing their heads back and forth, kissing up your length, slowly but surely covering your cock in their spit, determined to make you crumble. Demanding your attention, demanding your all. They have you exactly where they want.

“Yes, God, fuck yes—fuck—so fucking good—” you sputter, hanging your jaw wide, your vision dulling, utterly in awe at how natural they both are at giving head. Like this is far from their first go-around, like this is routine. It helps that their lips are shaped in a manner meant to fit cock. 

Like they’re meant for you.

Their breath lingers on your skin, sends shivers down your spine. A hint of satisfaction at hearing you moan and give them their due praise. 

Slurping deliciously on your shaft, Danielle pushes herself ahead of Minji, her nose brushing against your groin, taking you deep into her throat. She gags—chokes—on your cock; a little too much too soon. Her partner slowly draws her back, but Danielle slaps her hand away, refusing to quit like it’s a vice, like she can’t live without it.

Sucking, licking, tasting every inch of your cock, leaving you short of breath. 

It was never a surprise that Danielle was the needy one. Even before tonight, she looked natural for the part.

Eventually, she does concede and pulls out regretfully, equally as overwhelmed as you are. Spit fills the sides of her lips, dashed with your precum. Minji looks at her with disgust; this wasn’t part of the plan.

The mischievous girl she is, Danielle taunts her with a wordless gesture before giving way, implying that she’s better at giving head, inciting a little competition.

Shaking her head as she inches toward your cock, Minji takes some time to apologize: “Sorry about Dani. She can be—a little too much. Even for us.”

To say Danielle is a little too much would be underselling it—she’s the devil incarnate.

But back to the matter at hand. Minji is much more gentle at taking you in. Still that’s a hilariously low bar, because she, too, can’t help but shove your cock deep in her throat after a little taste. 

And your perception of Minji gets flipped on its head. She grabs your thighs like she were to fall if she lets go. You can see the effort; her suction is stronger, her cheeks are hollowing out, and the determination on her brows. She’s taken Danielle’s challenge personally. At this point, the original goal has been completely lost in the shuffle.

Minji meets your eyes while your cock is comfortably lodged deep down her throat. Humming a saccharine melody, mouthing incomprehensible jargon, seeking your approval. 

By the glint in her eyes—she won’t take no for an answer.

All you can do is endure, hold on a few minutes longer, perhaps more—mind, body, and spirit willing. You’re dangerously close to falling apart. Her mouth is an inescapable prison; torturing your senses with unbelievable amounts of ecstasy. You can only wonder how you’re still standing after this much pleasure in the form of sensory punishment. 

She’s daring you to say the magic words. You can’t take it any longer.

So you yield.

“Gonna cum, gonna fucking cum—” Before the pleasure becomes overwhelming to form coherent speech.

In response, Minji graciously pulls out, but not without inflicting a little more torment. She releases her grip on your cock with a satisfying, neuron activating pop from her now stained lips. Still, you have no time to catch your breath as they’re back onto you as quickly as they retreat, their fingers coiling around your base, stroking you hard and fast over the edge without restraint.

“Cum for us,” you hear their demand, their shaky breaths making your cock throb beyond control. “Cum all over our faces.”

And who wouldn’t? 

You’re thrusting wildly at air, having quietly accepted the inevitable. There’s relief in knowing how fucked you are regardless. It makes letting go all the easier. 

Body trembling, legs wobbling, stomach churning. Cumming.

Spilling into the void, your eyes completely slammed shut, unable to bear the pleasure any longer. 

Minji and Danielle are waiting at the other side. Taking every pulse, streak, rope of your cum with their greedy mouths wide open, tongues sticking out. You’re doing exactly what they want, using their faces as a canvas, making them an outlet for your lust. The gushing sensation burns every fiber in your loins, breaking you down until you’re milked completely dry.

The aftershocks linger long after.

When you regain a semblance of clarity, you’re greeted by a pair of mischievous and triumphant smiles. Minji and Danielle are presenting your own handiwork: their faces completely covered in your cum, dripping down their lips and chin. Tongues swiping their wet lips clean, happily drinking you all up. 

The image is permanently seared into your memory. You can never look at them the same way after this.

And they stay there, grinning from ear to ear. On the floor, letting you soak it all in. How you’ve ruined their faces and reputation. How you’ll eventually ruin yours. Behind the friendly facade, they’re no better than anyone else—willing to throw everything on the line for even a slight competitive advantage. 

You can’t get over the fact that you’ve committed what’s essentially sacrilege. Never mind their current predicament; this can be its own scandal.

Before you can fully make sense of everything, the pair break their silence. Their eyes linger on yours. One after the other:

“You taste so good.”

It doesn’t sound playful or teasing in any way. It’s a sincere compliment, and that’s what makes your heart flutter.

And then your body gives out. Instinctively falls back onto the edge of the mattress. Laying down comes second nature. It had been a long day, and Minji and Danielle more than left you completely spent. Any other circumstance, it would be easy to call it a night.

But there’s still work left to do, and the girls will make you hear it.

“Hey, you’re not done, are you?” Minji’s already on her feet, hitting your ribs, keeping you from falling unconscious. “You still owe us your end of our deal.”

Looking at her through lidded eyes, your response comes out slurred, as though you came home hammered after five drinks. Only one word is clear: “—Laptop.”

Minji hears you, tells Danielle to search for your laptop before returning her attention. “Where?”

“Living room. At my desk.”

Minji straddles herself on your lap as she gives Danielle the command. You’re preoccupied by the lovely sight hovering atop you to notice the loud yelp that rips throughout the apartment, followed by a choir of apologies from a whiny, low voice. You can only hope that your neighbors don’t knock; you can only deal with two uninvited visitors at this time.

“Sorry. I—I tripped over a loose wire and almost landed on the TV. Oops.” Danielle returns to the bedroom with your laptop in hand, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Lean back,” is Minji’s command, and you effortlessly comply. Even with her ass resting on your lap, she’s as light as a feather, letting you wiggle back onto the headrest with little difficulty. 

Danielle joins you two in bed, resting the laptop on your bare chest. Then Minji clambers over to the side opposite her member, lifting the screen. “We did our part. Now do yours.”

You give Minji a tired, thousand-yard stare. As if telling her, ‘Really?’ after what transpired moments ago. She reciprocates the sentiment. No words necessary.

In a few ways, she reminds you of your boss. Only she’s way younger, hotter, and kinder sounding. 

With a deep sigh, you fire up the laptop as the members lean over to make sure you follow through. A few clicks here, a password there, entered one letter at a time, and you’re inside the classified data storage like they wanted. Thousands upon thousands of sensitive folders, files, and documents—they have no idea where to start.

“All of them. Send all of those,” Danielle demands, in a rush.

Pausing, you give Dani a frustrated glare, also telling her ‘Really?’ with your raised eyebrows.

“We don’t need all of that, Dani.” Minji’s eyes laser in on a specific file reading Competition. Pointing at it, she says, “Send this one. That one looks interesting.”

Even though you’re responsible for data security, you are as clueless to everything as the idols are. You don’t even have access to the executive floor where all the corporate shit is involved, nor do you have entry to where the idols stay. Your job is to keep data stored and hidden from the public, no questions asked. But you click anyway, following along without hesitation, ignoring the possible consequences.

It’s far too late to renege.

“Can’t believe I’m willingly doing this shit for the devil,” you comment, knowing where this information will eventually end up. It’s akin to selling your soul. You’re starting to regret everything.

Minji has a suggestion. “How about you send it to our emails instead?”

“Still gonna end up with her. I’ll just drop it anonymously on the internet. I don’t care anymore.”

So you log in to your private job forum account on a site where frustrated workers can vent frustrations about their companies. There had been a fair share of ex-employees airing out their grievances against the agency, most of which are buried by obvious bots and snitches. 

There’s no burying what’s gonna come out now.

Typing up a simple paragraph, attaching the entire folder full of documents, carrying all sorts of information about who knows what. 

With a deep breath, you hit Post, and may God have mercy on your soul.

You close the laptop, but Pandora’s box has been opened.

Now it’s all on them.

The reward is worth the trouble, at least at the moment. Minji and Danielle each plant a peck on your respective cheek for doing the deed. Smiling after the kiss, gently caressing your hair, mumbling: “Thank you. Really.”

You merely shrug, as if you’ve set off a devastating bomb with world-shattering consequences.

Danielle removes the laptop off your chest, setting it aside by your bedside shelf. “So, what now? Which one of us do you wanna take first?”

And perhaps you need it—need the adrenaline of Minji and Danielle getting fucked, ruined to bits. Something to clear your mind from what’s to come.

In the midst of the anxious calm, Danielle finds new ways to break tension. Her stomach rumbles loud enough to draw everyone’s attention. Minji laughs—heartily.

It’s enough to get a light chuckle out of you too. Their charm comes off as natural.

“Scratch that. Minji, you go on ahead,” she quips, before rolling out of bed and limping straight to the kitchen for a bite.

Never mind that she didn’t ask you about what’s available, or that you’ve even allowed her to take from the fridge, or that the food you offered them has gone cold.

“You heard her,” Minji says, pressing her hands on your chest, rolling herself back, your cock inches away from her ass. “Sit back and relax. Don’t have to do anything.”

Slowly but surely, Minji adjusts, demanding your attention stay on her face. Her glow, her beauty is undeniable. It’s in the little things. The light brush of her hair. The tiny scratches she’s leaving on your skin. The small, gentle air kisses. The anticipation gradually builds as you feel your cock hardening once more. Perfectly devised, all done purposefully to keep you on edge.

“Gonna let you in me now,” she murmurs, descending onto your shaft, the pressure of her fingers deepening on your skin, keeping her eyes on you. Your breath hitches, like time has come to a complete standstill, the suspense at its apex, and then—

“Oh fuck!”

The words may be delivered light and airy, but they rip through your ears like thunder. Burying herself to the hilt, Minji crumbles almost instantly, body fidgeting uncontrollably. Her jaw slacks wide, eyes slam shut, her mind overridden with the sensation of your cock deep in her pussy. 

On your end, you let out a deep groan, the only feeling registering in your mind being: Wet. Minji’s so goddamn wet.

“So big—so fucking big—” Minji whines, choked up, her fingers pressing deep into your skin like she’s trying to tear you to shreds. Unable to move, it’s evident that she’s still new to this, new to the feeling of your cock.

It’s not intentional, but her face is melding into something pornographic. Such a sweet and pure looking girl, fragile and delicate to the touch, shattering to pieces.

Her pussy is anything but pure.

“Christ—Minji—so fucking—” you mutter, gasping for breath as your hands claim rest on her waist. The last word in your sentence finds itself stuck on the edge of your tongue, but your little resolve lets it fight its way through: “Tight.”

That one word seems to light a fire in Minji’s soul, because she begins to move. Dragging her hips upward, the suffocating pull of your cock unwilling to let go of her cunt, the musical squelch. Your shaft reappears for a moment, covered in her slick, coated in her nectar, before it falls back into its rightful place inside her. She crashes onto you again, and the sensation hits as hard as the first time.

Minji drops her head low. Lets out a grunt. A single thrust and she’s already fighting for dear life. Her features are morphing erratically, all muddled and incapable of remaining still. Her abs tense, that already lean figure shrinking more than physically possible, but she’s not done. Gritting her teeth, your cock sends her head in a tailspin, driving her crazy.

“Have I ever told you how fucking big your cock is?” she asks, like it didn’t register in your brain the first time. Hearing it from her saccharine voice never grows tiresome. 

“Nope. Not at all,” you joke, which she spurns with a shake of her head.

“God, it feels so fucking right,” she remarks, and you share the sentiment. Like you’re meant for each other.

Perfectly positioned and angled inside Minji’s cunt, you’re more than happy to sit there and stay in her warmth all night long. Let her figure her way out. Instead, you guide her through, giving her torrid, deep strokes. Hands roam the curves of her svelte figure, admiring her at her most vulnerable. Even when she looks fucked like this, she’s still flawless.

Though her breaths are shaky, Minji gathers her bearings and paces along. Slow and steady, her hips rising and falling onto you like waves, sending ripples through your body below. Everything is falling into place. It’s euphoric. She’s got her head held high; you’re holding her like she’s your grandest prize.

Composed, calm, certain—Minji follows the beat of your drum. It’s finally sinking in. How truly sweet it feels.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Spearing, thrusting into her, your bodies crashing into each other, filling your ears with a chorus of dry, airy moans, backed with the wet sounds of skin against skin. Your breaths hitching, bouncing around the bedroom, spilling out into the rest of the apartment. At this moment, it’s only you and Minji, making the most of what little time you have left.

Minji bounces on you. Tits, ass, her body naturally falling into your grasp. As quickly as she recaptures it, her composure is falling apart. You have a hand on her cheek, squeezing yourself a handful of flesh before giving it a playful slap. She yelps, but she pushes on. Demands you keep going. That you use every inch of her.

“Harder—harder—harder—”

An easy command that’s easier to follow. 

You oblige, being given the green light to Minji’s shapely ass. Back and forth, giving each cheek a vicious barrage of spanks till her skin is marked red with your handprints. Her voice goes hoarse with every whine, every mewl, every moan. Asking for more punishment, because she knows she can take it all. Body clenching, her pussy fucked beyond repair.

Gasping, trembling, her pace has spiralled out of control, riding you in fast intervals, giving you no room to breathe.

“Cum for me,” she rasps, hips gyrating quickly, her nails leaving deeper scratches on your flesh, drawing a dash of blood. “Cum in me, please.”

“You first,” is your counter, knowing you have each other’s bodies read like a book. You’re reaching your breaking point a second time. “Cum all over this cock.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” A simple chant, but the most satisfying one to hear. You’ve never heard her this excited, this eager, that her body naturally follows. “God—I’m gonna fucking cum so hard—”

Pushing deep into her, exerting more effort than she’d led you to believe. Your bodies working together to reach that climax. Her wispy moans turning to shouts, cries of overwhelming pleasure, refusing to dash the brakes, willing to run herself into the ground to chase that conceivable high. 

It rips through her body. Breaks her clean in half.

Her head rolled back, locked in place. Your hands gripped on her waist once more, keeping her steady. Still delivering punishing strokes as Minji cums over your cock. Burning through your nerves, dragging you down with her.

You repay the favor, joining her in blissful climax moments later. Unloading into her cunt as it pulses, milks you dry again, resting your head on the headrest. Squeezing into her creamy flesh, letting Minji fall into your arms. Like it was destiny, your lips catch hers in a deep, passionate kiss.

You feel her. The aftershocks of her orgasm. Her body giving out this time, her hands clutching into an embrace, her breath against your skin. Still embedded inside her, even as the fire dies down, taking it slow, unwilling to leave the warmth of her core. Leaking onto your sheets, leaving a permanent stain on your bed.

“Minji,” you gently shake, keeping her awake. She laughs into your chest. 

Staring at you with glossy, half-lidded eyes, her words reduced to a silent whisper. A fitting tone. “Still have Dani to go,” she reminds, more of a warning than a cause for celebration. Thankfully, she hasn’t reemerged from the kitchen.

“Right.”

“Need any advice on how to handle her?” she asks, like you’re about to tame a wild beast. You can only imagine how wild Danielle is.

Your hand traces circles on her back, fondles vast waves of raven silk. “Every little tip counts.”

 “Just—” Minji lifts her head softly, breathing into your neck. “Fuck her like an animal. Make her scream. That’ll shut her up.”

Considering the damage Minji did to you—and she’s the gentler one—Danielle might be on a whole other level.

And speak of the devil: Danielle’s voice fills the room, boisterous and whimsy. In the time when you and Minji were fucking each other’s brains out, she regained the pep in her step—and her attitude.

“You two were fucking like animals,” she remarks, flopping onto the bed, smiling from ear to ear. As if she had overheard everything, and to be fair—you might have caused a ruckus worthy of a noise complaint. “Got me thinking, ‘Damn.’ I should have stayed put. Got me wet imagining what you were doing.”

Not a single mention of what she’s eaten from your fridge or the thought of compensation.

“My turn, girl.” Danielle gestures to her exhausted companion, her patience instantly flipping like a light switch. She gives her only one warning before forcefully pushing her to the side, taking her place on your lap. “What did Minji do, hm? Rode you? Used you like a bar of soap?

She takes a look at the stain between her legs, the sticky puddle around your groin. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.

“Can’t blame her. Always loves to flaunt that ass of hers.” 

There’s a tinge of jealousy in Danielle’s tone, uncaring that she can still hear her clearly.

“But since she let you sit back and do nothing, I’m gonna make you work for it now.”

Danielle spins around, presenting her petite ass and soaked, throbbing pussy for you in clear view. She’s on her fours, thrusting, pushing forward, pretending to fuck herself on your cock, causing the bed to shake.

Giving you a preview of how exactly to ruin her.

If you weren’t still completely spent from Minji, your feral impulses would demand that you rush in and lay your hands on her tight figure.

But no—even the simple act of leaning forward proves to be an immense struggle. You’re still reeling, slowly recovering from all the aftershocks. Two vicious orgasms haven’t been kind to your body in any form whatsoever.

Looking over her shoulder, hair falling directly right in her face, Danielle taunts you. “Can’t handle it, babe? Such a damn shame. I was looking forward to having that big cock of yours fill my pussy up.”

Like a corpse rising from the grave, your hand suddenly grabs her ass, catching her completely unprepared. Her mouth drops wide, playful and animated, as if it were part of the act. It’s what Danielle’s best at: pushing your buttons, setting you off, bringing out your worst.

“Did I say something to wake you up, tough guy?” Danielle continues to run her tongue, daring you to stop holding back. A little more and it’s not gonna end well for her. “Is it the fact that you can’t handle this pussy?”

Right then and there, a vicious slap echoes through the room, followed by an equally loud cry. Her cheek turning sore and bright red in an instant.

You and Danielle stare directly into each other’s eyes, caught up in the heat of the moment. Time comes to a complete standstill.

And then, she starts laughing. Uncontrollably.

Shaking her head in disbelief, brimming with delight. “I knew you had it in you.” 

Her erratic change in attitude leaves you baffled. Trying to make sense of her right now won’t do you any good, nor is it worth exerting any level of effort. All you can do is watch and expect the unexpected.

“Slow learner, huh?” Danielle says, as if that’s gonna help you understand even a little. “If I hadn’t made it any more obvious, I want you to fuck me. Use me. Run me to the ground. Fuck me till I can’t walk.”

Of course you knew what she meant all along. Minji warned you beforehand. It’s just that you’re a simpler guy. She wants you to wreck her—that’s easier to follow than this roundabout nonsense.

That being said, she’s wiggling her ass before you, your hand spreading her core a tad wider. Her smaller hole and cunt glisten, gleam in the dark full of sheen. “I did you the service of lubing myself while you were busy.”

All the more to keep you from struggling. She may be a loud mouth, but she can be sensible and considerate.

Danielle’s gaze lingers, anticipating your response. There’s a little pressure to follow through and deliver on her wants. Your cock is starting to harden, ready for another round. 

But you’re not there just yet.

Instead, you plant your other hand over her scalp, face her away, disgusted by her bratty face while you work. Your lower body has regained enough strength for you to climb behind her, inching close to her ear.

And with four simple words, each and every one delivered with dire importance, Danielle’s world is absolutely rocked.

“My bedroom, my rules.”

Instinctively, Danielle moans. She trembles, straightening her back as you line up your hand to give her a second smack on her sore cheek, filling the room with her cry. Minji joins you from behind, positioned over your ear to guide you through the pleasure and the process, when really, she’s only there to watch you humble her fellow member.

And you don’t give it to Danielle right away; she’s undeserving of the immediate reward. 

Diving head first into her slick core, your tongue straightens her cunt, laps up her nectar, making her quiver.

“Ah—oh my fuck—”

Sloppy and straightforward, you slip your tongue into the crevice of her heat, kissing her pretty pussy, leaving Danielle a moaning mess. She’s gushing—mewling—about the discomfort, the pain, the pleasure you’re imposing on her, leaving her wanting more.

Minji calls it while you’re buried in her member’s cunt, flexing and pulsing against your tongue. Draining every little drop you can from her throbbing core. Danielle can only brace for comfort, if there’s even any, gripped to the sheets, in dire need for cock, fiending like it were a vice.

You continue to bring the pressure. Your hands coiling around her thighs, spreading them ever so wide, addicted to the taste of slick, filling your dry mouth like it were water in the desert. She’s panting, desperately seeking oxygen, losing her mind, her vision. She can only pray that the teasing will end.

Unfortunately for her, you’re not a merciful god.

Without care or concern, you stick your tongue deep into her cunt, mark her pussy like she’s yours, suck up all the cum you can take without remorse or consequence. It fucks up Danielle like crazy. A second or two longer and she would have shattered into a million pieces. If she crashes and burns before you give her what she wants, then so be it.

Once you’ve had your share of her slick, you pull back—but not without giving yourself one more sampling. The music Danielle makes from her lips is something else. A mix of moans and obscenities in every tone imaginable.

You have to remind yourself that your tongue isn’t the end goal; your load is. Yet you can’t help but slide a finger to grab another helping. This is the greed they condemn in the Bible.

Offering your soiled digit to Minji, she politely declines with a shake of her head, whispering that she has it on the regular. Some people are just insanely blessed.

But back to Danielle, she’s trembling all over, on the verge of collapsing onto the sheets. She’s under the impression that she can’t give in without your permission, and good on her for recognizing your authority over her.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” you tell her, stroking your cock inches away from her glistening cunt, rubbing your tip against her inner thigh, not giving her a second to relax. “You’re gonna regret saying all that shit to me when we’re done.”

Danielle’s already apologizing, frantically shaking her head, expecting the worst. 

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” she begs, like that’s gonna change the past, or the outcome. It’s too late for that.

You push your hips forward, and God—you swear your ears are gonna burst from Danielle’s endless groan. 

Thanks to how soaked her core is, even before your tongue, you effortlessly glide into her cunt and impale her to the womb. Breathless, asphyxiating, overwhelming. You feel every bit of her pulsing against your cock. The grip proves to be too much. Hands around her airtight waist, your abs tensing as you take her from behind in a picture perfect moment.

And you stay there, let the sensation wash over, give it time to fully register. To keep your head sane, your fingers trail to her taut, sensitive nipples, giving them a flick and a pinch, playing a cruel game with her patience.

“Oh my God—” Danielle whines, lowering her head, just bearing the full brunt of your weight pressing over her. To her credit, she’s holding up well. “Give it to me—fuck that big fucking cock into me already—”

The more she begs, the less you’re willing to comply. Languid, painstakingly slow, agonizing. That’s how you draw your cock back, even with the smooth glide of her warmth, like you’re removing a stake from her heart, leaving her to die before you thrust right back in.

You can’t help but crack a smile, taking grip of her hair, turning it into a makeshift leash to angle her head. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Dani,” you mumble against her ear, your hot breath driving her wild. 

Before she can say a word, you deny her the respite, fucking her to pieces, reducing the helpless woman to a heap of tears, moans, and curses.

Pounding into her cunt, letting your bodies do all the talking. There’s hardly a need to speak. The room fills with the sound of skin slapping skin, Danielle’s tireless, lewd sounds, and your groans. The bed quaking along with your pace adds to the immersion. You’re willing to end the world just to break Dani in half.

Again and again, continuing to fan the flames, your breaths matching your thrusts. Losing yourself in the madness of Danielle’s tight, suffocating cunt. She’s encouraging you to keep going. Minji joins too. Echoing, reinforcing all these twisted ideas in your head. Don’t fucking stop. As if you had any intention to quit. When you have a pussy this fucking good, this thoroughly stretched out—

You can’t get enough.

But even your body has limits. You can only hang on for so long. It’s beyond your control now; you’ll eventually be consumed by the very fire you started. Trapped between her legs, it’s heaven and hell all at once. 

“Dani—I’m almost there—”

You’re throwing it out there to the wind, expecting a playful response, a desperate demand, a call to action. Instead, you’re met with the usual: her airy moans. She’s completely lost in her own bliss, shaking, bouncing with every thrust, unable to register a single word, only cock. 

It’s a strange yet beautiful sight; Danielle as your personal cocksleeve, freely used as an outlet for your pleasure.

With your brain turning to mindless mush, her pussy milks your cock for your worth. Draining every last drop, blasting specks and eventually blanks into her tight hole till it’s gushing from her cunt. Slick mixed with her juices, spilling down her legs and onto sheets, beyond the point of repair.  

No time to let the satisfaction sink in. Pleasure turns to relief almost immediately. There’s no celebration nor comfort. You’re hanging on by a thread. Sinking back onto the headrest, your vision blurring, the image of Danielle’s pussy throbbing—leaking—as her body crouches down in a pool of your cum, still on her fours. From screaming her heart out, being an insufferable brat, reduced to an absolute, irredeemable mess.

Minji crawls over to Danielle, slowly guides her beside you, reassuring her that you’ve fucked her senseless. It’s the understatement of the century.

“Stay here,” you tell Minji, using the dying sliver of energy you have left as your world gradually fades to black. Leaving her with a soft smile, you lay down and finally call it a night.

The last thing you feel is the wrap of an arm over your chest. Then another. And finally, a faint whisper, followed a soft peck:

“Goodnight, sweet prince.”

—————

Unsurprisingly, when you wake up, there’s not a trace of them to be found in the morning. 

Check your clock and you’re already 30 minutes behind. Sun’s already bright and overhead, so you rush through your morning routine to be at work like normal. When you get there, you’re already an hour and a half late. You can blame the morning traffic for that. But tardiness is the least of your concerns.

Overnight, the company is scrambling—even more than normal. A look at the TV screens and it’s oh so easy to figure why. It’s all over the news and social media: a high data security breach seemingly exposing the company’s media manipulation, countless backhanded statements and remarks about rival companies and various idol name drops. So much negative press that has led to calls about a deep investigation into the entire operation. 

You can only wonder as to how this all happened.

And then you see them. All five together, including the same two girls you fucked the night before. 

As they step into one of the lifts with their staff, Minji and Danielle are the last to enter, catching you even from a distance with a smile and playful wink before they disappear from view. 

Before you can even react, your attention is drawn by a much less welcoming presence. A harsh voice calls your name as she walks past you and towards the elevators, carrying with her a reminder of the consequences:

“Come see me in my office. Let’s talk about the data breach.”

Time to put those newly acquired million dollars to good use.

————— (A/N: Thank you for the commission! Always wanted to write NewJeans/NJZ again, especially Minji, but never had an idea. Excited for their redebut, here's praying everything works out for them. Thank you for reading!)

[phoenixrisingastro]

Astro Observations IV: Forbidden Truths & Sinful Secrets

1. Mars in Scorpio people don’t fck, they possess. They don’t chase, they lurk. You won’t even know they want you until they’re inches away from your soul, whispering your own secrets back to you.*

2. Venus in Capricorn doesn’t fall in love; they build empires of desire. If they choose you, it’s because you fit into their long-term vision—your love is a contract, and breaking it means war.

3. Moon square Pluto people don’t cry in front of you. They suffer in silence, alone, in the dark, and when they come back? They make sure you never see the body they had to bury to survive.

4. Neptune in the 1st house people don’t walk—they float. They’re untouchable, ethereal, but also impossible to fully know. You’ll fall in love with them and never realize it was just a mirage.

5. Mercury in Aries people will start a fight just to see you react. If your words don’t have a pulse, they get bored. If your mind isn’t sharp, they move on. They want lovers who can keep up, or they’ll leave you in the dust.

6. The 8th house stellium gaze? It’s hypnotic, seductive, and unreadable. They could be planning your demise or memorizing every detail of your soul. Either way, they’ll make sure you never forget them.

7. Jupiter in the 8th house people don’t just attract money—they manifest wealth through the power of the unseen. When they align with their shadow, they unlock a financial glow-up no one saw coming.

8. People with Pluto in the 7th house don’t fall in love—they get entangled. Their lovers either break them or make them invincible. There’s no in-between.

9. Sun square Moon people feel like they were born into a life that doesn’t fit them. Their head and heart are constantly at war, and relationships feel like learning how to love through conflict.

10. Lilith in the 10th house women are sex symbols even if they don’t try to be. They can be wearing sweatpants, no makeup, and people still assume they’re dangerous. And they are.

11. If you’ve ever been with someone whose Mars squares your Venus, you know the feeling of wanting someone so bad it physically hurts. The attraction is undeniable, but so is the destruction.

12. The 12th house Moon is haunted. They carry emotions that don’t belong to them—ancestral grief, past-life wounds, the collective’s sadness. They feel everything, and yet, they always seem just out of reach.

13. A North Node-South Node synastry connection? It feels like coming home and being exiled at the same time. You recognize them, but you also know you can’t stay.

14. Saturn in the 5th house people don’t get to experience carefree love. Their heart has been weighed down by karma, responsibility, and self-doubt. They don’t trust joy—but when they finally do, it’s unshakable.

15. Venus-Pluto aspects in synastry are karmic handcuffs. You’re drawn in, trapped in the intensity, and even when you walk away, you can still feel their fingerprints on your soul.

16. Mercury in Scorpio people don’t just speak—they infiltrate your mind. You could tell them a lie, and they’ll just stare at you, waiting for you to crumble under their silence.

17. People with their Sun in the 8th house don’t age—they evolve. Every few years, they shed their skin and become unrecognizable, leaving behind a version of themselves that no longer exists.

18. *Uranus in the 7th house? Relationships never go as planned. They fall in love with people they never expected, experience breakups that come out of nowhere, and learn that love is only real when it’s free. *

19. Mars in Leo lovers don’t beg for attention—they demand it. And if you don’t give them the passion they crave, they’ll find someone else who will.

20. Neptune square Venus people always see lovers for who they could be, rather than who they are. They ignore the red flags, rewrite the truth, and wonder why their love stories always end in disillusionment.

21. Moon in Aquarius people love like a midnight breeze—detached, refreshing, but always just out of reach. You can hold them, but you can’t own them.

22. If you have your Midheaven in Scorpio, your rise to success is slow, secretive, and unstoppable. You transform your image like a phoenix, and by the time people notice, it’s too late—you’ve already won.

23. Chiron in the 1st house people were born with wounds that aren’t theirs. They grow up feeling like they have to prove their worth, and only after years of struggle do they realize they were whole all along.

24. People with Mars in the 4th house either had to fight for their safety as children or learned how to build emotional walls so high that no one could ever hurt them again.

25. Sun conjunct Pluto people can’t be ignored. You either love them, fear them, or want to be them. There’s no middle ground.

26. Jupiter in Aries people make their own luck. They don’t wait for doors to open—they kick them down and walk through like they own the place.

27. The 6th house ruler in the 8th house? Work and death are somehow intertwined. Maybe they work in psychology, healing, or dealing with taboo topics. Maybe they’re just always on the edge of transformation.

28. People with Mars in the 12th house are warriors in the shadows. They don’t fight in the open—they strategize, plot, and strike when you least expect it.

29. A Venus square Saturn woman has a heart made of glass covered in barbed wire. She loves deeply, but only lets a select few inside. If you break her trust, you’re dead to her forever.

30. If you’ve ever been obsessed with someone and couldn’t explain why, check your Pluto synastry. The planet of control and destruction doesn’t just connect people—it binds them.

**Thanks for all the love on my posts! Will keep them coming everyday.