#seriously I get the knee jerk reaction

[meatballlady]

Every single fic after s1: "and then they went to Crowley's flat, and they confessed their eternal love, and they stared deeply into each other's eyes..."

Me, not realizing how bad it could be: "yeah, okay, love it, but some variety would be nice - "

Every fic after s2: "And then Aziraphale got to Heaven and immediately realized that he was a fucking idiot and wanted to turn around and grovel on his knees before Crowley but he couldn't because it was all a trap. Meanwhile, on earth, Crowley has been drinking for 84 years ... "

Me: *incoherent screaming*

[zoe-oneesama]

Have you seen that leak of the new season yet? I just saw and it’s the new girl talking about something that marinette did and it was horrible

I haven't, but I've seen jacquesthepigeon's responses to people bringing it to them and can only have this^ reaction.

[mekatrio]

losing my mind are u telling me a large reason why ppl dislike aa4 is bc they dont like the fact tht phoenix got disbarred omfg..... do you hate drama. tension. seeing a deeper inversion of a compelling character. Hello

[kaurwreck]

I feel compelled to confess that another reason i have a strong reaction to settler western narratives and dust bowl romanticism is because, as a child, i was hopelessly addicted to stallion: spirit of the cimarron.

whether my beloved children's animated horse movie is a motivating factor or the but-for causation of my agitation, I'll let you decide.

Can I ask why you hate Steinbeck? I didn't really like his work either, but it also didn't really inspire any strong emotion in me, so I'm curious about the loathing. Love your analyses and have a nice day!

This was a very lovely message. I'm glad you enjoy my analyses and thank you for the kind words. I'm heinously sleep deprived, but I can't settle because I'm frothing at the mouth over Steinbeck and the Dust Bowl, so maybe providing some context will mollify my seven demons enough to let me rest.

But, I'm drained, so rather than provide any meaningful analysis, I'm going to offer a very brief, broadstrokes, abridged timeline of the Dust Bowl, with emphasis on its historical context, most of which will be haphazardly plucked from myriad sources, which I'll link.

It doesn't capture all, if much of any, of my feelings on the matter, but certainly, it's a snapshot of the bitterest bits.

In 1540, Francisco Vasquez de Coronado of Spain became the first European to venture into the Great Plains. He and his expedition were searching for the mythical golden city of Quivira. Instead, they found Kansas.

From 1804-1806, Lewis and Clarke go on an 8,000-mile hike to the Pacific Northwest, harbingering calamity.

The United States of America, drunk on white supremacy, gold in California, religious fervor, and the glut of the Louisiana Purchase, decided it had a divine right to expand westward across North America. In manifesting its destiny, the US leveraged unconscionabile treaties and laws like the Indian Appropriations Act of 1851 (along with guns, starvation, and illness) to force many Native Americans to reservations in the West.

From the mid 1850s to the mid 1860s, the West and Plains were struck by a severe drought. This really fucked up the bison, who died in vast numbers.

The Homestead Act of 1862 accelerated the settlement of the western territory by granting land claims in thirty states for a dirt cheap filing fee, five years of sustained residency (after which they could file to recieve proof of ownership), and on the condition that settlers "improve their plot by cultivating the land." These areas were the traditional or treaty lands of many Native American tribes.

Most of those who purchased land under the first Homestead Act were not farmers or laborers and came from areas nearby (Iowans moved to Nebraska, Minnesotans to South Dakota, etc). The act was framed so ambiguously that it seemed to invite fraud, and early modifications by Congress only compounded the problem. Most of the land went to speculators, cattle owners, miners, loggers, and railroads.

Many homesteaders believed that all native peoples were nomads and that only those who owned land would use it efficiently. Few native tribes were truly nomadic. Most nomadic tribes had certain locations they would travel to throughout the year. Other tribes had permanent villages and raised crops. As more settlers arrived, Native Americans were driven farther from their homelands or crowded onto reservations.

Influxes of settlers brought marked changes to the region: bison numbers decreased, fences were erected, domesticated animals increased, water was redirected, non-native crops were planted, unsustainable farming methods increased, and native plants diversity dwindled.

[In 1866, by the way, Congress enacted the Southern Homestead Act to allow poor tenant farmers and sharecroppers in the South to become landowners during Reconstruction. Poor farmers and sharecroppers made up the majority of the Southern population, so the act sold land at a lowered price to decrease poverty among the working class. It was not successful; even the lowered prices and fees were often too expensive. Also, the land made available was mostly undeveloped forestry.]

The late 1870s brought more drought in the Plains. Locusts, which were common to the Plains prior to their sudden extinction, thrived in the drought, ate everything in their path, and ruined crops. The 1875 swarm is estimated to have involved 3.5 trillion insects and covered an area of the West equivalent to the entire area of the mid-Atlantic states and New England. These were the worst swarms during the period of European settlement.

In 1875, Congress passed the Indian Homestead Act to give Native family heads the opportunity to purchase homesteads from unclaimed public lands. This was under the condition that the family head relinquished their tribal identity and relations and, again, "improved" the land. The US government did not issue fee waivers, so many poor non-reservation Natives were unable to pay filing fees to claim homesteads. Those who could pay had difficulty accessing the land because of border disputes due to distance and discord between the US Land Office and the Bureau of Indian Affairs. This made white settlements easier to finalize into land ownership.

For the most part, the 1870s drought was followed by a period of wetter than usual conditions that encouraged widespread belief that 'rain follows the plow'. As in, settlers convinced themselves and each other that by cultivating the land using dryfarming crops that needed more water than the Plains could sustainably provide, they could alter its climate, and rains would come.

In 1886, a severe winter killed vast numbers of cattle. This was shortly followed by another severe drought that went on until 1896.

In 1887, Senator Henry Dawes of Massachusetts decided that Native Americans would prosper if they owned family farms, and his Dawes Act carved reservations into 160-acre allotments. This allowed the federal government to break up tribal lands further. Only those families who accepted an allotment of land could become US citizens. Much of the land subject to the Dawes Act was unsuitable for farming, and large tracts of the allotments were leased to non-Native farmers and ranchers.

After Native American families claimed their allotments, the remaining tribal lands were declared “surplus.” The remaining land was given to non-Native Americans. Land runs allowed the land to be opened to homesteaders on a first-arrival basis.

Unable to catch a hint, the 1880s was a feverish period of settler migration to the West, boosted by both the railroad companies and state and federal governments promising land to those who'd settle it, seemingly without regard for the land's actual carrying capacity.

By the late 1880s, the bison population was thoroughly decimated, meaning the threat of starvation for Native Americans was constant, forcing dependence on the US government and its paltry settlements. Railways, rifles, and an international market for bison hides led to “the Great Slaughter” from about 1820 to 1880, and the bison population plummeted from 30-60 million (estimates vary) to fewer than 1,000 animals. Other factors that contributed to the near-end of the bison: the US military’s directive to destroy bison as a way to control the Native Americans, the introduction of diseases from cattle, drought, and competition from domestic livestock (horses, cattle, sheep).

By the 1890s, drought made clear that the methods of 'dryfarming' used for non-irrigated cultivation of crops, never based on sound science, were wholly inadequate for settling the arid regions of the West. The drought also ended the idea that sturdy settlers, working alone, could manage; the amount of land needed to support even a family was much larger than specified in the Homestead Act but, more crticially, also larger than a family working alone could irrigate. Notably, the 1890s drought was not very dusty, as the Plains were still grassy.

The 1890s drought is partly responsible for the beginning of federally-driven irrigated agriculture with the Reclamation Act of 1902. The act provided for irrigation projects known "reclamation" projects — because irrigation would "reclaim" arid lands for human use. (Unrelatedly, evidence suggests that Native Americans and their precursors may have been in the Plains for at least 38,000 years.)

Theoretically, under the Reclamation Act, the federal government would provide inexpensive water for which farmers would pay, and such payments would then finance the construction of the water projects. The projects' immense construction costs soon proved the premise unrealistic. For example, earlier self-supporting projects created by local initiatives had cost less than twenty dollars an acre. The federal reclamation projects, by contrast, cost an average of eighty-five dollars an acre. Thus, the farmers' share of the federal expenses proved too great a sum for their repayment.

The farmers couldn't pay for their self-sustaining irrigation projects, but Congress extended the repayment periods and continued its irrigation projects. (When repayments still weren't coming in by 1910, Congress advanced $20 million from general treasury funds).

By 1909, most of the prime land in the valleys along the West's rivers had been homesteaded, so to allow dryfarming, which again, the last drought made clear was ill-suited for the arid climate, Congress increased the number of acres for homesteads willing to cultivate lands which could not be easily irrigated. There was a wet period, so the soil was fertile, and settlers, who were still immigrating to the Plains in droves, understood that to mean they were right, rain followed the plow, so they plowed the shit out of it.

In the 1910s, the price of wheat rose, and then, with the onset of the Great War, so did demand for wheat in Europe. So, the settlers plowed up millions of acres of native grassland to plant wheat, corn, and other row crops—still on marginal lands that could not be easily irrigated, even with Congress's pretty dams in every river.

In the 1920s, the war had ended, so the demand for American wheat dropped, and the post-Great War recession sank prices. But, it was also the dawn of tractors and farming mechanization, so settlers went in together on machines they couldn't afford to produce wheat fewer people wanted on land too submarginal to sustain it, and tore that grass up with the wild abandon (like, literally, they abandoned soil conservation practices) of transplants who didn't know anything about the grasslands they were ecologically devastating.

Grasslands, by the way, are fertile because when grasses die, their roots die too, and then their roots decay and fertilize the topsoil into rich earth, which nourishes the other grasses—a self sustaining cycle of life and death. Grasses also have extensive root systems that bind soil particles together, improving soil structure and preventing erosion. Soil erosion occurs when soil is exposed to the impact of wind and water, detaching and transporting soil particles, eventually deteriorating the soil's fertility. Soil erosion can also become dangerous when soil is swept downstream and becomes heavy layers of sediment that disrupt water flow and suffocate aquatic flora or when tossed by the wind so that suspended particles cloud the air, eyes, and lungs.

The Great Plains is the windiest region in North America, namedly because of the airstreams coming down from the Rockies to the West, the shifting pattern of the jet stream in upper levels of the atmosphere, and the fronts of warmer, moist air masses moving in from the Gulf of Mexico to the southeast entangling with the cooler, drier air moving southward from Canada and the Arctic.

Between 1925 and 1930, settlers plowed more than 5 million acres of previously unfarmed land, stripping the soil of its native grasses to expand their fields.

In 1929, overspeculation, excessive bank loans, agricultural overproduction, and panic selling (among other things) caused the US stock market to have a kitten hissy fit, kickstarting the Great Depression.

In 1930, the first of four major drought episodes began in the Plains.

In 1931, despite the lower demand, the settlers leveraged mechanized farming to produce a record crop. This flooded the market with wheat that no one could afford to buy. So, settlers couldn't make back their production costs, so they expanded their fields to try and produce more to make a profit, planting wheat or leaving unused soil bare.

The unanchored soil that was once rich, biological earth became friable, and was swept by high winds into apocalyptic dust storms.

In 1932, the US authorized federal aid to the drought-affected states, and the first funds marked specifically for drought relief were released in the fall of 1933.

[In 1933, Congress created the Tennessee River Valley (TVA). The TVA, under the banner of a sweeping mandate from Congress to promote the "economic and social wellbeing" of the people living in the river basin, decided that too many Southerners were living on the land. From 1933 to 1945, TVA sought to solve the South's economic problems by seizing 1.3 million acres from Southerners and displacing an estimated 82,000 people, many of them illiterate and impoverished, from their homes in order to build 16 hydroelectric dams. They flooded valleys where people once lived.]

[In 1938, President Roosevelt addressed the Conference on the Economic Conditions of the South: "No purpose is closer to my heart at this moment than that which caused me to call you to Washington. That purpose is to obtain a statement—or, perhaps, I should say a re-statement as of today—of the economic conditions of the South, a picture of the South in relation to the rest of the country, in order that we may do something about it: in order that we may not only carry forward the work that has been begun toward the rehabilitation of the South, but that the program of such work may be expanded in the directions that this new presentation will indicate."]

By 1940, 2.5 million people had moved out of the Plains states; of those, 200,000 moved to California. They were not met warmly, and their lives in California were as difficult as the ones they'd left in the Plains, with approximately 40% of migrant farmers winding up in San Joaquin Valley, picking grapes and cotten.

[The Dust Bowl migrant farmers took up the work of Mexican migrant workers, 120,000 of whom were deported from San Jaoquin Valley during the Mexican Repatriation — which refers to the repatriation, deportation, and expulsion of Mexicans and Mexican Americans from the United States during the Great Depression between 1929 and 1939. Estimates of how many were repatriated, deported, or expelled range from 300,000 to 2 million (of which 40–60% were citizens of the United States, overwhelmingly children).]

John Steinbeck published The Grapes of Wrath in 1939, in which he invokes the harshness of the Great Depression and arouses sympathy for the struggles of [some] migrant farm workers. He's praised as having "masterfully depicted the struggle to retain dignity and to preserve the family in the face of disaster, adversity, and vast, impersonal commercial influences." He based the novel on his visits to the migrant camps and tent cities of the workers, seeing firsthand the horrible living conditions of migrant families—

[—and, quite possibly, Sanora Babb's Whose Names Are Unknown, which was written in the 1930s but not published until 2004, since Random House cancelled its publication after The Grapes of Wrath was released in 1939. Babb had moved to California in 1929 to take a job at the Los Angeles Times. When she arrived, the stock market had crashed, the Great Depression had begun, and the promised job dried up. A migrant without a home, she slept in a city park before leaving for Oklahoma in the mid-1930s, where she witnessed the terrible poverty gripping her native state. Eventually, she returned to California to work for the FSA, serving migrant families stranded without a home or a job, just as she had been years earlier. In contrast, John Steinbeck gained much of his understanding of Great Depression conditions in Oklahoma second hand, through reading reports by federal aid workers like Babb and Collins and from his experience delivering food and aid to California migrants from the Southern Plains. The two novels share strikingly similar imagery, so if you enjoyed The Grapes of Wrath, you'll likely also enjoy Whose Names Are Unknown.]

The Grapes of Wrath won the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize for fiction, and it was cited prominently when Steinbeck was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962.

[Steinbeck scholar David M. Wrobel wrote that "the John Steinbeck/Sanora Babb story sounds like a classic smash-and-grab: celebrated California author steals the material of unknown Oklahoma writer, resulting in his financial success and her failure to get her work published...Steinbeck absorbed field information from many sources, primarily Tom Collins and Eric H. Thomsen, regional director of the federal migrant camp program in California, who accompanied Steinbeck on missions of mercy...if Steinbeck read Babb’s extensive notes as carefully as he did the reports of Collins, he would certainly have found them useful. His interaction with Collins and Thomsen — and their influence on the writing of The Grapes of Wrath — is documented because Steinbeck acknowledged both. Sanora Babb went unmentioned."]

Writer Timothy Egan calls the Dust Bowl, "a classic tale of human beings pushing too hard against nature, and nature pushing back."

[To justify itself to Congress and the American public, TVA painted a dim picture of the farms it was going to flood and residents of the South. In films, books, and speeches, TVA pointed to poor farming practices and erosion as the chief culprits in the region’s poverty. Poverty and environmental problems in the South had more to do with lumber and mining industries, which extracted natural resources before abandoning the mountains. But TVA depicted the valleys as “wasted land, wasted people,” as if Southern farmers themselves were to blame.]

When Eleanor Roosevelt visited California in 1940 and saw squatter camps and the model government camps and was asked by a reporter if The Grapes of Wrath was exaggerated, she answered unequivocally, “I never have thought The Grapes of Wrath was exaggerated.” Steinbeck wrote to thank her for remarks: “I have been called a liar so constantly that sometimes I wonder whether I may not have dreamed the things I saw and heard in the period of my research.”

[With a budget in the tens of millions of dollars, TVA devoted just $8,000 and 13 staffers to resettlement efforts. Almost as many tenants as landowners were evicted by TVA, and for this class of “adversely affected” farmers, the agency assumed even less obligation. “It is the very necessity of the tenants having to go which will make them find their own solution to their difficulties,” wrote one TVA staff member.]

Anyway, no, I don't like Steinbeck, and I don't enjoy reading about the Dust Bowl.

[Damning the Valley by Wayne Moore, America's Forgotten History Of Mexican-American 'Repatriation' an interview with Francisco Balderrama]

[markleessodalite]

NCT Dream reaction to you being jealous

Headcannon: how would dream react to you being jealous? & would it result in an argument (in other words just blabbing about how i think they would handle a conflict when their partner gets a little too territorial)

Content warnings: none that i can think of! :)

Word count: 821

Mark:

I feel like Mark wouldn't find it amusing if his partner was the jealous type.

Even though he's a fun and silly kind of bf, I think he'd take his relationship very seriously-- so the idea of you being jealous might just make him feel like you don't trust him enough.

Instead of finding it cute, he'd be genuinely concerned and would want to fix any problems as soon as possible.

Would it cause an argument? Maybe, but a very minor one. more like a serious conversation than an actual argument.

Renjun:

He would have no idea if you were serious at first.

I think his reaction would depend on the vibe he's getting. if he thinks you're just being playful, he would tease you a little.

But if you were seriously upset, he would not be happy.

I don't think he'd take it as personally as Mark or Chenle, but he would definitely be confused.

He knows he would never go out and do something that would disrespect you, so he would have a hard time seeing what you were jealous about.

Would it cause an argument? Yes, but only because he's frustrated... a little with you for reading too much into something, and a little with himself for not understanding you.

Jeno:

I think Jeno would tease you, but cautiously tease you.

He'll poke a little fun at you when he sees you glaring at the person he was just talking to, but similar to Renjun, I think his reaction is going to depend on your vibe.

Jeno knows when to stop teasing, and he'd know if he needs to reassure you that there's no need to be jealous.

Would it become an argument? No. If it becomes something serious, he's more likely to back down so that the two of you can just move past it.

Haechan:

He would tease you relentlessly.

The second you let your jealous side slip through, he will never let you live it down.

He's certain you're not genuinely upset, because he would never cross any boundaries that would give you a legit reason to be jealous anyway. And if he's honest, he thinks someone being territorial over him is a little charming.

However, if you being jealous becomes a pattern, I can see him easily becoming annoyed. At a certain point he'd get tired of explaining that the casual interaction he had with a co-worker earlier that day was not in fact flirty.

Would it become an argument? Probably not, as long as you being jealous doesn't become a reoccurring theme.

Jaemin:

I feel like Jaemin's reaction would be a little hard to read tbh.

He'd definitely tease you, but not for the same reason as Haechan who finds it cute. I think Jaemin's teasing would be his attempt to test the waters.

If you react well to his teasing, then he'll up the ante and tease you even more because you're just so so cute!!

But if you are genuinely upset, I feel like the only solution he'd think of is to cuddle you and give you praises to try and chill you out... and if you're still upset after that, then he gets frustrated.

Unlike Mark who wants to have a conversation about it, Jaemin would want you to just get over it because he knows he didn't, and wouldn't ever, do anything to betray you.

Would there be an argument? Potentially, if the situation is dragged out for too long.

Chenle:

I feel like Chenle would have the strongest reaction here.

Like he would be genuinely offended that you could even think that he'd disrespect you in such a way.

I think he'd have a knee-jerk reaction to defend himself, which would cloud his judgement a little bit. The argument would end up being bigger than either of you expected, and you'd have to take a few minutes (or hours) by yourselves to clear your heads.

But after some thinking, he'd realize his reaction was over the top.

Then you'd have a very rare embarrassed Chenle sitting by your side and apologizing, asking you to explain yourself so that he could understand your feelings better.

Would there be an argument? Ohhhhhhh yeah. But a fairly quick resolution too.

Jisung:

I honestly think Jisung would handle it the best out of any of them, right up there with Mark and Jeno.

He wouldn't get upset with you for being jealous, and he wouldn't really tease you either; but he would definitely be amused and might even chuckle in your face as you complain at him.

He'd probably just sit there as you rant for as long as you need to without much pushback, if only because he's too busy wondering why you being territorial was so damn attractive to him.

Would there be an argument? No way. He's too in love with you, and you find it impossible to be mad at a face that adorable :')

[serana666]

Getting on my soapbox about something I think is REALLY important for chronically ill ppl to think about.

Being undiagnosed and disabled is a terrible experience. You’re screaming into the medical void for ANYONE to please SEE YOU and help. You start thinking “is it just me? Could it just be in my head? What’s wrong with ME?”

And I’m here to tell you, it’s 👏🏻NOT YOU👏🏻 it’s THEM. (The doctors)

I have been through the grueling process of becoming totally disabled by chronic illness, without knowing what it could be. I picked up diagnosis’ along the way: RA, then lupus, then fibro. And I am LUCKY that my blood worked with me to show those things, not everyone is so lucky.

I kept thinking (foolishly buying into the narrative doctors try and sell you) that if I could just get a *serious* diagnosis I would finally be given access to the care I needed, that ALL disabled people need. That was never the case at any step in the process.

When I was diagnosed with RA and began having symptoms outside of it, that were completely debilitating my rheumatologist told me I just needed more exercise and activity. I told them specifically I had fatigue so strong that I was loosing the ability for basic functioning.

When I found a new rheumatologist and was diagnosed with lupus I thought my troubles were over. Then she started saying weird shit like “do you have a boyfriend? You’re so pretty!”

She found out I was a lesbian when I brought my girlfriend to my appointment to be my advocate. Her whole demeanor changed to me and I spent 6-8 months with her receiving no treatment. They kept saying “oh it’s the insurance” nope they sent me letters telling me this office was not following up.

So I moved to a blue state literally out of fear that I would die waiting on these bigoted doctors. I got a rhum in a blue state. I was diagnosed with secondary fibro. Again, I foolishly believed I would finally be in the clear. No, she still minimizes and blinks at me when I describe my pain.

Doctors are not our allies, even though they should be above all else. They find ANY excuse to minimize us. So if you are someone who is undiagnosed or with a diagnosis that is misunderstood/not taken seriously , they will milk that for all it’s worth. 👏🏻ITS NOT YOU👏🏻

I’ve seen people in disabled communities minimized for their race, their weight, their gender, their sexuality/queerness, their age, their diagnosis or the lack thereof, ITS NOT YOU!

You know your body, and the pain you feel BETTER than any doctor that has been trained to systemically ignore you!

Don’t let them tell you what your reality is. It’s such a knee jerk reaction for minorities to do this to themselves.

You deserve medical care that isn’t contingent on your doctors bias’. We NEED more empathy. Don’t let their disregard for your life leak into the love you NEED to give yourself. 💕

[hayakawalove]

Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater

Summary: You're happy with your husband, you swear. Except you actually aren't. You're so unhappy in fact, that you find yourself in a cheap bar late one night. Two men find you, and it leads to a night of fun.

A/N: Yeah. It goes without saying that I DON'T CONDONE CHEATING! I don't know why I wrote this. I actually used to really hate cheating fics, so much so that I would filter the tag out. They used to trigger me super bad. I'm not sure why I wrote this. Maybe as a way of doing exposure therapy, maybe just to practice writing things I normally don't write. Whatever the case is, here you go. I hope y'all enjoy! As always, I appreciate your guys comments so much, seriously!

CW: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Cheating (You Cheat on Your Husband), Hand Jobs, Cunnilingus, Face-Sitting, Finger Sucking, Spit Kink, Protected Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Humiliation, Praise Kink, Cum Swallowing, Hook-Up, No Strings Attached, Reader Feels Bad (Doesn't Last Long), Hair-pulling, Female Reader, AFAB Reader

W/C: 6,154

Credit to cafekitsune for the banner

You’re happy. 

You really are. 

Those are the words you find yourself repeating like a mantra, a self assuring prayer on a loop in your mind. 

You have a great life. 

A wonderful job, a nice house, the perfect husband. 

People live their entire lives searching for what you’ve been so graciously dealt. 

So why did it feel like you were lying to yourself when you repeated that mantra? 

The words felt uneasy in your mind at first, the weight of them feeling unknown on your tongue. You’d never really thought about it before. Were you happy? The more you told yourself that you were, the more the saying turned your stomach sour. 

You were happy. You were happy. You were happy. 

You weren’t happy. 

At first, it began like a tingle in the back of your throat. Not disruptive, but most certainly there, no matter how hard you tried to get rid of it. It was the most obvious when you felt like you should be grateful for something.

Before going to bed at night, finishing a big project at work, when your husband kissed your cheek. 

The doubt simmers in your gut, barely a blip on your radar.

It was hardly noticeable, until it wasn’t. 

The thought became a raging forest fire, drowning out all your other senses. Every day was the same. It was so boring. Nothing lit a spark in you. 

You weren’t sure how to even remedy it. Not only that, but you would listen to your friends talk about their lives, and how it was monotonous for them as well. Maybe life just had to be like this. 

There’s a pit in your stomach as you walk to your car. You really didn’t want to go home tonight. Not when you knew your loving husband would be waiting for you; not when you knew you had all the reasons in the world to be happy, but you just weren’t. 

“Hey, sexy lady!” A man’s voice rings out around you. 

When you flick your head around you see a man who’s much older than you sizing you up. Your knee jerk reaction is to be disgusted, but you aren’t, not fully at least. 

You’re flattered. 

When was the last time someone paid you a compliment like that? Your husband told you you were beautiful all the time, but it felt rehearsed, like the words had lost their meaning. Sure, a stranger calling you sexy was a bit half assed, but at least it was real.

“Thank you! But I’m married-“ you reply, even though the man is long gone by now. 

You straighten your shoulders and open your car door, accepting the fluke. 

~~~

You’re craving the attention again. 

You feel like an addict craving their next hit. You didn’t want anything else, other than a bit of attention from a stranger. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

Over the next couple of days you craft a plan. You were going to get dressed up and go to a bar, nothing major. You just wanted to put yourself in a situation where you could receive attention, maybe get a couple of compliments. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. 

Your husband texted you to inform you that he would be at the office late tonight. You try to ignore the pang of guilt that shoots through you when you tell him that it’s okay, you wouldn’t be doing much anyway. 

Liar.

The dress you’re wearing feels a bit too tight, fitting to your form like another layer of skin. You hadn’t worn it in years. There never was any need to. You and your husband didn't go on dates much anymore, instead choosing to settle down for movie nights or dinner. 

Your makeup is more extreme than usual. It highlights all your favorite features, and the colors are a bit dramatic. Even though it felt different, you had to admit that you looked good. 

You fiddle with your ring, watching the way it catches the light. Reluctantly, you pull it off and put it in your purse. You feel naked not wearing it. Hopefully, more people would compliment you if you didn’t have it on.

You sling your purse over your shoulder and turn your phone off, you wouldn’t be needing it anyway, sliding your high heels on. 

The bar you decide on is on the furthest edge of town, in a much seedier neighborhood. On any chosen day you wouldn’t be caught dead on this side of town, and neither would any of your loved ones. Which is precisely why you chose to be there in the first place. 

Nobody would recognize you. Not that it would be a problem if they did, you remind yourself. You weren’t doing anything wrong. 

The bar is loud as you enter, eager voices discussing a variety of topics over cheap alcohol. The smell of liquor is strong, the astringent scent nearly burning the inside of your nostrils. 

You slide over to the counter and take a seat on one of the rickety stools. It’d be a miracle if it doesn’t break under your weight, it looks like it’s two seconds from collapsing on its own. 

You order a mixed drink and smile as the bartender passes it to you, your heart fluttering at the way he grins back. 

Validation springs throughout your body. It feels like you’re being rejuvenated, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

See? What you were doing wasn’t so bad. 

“What's a fine young thing like yourself doing over here?” 

When you turn around to catch a glimpse of the man shamelessly hitting on you, you feel your stomach turn. You had never seen someone so attractive before. 

A head full of soft white hair, messy in an almost endearing way. You can’t catch a glimpse of his eyes due to the sunglasses that rest on his nose. On anyone else it would come off as douchey, it was dark out and you were inside a bar, but for him it seemed oddly fitting. 

There’s a cocky grin on his face as he leans against the counter where you sit. He’s close enough that you can smell the soap he used to scrub himself with. An intoxicating scent, cedarwood and bergamot.

“Enjoying some alone time.” You reply, deciding on playing hard to get. 

It would be nice to see him continue to try, even if you didn’t make it easy. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I just had to tell you how gorgeous you were.” 

He didn’t sound sorry, didn’t look it either.

“I know.” You take a small sip of you drink, staring up at him as you do so. 

You would never be so forward in your day to day life. You much preferred to be humble. Humble was cute, humble was safe. 

You were tired of being safe. 

The strangers lips spread even further and you catch a glimpse of him running his tongue along his teeth. You can’t see, but you feel like he’s staring down at you, gaze assessing your features. You hope he likes what he sees. 

“Sir, can I get another one of these for her?” He flags down the bartender and motions to your drink. 

“I didn’t tell you I wanted another one.” You reply, stirring the drink you’re currently nursing. 

The man beside you raises a brow, before sliding out a wad of cash. He hands it to the bartender without looking away from you, confidence leaking from his pores. 

“You shouldn’t have to. A gentleman should be able to notice.”

You feel a heavy weight drop on top of you. He was right. True gentlemen should take note of the small things, right? 

Your husband hardly ever did. 

The crack inside your heart begins to deepen; you know there’s not going to be a way back from this. Do you mind that you won’t be able to recover? 

No. 

You don’t. 

You grin at him and toss back the rest of your drink before taking the new one from him. It’s cold against your hand, a sickly sweet scent wafting up from the cup. 

“Who’s your little friend?” A second voice enters.

You flick your eyes from the man beside you to see who’s talking. Long black locks and chestnut eyes. 

“Suguru. This is…” The first man talks.

You state your name, nerves beginning to take hold in your chest. When it was just one of them it was fine, but two of them? 

“I’m Satoru Gojo, and this is Suguru Geto.” The original man says. “Pleased to meet you.” He finishes, dipping his face down to look at you above his glasses. 

Electric cerulean greets you, nearly taking your breath away. 

He smirks and pushes his glasses back up before tossing a look over his shoulder towards his friend.

Suguru circles around you, and you can’t help but let your eyes follow his movements. It feels like he’s sizing you up, a dark gleam in his gaze as he settles in the spot beside you.

It feels a bit like the walls are caving in on you, except the metaphorical walls are in the form of two bulky men. 

You wanted attention, that much was true, but you weren’t sure you were ready for this amount. 

“What brings you to this dive bar?” The one called Suguru questions. 

You take a sip of your drink as you ponder a response. What should you tell them? You were here with friends? The truth? 

“Needed to get out of the house.” You decide on. 

Well, it wasn’t completely wrong. 

“So you decided to come to this shit hole?” Satoru says. 

“You decided to come here too, didn’t you?” You reply back.

Satoru looks away, his bottom lip pouting out. It was a shit hole. The two men looked oddly out of place. Their clothes looked to be worth more than half your rent, and there was an effortless elegance flowing from them. You were sure that they belonged anywhere else. 

“We were just passing through town, and this was the first place we found.” Suguru responds for Satoru. 

You wonder how true that statement is. 

Could it be that the both of them are also running away from something in their personal lives? 

You could only hope. 

Maybe it would make you feel less guilty. 

Suguru’s nursing a whiskey now, lips shining in the low light from the tantalizing liquid. It’s a bit hypnotizing, watching the way his lips pucker as he takes measured sips. 

You feel like nothing can break you from the trance you’re in, nothing that is, until something brushes your thighs. It’s Satoru’s fingers, skimming your skin under the guise of tugging your dress down. 

“I like your dress,” Satoru murmurs, his knuckles causing goosebumps to erupt along your thighs. 

You watch as he slowly drags his fingers back, letting your eyes trail up until you reach his face, only to see that he’s already staring at you. 

“Yeah?” You ask, breathless.

Satoru hums and flicks his gaze back down to your legs. There’s lead in your stomach as you watch his pupils flicker. You can only guess what’s on his mind. 

“Say, do you have any plans for the night?” Suguru questions, settling his arm around the back of your chair. 

His thumb brushes against your shoulder, making your breath stagger. The ambiance is more than heavy, a thick understanding settling over the three of you. 

“No, I don't.” You take one last sip of your drink before looking at the boys once more. 

“Want to go have some fun, then?” Satoru asks, an evil glint in his eyes. 

You begin to understand how Eve could not resist the temptation.

“Please,” you all but plead.

You reach a hand out and Satoru laces his fingers in yours, tugging you along until you’re forced to navigate through the crowds in the bar. There’s a heat behind you, and you register it as Suguru’s presence shortly following after you. 

There’s something bubbling up in your stomach, anticipation you think, as you watch the back of Satoru’s head. 

He’s so tall. 

You briefly wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through his hair. Would it be soft? Would he like the way it feels? 

Satoru pushes the bar door open, a gust of wind whipping your face. The sensation almost shocks you to your senses, but Satoru doesn’t allow it. 

He slows down and stops beside you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. You’re being tugged beside him, smooshed against his lean frame as he walks you to their car. 

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” he comments, whispering into the crown of your head. 

Your stomach flips. You think he may be right. 

Suguru walks ahead and spins keys around his fingers before unlocking the car. You’re unable to recognize the brand, only able to see that it’s expensive. 

Satoru opens the passenger door and you’re greeted with fine black leather. It dawns on you that someone’s going to have to sit in the back. 

How was this going to work? 

Were you supposed to sit in the back? 

Wouldn’t that be weird? 

When you come to, you see that Satoru’s already sitting in the front seat, his hand holding yours as he looks up at you with an expectant gaze. 

“Come on.” He murmurs. 

He pulls you closer, spreading his legs to make room for you. He wants you to sit on his lap? 

You look around, noticing how empty the parking lot is. You were already making bad choices, so you figure you may as well go all in. 

You inch in the car, settling on top of his lap. His thighs are warm beneath you, your exposed legs shifting back and forth. He shuts the door, settling his hands on your body while Suguru starts the car. You never once stop to think about how this may be considered dangerous, all you can think about is how you want more of it. 

“Ready, princess?” Suguru’s voice is like velvet as it comes out. 

As ready as you’ll ever be. 

“Yes.” You fake confidence, shining a grin that feels entirely too exaggerated. 

Suguru chuckles and reverses the car, the action fluid. Satoru’s still holding onto your thighs, the proximity to him causing your heart to race. You don’t know who to focus on. Even their hands have you in a trance. Suguru’s fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles making your mouth water, while Satoru holds your legs, his palms suspiciously moving further up.

You can feel the outline of something beneath you, and you think you know what it is, but you want to be sure. 

You shimmy your ass a bit, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Satoru. There’s a dangerous grin on his face as he looks at you over his glasses. 

“Careful there, baby.” He warns. 

Your mouth immediately dries, desperation crawling up the back of your throat. The outline below you is much thicker than it was several minutes ago. He was hard. 

The engine stops, and your stomach turns over. You’re stopped at a hotel. It’s on the nicer side of town, luckily the part of the city none of your friends ventured to. The building in front of you is at least twenty stories high, the air of wealth floating over to you. 

Just what did these guys do for a living? 

“Come on.” Satoru says, patting your thigh twice. 

You snap out of it and hop out of the car, eyes drawing to the two men next to you. Suguru stuffs his keys in his pocket and slides beside you, snaking his arm up your back. His hand rests against the nape of your neck, softly holding you. The act feels borderline protective.

You peer up at him and he grants you a smile before leading you next to him, guiding you by your neck towards the hotel entrance. It’s even nicer on the inside than it is on the outside. 

A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, you know that it must be made of glass but at first glance it looks like diamonds. There’s little dots along the walls from the reflection of the fine material, hypnotizing you. A soft tune echoes in the background, Mozart you think, that lulls you into a sense of relaxation. 

“Good afternoon.” The check in attendant nods at Suguru. 

Does this scene look weird to him? 

Suguru acts as though it’s completely normal, dipping his head down in response before facing forward again, heading towards the elevators. Maybe it was normal for Suguru. 

Maybe they’d done this countless times before, and you weren’t special. You have to remind yourself that that’s the point. You weren’t any better. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re objectively worse. Tonight wouldn’t mean anything. Just a quick, nasty fuck. 

Out of your periphery you see Satoru jab his finger into the elevator button. He seems a bit impatient. Excited, maybe. 

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking up as the numbers on the screen decrease, indicating the elevator was inching closer and closer. 

He’s a bit beautiful. 

You knew that before. But his beauty looks different under the fine chandelier light of the hotel. The way he looked in the dingy bar, although still incredibly attractive, was a far cry from how he appears now. Almost ethereal, you’d say. The warm glow of the lights above make him look like a painting. 

Suguru’s the same as Satoru. The lighting and surroundings of the hotel are making him appear even more stunning than before. When you peer up at him, he glances down and grins back at you. It feels like you’ve been caught red handed. You look away quickly, just in time to watch the elevator doors slide open. 

Satoru hops in and waits for you and Suguru to enter before pressing ‘18’. 

The music inside the elevator is much more quiet, yet you’re still grateful for it. You’re nervous, your fists clenching and unclenching at your sides. It was hard to believe that you were really doing this. The soft piano helps soothe your nerves, as you will your mind to stop racing.

Suguru’s hand slides off your neck and you find yourself almost missing the sensation. The warmth from his palm fades away, along with the sense of protection it provided. 

You only have a moments reprieve before the other man jumps at you. 

Satoru’s mouth is on yours in an instant, his tongue smoothing along your bottom lip. You groan in surprise before following along, letting your hands slide up his shirt. 

He’s muscular. 

Images flash in your brain of what he may look like shirtless. Your mind paints up a mouthwatering scene, full of hard lines and bulging muscles.

Your mouth opens to accept him, his tongue quickly entangling with yours. It’s hot and messy. Spit dribbles from the sides of your lips, and you can hardly catch your breath. 

“Don’t be so greedy, Satoru.” Suguru chides. 

Shit, you had almost forgotten he was there. 

Embarrassment fills your veins instantly. It suddenly hits you that you were going to have sex with both of them. How was this going to work? The idea seems daunting. 

Satoru grunts in retaliation and you almost think he doesn’t want to share. The man proves you wrong though, when he tugs you forward towards him. His body crashes against yours, and you have to hold his firm biceps to stabilize yourself. Suguru glides behind you, his hands quickly finding your hips. 

You’re trapped. 

Satoru parts from your lips, a thin string of saliva snapping once he removes himself. Your mind is crowded by lust as you look up at him with heavy lids. 

You want more. 

It’s a good thing there were two of them. 

Suguru grips your chin from behind and turns your head sideways, pressing his mouth against yours. His lips aren’t as sweet as Satoru, but it makes your knees weak all the same. 

Suguru is more methodical in his approach. He waits until you’re reaching a hand down, squeezing his arm against your waist. With a chuckle he parts his lips, sliding his tongue along your mouth, the movement painfully slow.

Satoru has moved his focus to your neck now. He’s kissing and biting down the column of your throat, the heat from his breathing making you shiver. You use your other hand to glide through his hair, urging him forward to continue his attack on your throat. 

Only when he starts sucking do you realize the severity of his actions. 

“N-no hickeys.” You tear yourself away from Suguru to say. 

Satoru looks at you for a second before chuckling, dragging his tongue up your throat. “Sure thing, princess.” 

Your shoulders sag in relief as you feel Satoru begin to go easy on you, only licking and kissing your tender flesh. You’re grateful you caught him in time. 

Suguru kisses you once more and you moan, a sound that spurs the two men on. Satoru raises a hand to paw at your breasts through your dress, and Suguru’s grip has tightened. 

The elevator dings just in time. 

Your entanglement felt longer than a life time, but it couldn’t have been more than two minutes. Suguru reluctantly tears himself away from you, watching as you catch your breath. Satoru is a bit more stubborn, only stopping once you say his name. 

Luckily the hallway in front of you is empty. The three of you step out, and you let them guide you to their room. 

“Here we are.” Satoru murmurs. 

Suguru, apparently master of the keys, lifts up a card and unlocks the door. When it opens he pushes the door in, letting you and Satoru go first. 

The room is huge. 

There’s a living room with a decent sized kitchen, along with two doors that can only lead to what you assume to be bedrooms. 

“Home sweet home,” Satoru lifts up a hand, waving it towards their hotel room. “Well, I guess hotel sweet hotel-“ 

“Satoru.” You all but plead, looking up at him desperately. 

His eyes flick down to you and he grins before stepping closer. 

“Sorry baby, you need something, huh?” He crashes his lips against yours again. 

The kiss is even more urgent this time around. Satoru lifts his glasses up blindly, before walking backwards to lead you further inside. 

You reach behind your back and pat around, trying to feel for your zipper. You need your clothes off now. When you don’t feel the flimsy tab, you turn around and look over your shoulder as if that will help any.  

“Keep having your fun, princess.” Suguru murmurs, his fingers expertly finding the elusive zipper. 

You whine and face forward again, kissing Satoru once more. Suguru carefully pulls it down, a cool rush of air grazing your back once it’s open. 

He leans down and kisses your spine, slowly making his way up while you shove your tongue down Satoru’s throat. 

The room’s spinning, you’re sure of it. 

Suguru takes his lips off your back so he can slide the dress off your shoulders, his hands grazing your skin causing you to break out in goosebumps. 

The dress falls to the floor, leaving you exposed in only your bra and underwear. It was an expensive set, one you had bought years ago yet hadn’t gotten much of a use out of. 

Satoru pulls his lips away to glance down at your figure before looking back up at your face. Your lips are swollen, eyes fluttering in need. 

“Shit…” he whispers to himself before kissing you again. 

Suguru’s hands roam your body, letting you have your playtime as he explores your skin. His palms glide against your stomach and thighs, moving slowly. 

You must be soaked already. 

Satoru tears himself back again, hands reaching for his shirt. He undresses in a matter of seconds, leaving himself only in his underwear. His body is even more amazing than you had conjured up in your mind. 

He was muscular without being overtly so, leaning more towards the body of a runner. His skin is pale, matching the tone of his hair. 

You run your hands up his stomach to his chest, letting your fingers dance along the grooves of his muscles. His head hangs low as he watches you drag your nails against him. 

Suguru stands next to you as he pulls his shirt off his head, the action catching your eye. You turn around and allow your gaze to float down to his chest. He looks just as perfect as Satoru. 

You tug Suguru closer and kiss him, his slow pace allowing you a chance to recuperate. 

“Want you to sit on my face.” Satoru says, his hands skirting along your body. 

So much for recuperating. 

“O-okay.” 

Satoru leads you and Suguru into one of the bedrooms before making himself comfortable on the bed. His form takes up the whole length of the bed, head at the end as he looks up expectantly. 

You look over your shoulder to see Suguru watching you. His lids are heavy as he stares at you, desire unmistakably falling over his features. He dips his head as if he was comforting you, or giving you permission. You slide your underwear off before tossing a leg over Satoru’s face, lowering yourself just above his mouth. You’re facing the end of the bed, Suguru standing in front of you. 

“So fucking wet.” Satoru mumbles to himself before sticking his tongue out, tugging your hips down until he meets your pussy. 

“F-fuck!” You moan, your hand latching onto his white locks. 

“That feel good?” Suguru asks. 

You bite your lip and look up at him, watching as his hand reaches down to unbuckle his pants. The sight makes you flustered. He maintains eye contact as he tugs them down, his cock still contained behind his underwear. 

“Open.” He says in a hushed tone. 

Your lips part, jaw dropping open at his order. 

“Atta girl.” 

Suguru eases his thumb into your mouth, watching as your lips wrap around him. You suck softly, bobbing your head as you lick the sides of his thumb. 

He looks delighted as you perform for him. You try your best to focus on the task at hand, but Satoru is making it increasingly difficult. His tongue is sticking out, flicking against your swollen clit. He drags it down before teasing your entrance, poking in several times before retreating to suck on your nub. 

You tug at his hair, grinding your body down against him. His hands have a tight grip on your ass, helping you hump against his mouth. 

“There you go, ride my fucking face.” Satoru growls below you. 

Your eyes roll back in your head, the pleasure coursing through your body. 

Suguru uses his other hand to pull down his boxers, allowing his cock to jump free. Everything feels too good. When you look back down, the sight makes you lightheaded. His cock is hard, tip leaky with anticipation as he watches you. 

He pumps it several times before reaching down to grab your free hand. Suguru wraps it around his cock, giving you free reign to pump him. 

His thumb never leaves your mouth. You’re sort of glad it doesn’t. If it did, you aren’t sure how loud you would be moaning. 

Suguru looks at your face as you begin to jack him off. He’s far more interested in watching you suck his thumb.

Satoru sucks on your clit, his eyes closed as he focuses on your body. You can feel yourself drip into him. 

“You gonna cum for us? On Satoru’s face?” Suguru coos. 

You moan around his thumb and squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck, you were going to cum on Satoru’s face. Soon, probably. 

Your palm slides down Suguru’s cock as your fist fucks him. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, his precum making the glide that much easier. 

Satoru speeds his actions up, his lips wrapped tightly around your nub. Your body tightens up in response, and you begin to cum. 

Satoru aides you through your orgasm, sucking the entire time as you twist above him. Your hand slows against Suguru’s cock as you pant around his thumb. 

Satoru flicks his tongue against your clit slowly before removing his mouth from you, allowing you to slide off his face. 

He sits up once you’re off, his chin completely covered in your essence. You’re almost embarrassed. Satoru looks unaffected, letting his tongue clean the cum on his lips. 

“Let’s go baby.” Satoru says. 

Suguru eases his thumb from your mouth, chuckling at the whimper you let out. You were really starting to get into it, too. 

Satoru helps you get onto your hands and knees, facing forward towards Suguru. Suguru reaches down to unclasp your bra, pulling it off your body before tossing it to the side. Your nipples instantly harden from the cold air. 

Satoru smoothes his hands down your back while admiring your trembling form beneath him. Aftershocks from your previous orgasm were still racking through your body. He tears his gaze away to look at the bedside table, grumbling before he finds what he’s looking for. You hear the sound of a condom being opened as you stare at Suguru’s cock. 

Would you be able to fit that in your mouth? 

“Alright,” Satoru mumbles, sliding the condom on before lining himself up with your entrance.

You part your lips, waiting for Suguru to slide himself in your mouth. Satoru’s cock pokes at your entrance, pushing past as he sinks into your pussy. You groan, your walls rushing to accommodate the stretch. 

Satoru’s jaw is clenched as he looks down, watching your pussy greedily accept him, squeezing his cock until he’s finally all of the way in. 

He pauses for a moment, and you slip Suguru’s cock into your mouth. His tip eases past your lips, precum dripping onto your taste buds as he pushes himself in further. 

You gag a bit, nose flaring as you try to breathe around his cock. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, drool sliding down your chin as you go as far as you can. 

Satoru begins to shallowly pump inside you, while Suguru starts to rock his hips. 

It doesn’t take long before Satoru is fucking you properly, the slick of your cum making it easy to glide inside you. Suguru lets you control the pace, bobbing your head against his cock as you swallow around him. 

Satoru pushes against your gspot with each thrust, the sensation making you moan around Suguru. 

This felt so good, you were left wondering why you didn’t do it sooner. 

Satoru groans behind you, feeling like his cock was being choked by your pussy. He reaches down and his fingers find your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You moan and your pussy tightens around Satoru in reaction. 

“Thaaaat’s it.” Satoru sounds almost breathless. “Bet your husband doesn’t fuck you this good, does he?” 

You stutter around Suguru, confusion sparking inside you. 

Husband?

How did he know?

Satoru laughs loudly, continuing to fuck into you. 

“What? You didn’t think we’d notice?” Suguru inserts himself into the discussion. “There’s a tan line around your ring finger, darling.”

Satoru thrusts into you even harder. “No hickeys? Come on.” His fingers speed up around your clit, making you moan against Suguru. “So I’ll repeat myself, your husband doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” 

The humiliation was almost suffocating, yet it turned you on so badly you could hardly stand it. 

Suguru pulls himself from your throat, watching as you loudly gasp for air. 

You feel ruined. But you like it. 

“N-no,” you moan out. 

“No? That’s right.” Satoru mumbles under his breath. 

With each thrust it feels like he’s knocking all common sense from you. Your fingers dig into the sheets below, hoping it will relieve some of the pressure but all it manages to do is crumple the bedding. 

Suguru presses himself back into your throat, throwing his head back as you bob your head along him. You run your tongue down the sides of his cock, stroking him as you suck. 

“Can tell you aren’t happy with him, you just needed to be fucked properly, is that right?” Satoru continues. 

You moan around Suguru, unable to reply. Satoru understands the sentiment, pressing harder against your clit. You tighten up around him again, unable to control the way your cunt squeezes him. He keeps filling you up, his cock somehow pressing into all the right places. You’re getting close to cumming again, body begging for the sensation once more. 

Satoru’s hands are gripping your hips hard, so hard that there’s a voice in the back of your brain telling you he may leave marks, but you’re in too deep already. Drool is seeping from your lips, hanging in strings down your chin as you swallow Suguru’s cock. You wonder who’s going to cum first. 

Your orgasm inches closer, made possible by the strum of Satoru’s fingers against your needy clit. He’s groaning behind you, the sounds spurring you on. 

“Come on, come on baby. Cum on my cock.” He urges with a groan. 

Your pussy clenches around his cock hard and you release, cumming harder than you ever have before. 

“Just like that, just like that.” He talks you through it, a whimper breaking his voice. 

Suguru makes good use of your slack jaw, pounding so hard into your throat that you surmise it’s going to bruise. There’s no oxygen in your brain, no thoughts in your head, just pure bliss as you cum on Satoru. 

“You’re gonna make me-“ Satoru lets out a long moan, hips jerking against you, his cock twitching as he fills the condom with his cum. 

You’re trying to breathe heavily through your nose as you come down, allowing Suguru to use you as he sees fit. His face is concentrated as he stares down at you, admiring the mess you’ve become as he fucks your throat. He swears under his breath before coming to a stop, spurting hot cum in your mouth. 

You struggle to swallow it all, briefly feeling like you were drowning in the fluid, before you gulp it down. It’s messy, some of his cum paints your lips as he slides his now softening cock out of your mouth. 

The room is filled with the sounds of your mixed panting, bodies all entering a state of relaxation. Satoru eases himself from your pussy, inhaling sharply as he slips out. He removes the condom, tying it before tossing it into the bin beside the bed. You’re in complete bliss, fucked out from every orifice. 

Suguru smoothes your hair down and finds a washcloth to wipe the filth from your lips, smiling to himself at your expression. 

“You can stay the night, if you’d like.” Satoru says as he relaxes on the bed. 

He glances at the clock and ascertains that it’s much later than you were intending. You mumble to yourself and nod, not fully comprehending what ramifications may be waiting at home for you. 

Satoru opens the blankets for you, waiting as Suguru cleans between your legs. The actions are a bit sweet. Everything is. You were expecting them to kick you to the curb after you had sex, so you’re pleasantly surprised when they slide in bed next to you, laying on either side. 

Satoru’s arms are wrapped tightly around your frame as you nod off, and you feel truly happy for the first time in years. 

~~~

You aren’t sure what wakes you up in the morning. Your internal clock, maybe. Your body is sore as you groan, flipping onto your back. The hotel ceiling greets you as you crack your eyes open. A brief bit of panic courses through you. 

So last night was real, huh? 

You turn your head and notice the bed beside you is completely devoid of anyone else, both men seemingly having vanished. You aren’t sure if you feel more sad or relieved. Sad because you enjoyed their presence, but relieved because now you could pretend like nothing happened. 

Is that what you wanted to do? 

You were having a hard time believing that that would be easy, that you could go back to your old life and be content when you knew there was so much more out there. 

You sit up and look towards the clock. You were in deep shit. There’s a note on the beside table that catches your attention. You lift it up, reading the words on the page. It fills you with a deep sense of satisfaction once you notice a phone number on it.

“Call us if you want to have a good time. -Satoru and Suguru.” 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @mikisspeak, @sad-darksoul, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothicwhore666, @bunviixo

If you want to be tagged just let me know, please specify what you want to be tagged in

[devilsskettle]

came across this video talking about how carrie can’t reach its full horror potential until the film character matches the description of the book character and how there is familiarity to the audience around the cruelty she’s subjected to because of her appearance because we have all known someone who has been the target of senseless cruelty like that etc. which okay sure i think it’s a little bit of an over-generalization but good points and ultimately i agree. but almost every single one of the comments on that video is people going “i was carrie!!” and idk their life experiences so that might be true to them emotionally but also. what did i say. what did i fucking say. everybody fucking thinks they’re carrie

why does anyone think we need ANOTHER carrie remake. let her rest

[goodlucktai]

29 with Mikey and Leo please!

29. “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

x

It really was his own fault. If Mikey didn’t want to be babied, he shouldn’t have broken his wrist. 

He was mostly just annoyed it happened in such a boring way, catching himself wrong falling off his skateboard.

Yes he’d decided to sneak off and find a sewer tunnel to attempt the full pipe loop a full two weeks before Draxum said the gross mystic mandrake tea would finish running its course, but he felt fine! His hands barely shook anymore, only when he overworked himself or let himself get too tired or too excited.

But from the look on everyone’s faces when he slunk home ungraciously dragging his board behind him, you’d think he was at death’s door. 

What was worse, Donnie wheeled him by the shoulders into the infirmary and deposited him right in front of Leonardo, the only person Mikey couldn’t out-stubborn, whose affable smile faded at once into that serious look that made all of his siblings straighten their spines and pay attention.  

If the skateboarding accident had happened pre-almost-apocalypse, Dr. Leo would have probably led with a joke instead of, “Tell me where it hurts, and be specific.”

Mikey resigned himself to a ridiculous amount of mother-henning for the duration his arm was stuck in its short cast. His brothers took his newly fragile hands so personally, like they were the ones who couldn’t hold an inking pen or color inside the lines or even cook a meal more complicated than lasagna without having to give up in the middle and have someone else take over. Like they were the ones who woke up shaking in the middle of the night from some distant, half-forgotten dream of disappearing into fragments of light, arms radiating pain like it was their job, a confused jumble of grief and fear and farewell on his tongue until he went and climbed into bed with papa or Raphie and let them hug it all away. 

Leo said Mikey’s wrist wouldn’t need the full six-to-twelve weeks that a baseline human’s would due to their genetic modifications—“Thank you, Barry,” they had chorused in varying degrees of sincerity (Mikey, Raph and Casey) and sarcasm (Leo, Donnie and Splinter)—but that he still needed to give it time to heal.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” Leo had said, poking Mikey on the beak to stall the inevitable whine, “but you gotta give yourself a break, Miguelito.” 

He said it like his skin wasn’t still bruised like a peach and his shell all wired together from going one-on-one with an actual living nightmare even as he found the energy to take care of someone else. 

He sat there in the doctor’s seat, pressing carefully around the wet fiberglass to mold it to Mikey’s wrist, all his attention bent to the task. He always tended to his brothers’ hurts the same way, as if it was the most important and remarkable thing he’d ever do. 

Leo’s own casts had only been removed last month, and he was usually very good about following his own medical advice, if only because he knew his siblings would cite his behavior in a heartbeat if it meant they could loophole around doctor’s orders. So Mikey really had no choice but to sulk and accept the distant cousin of scolding he received. 

“It’s not a race,” Leo said, smiling at him. “No one’s gonna run off without you. Where would we go that’s half as good as where you’re at?” 

It was his knee-jerk reaction to smile at Mikey, like his day got better automatically when Mikey was in it, and it soothed that jangling, frustrated thing inside of Mikey’s chest that only got loud when no one took him seriously. Leo always took him seriously, was always the first of their siblings to believe he could do anything he said he could do, and that meant taking Mikey’s injuries seriously, too. 

He’d seen the way Leo had to run himself ragged making sure Donnie kept up with the treatments to his shell and Raph followed instructions on taking care of his eye to the letter. They were trying to spare Leo additional stress, but if they knew they were only compounding the stress he was already in and making it ten times worse, Mikey was pretty sure they’d shut up and take their medicine. 

Mikey wanted to be on Leo’s team, not playing against him. So he put his sulk away and put on his best listening face instead, rewarded when some nearly-invisible line of tension in Leo’s shoulders relaxed until it was gone.

Besides, it wasn’t all bad. He got to pick what color cast he wanted, and got everyone to sign it. And it wasn’t the most horrible thing in the world not to have to do any chores. 

And when Leo announced to the lair as a whole that he was going to visit his tío Hueso and bring back pizzas for dinner—in a tone that made it very clear he was not asking for permission or inviting any worrywart older siblings along—he followed it up with, “You coming, Angie?” 

Maybe because he had been under the scrutiny of worrywart older siblings, too, and understood better than anybody how close Mikey was to biting the next person who tried to baby him. Or maybe because Mikey was the exception to Leo’s rules and he always had been—always invited and always welcome and always wanted. 

In another place, in another time, Leo asked Mikey to die for him, and Mikey died for him. 

In this kinder one, Mikey jumped to his feet with a grin and said, “I’m with you!” and it didn’t cost him anything.

It should have been silly to say something out loud that they both knew was true, but sometimes it was nice to hear it.

[nonbinarymlm]

We Need to Accept that Silly Things Can Hurt People

Please allow me to ruminate a bit more on mental health on this blog. I have ADHD and OCD, both disorders commonly stereotyped and conflated with minor, silly behaviors like yelling SQUIRREL when you see a squirrel and organizing things by color. These stereotypes can often minimize and erase the genuine difficulties and harm that these conditions can cause. That’s very true, and it often causes intense sensitively and knee-jerk denial around stereotypes around this. I don’t think that’s necessarily the best reaction, because sometimes people can have symptoms very similar to these stereotypes.

I think we need to accept that silly things can hurt people. Silly, ridiculous symptoms can devastate people’s lives. People shouldn’t have to react into their painful past and trauma to get people to take their symptoms seriously when those symptoms are silly on their face, because that turns things into a pain competition and can result in gatekeeping how much people must suffer before their seemingly ridiculous symptoms get taken seriously.

I think we just need to, as a society and culture and social norm, accept that silly things can genuinely, sometimes intensely, hurt people. Yes, I do have the impulse to tell an animal’s name when I see that animal, and yes it’s part of my symptoms that makes it harder to me to drive and hold conversations and do basic functioning. Yes, I do worry about incredibly tiny and silly things, that the world’s tiniest cut means I’m literally dying, and this has at times been incredibly miserable to live with and severely inhibited my functioning and nearly lost me a job. Also I’m going to joke about it sometimes because it’s funny. I’m not going to find a joke about it from a stranger with no OCD funny, because they have no idea how much pain it can cause me.

Sometimes these conditions are absurd in ways that are funny. That’s true and people with the conditions should be able to joke about it. But everyone needs to understand, just because a symptom is absurd doesn’t mean it can’t also devastate you and ruin your life. So if you don’t have these conditions and aren’t super close to someone who has them, I think you should be sensitive and avoid joking even if it seems silly and funny. I think there is where true destigmatization lies: accepting that the silly brain can also really hurt.

[midnightarcheress]

Simon lives up to the nickname. 

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader 2 | gold rush masterlist.

every time you set a foot out of the house, he’s there. surely, a few steps behind, just like the orders say, but he’s there, hauntingly following you like a true ghost. lurking in the darkness or making himself known in broad daylight, he takes the job seriously, glaring at the people on the street who even dare to glance at you. it’s even worse when fans stop you for an autograph or a picture, towering by your side and meticulously watching every move made in your direction, getting ready to pounce at any minute.

the first few days were weird. he could sense how disconcerted you acted in his presence, even while flashing him a smile and saying a sugary ‘good morning’. maybe it was his size, maybe it was the mask, maybe it was the fact that a man was actively following you nearly every second of the day. the last thing he wanted was to frighten you.  

after a few weeks though, he noticed you getting accustomed to his company. he watched from behind how your back wasn't as tense, how you stopped glancing over your shoulder to check if he was still there, how you weren’t jumping anymore when he’d get closer, how you even tried to make small talk, despite his grunt-like answers. 

Simon didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t have been more wrong about you. you weren’t a pretentious rich brat as he expected. you were always polite, always smiling, always treating everyone in your way with nothing but kindness, something he wasn’t used to seeing. he reasoned that it was just your job as a very public person, after all, you had an image to uphold and he’d never actually seen you without the constant risk of being photographed and blasted online.

but in that moment, he couldn’t help the genuine concern for your safety starting to fill his chest and surpass the mere contract bond. he would catch himself staring at you for a little too long as you walked together, eyes attentively chasing the sway of your hips in each movement of your legs, the delicate way your finger held a pen whilst signing your name, your beaming irises whenever a child recognized you. he couldn’t bear the idea of being acknowledged on the street for his acts like you do.

“just ignore them.” you say, looking over your shoulder and noticing him stopping on his tracks on the pavement. for Simon, dealing with the paparazzi has been the most difficult part. military training comes in both an advantage and disadvantage, as his sniper eyes bust them from a mile away, spotting the greedy lens with intense precision, no matter how well-hidden they think they are. but the hard task is to keep his anger and itch to rip the camera apart at bay, when all they want is to snap you in bad light and sell it to the first rubbish magazine.

he grumbles, muttering cuss words under his breath. “you’ll get used to it.” the sympathetic tone of your voice eases a bit of his annoyance, going back into walking right behind you. 

the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills his nostrils as he opens the door of a small cafe for you to come in, rapidly scanning the room for threats. at that point, he already had your order memorised by heart. medium iced americano, no sugar. too bitter of an option for someone who looked so sweet, despite being accompanied by whatever muffin the store had left. 

“Ghost?”

his crossed arms tense up when you call for him, brows knitting together as he assesses the situation for any problem that may have appeared in the seconds he stood distracted by the waving of your hair under the air conditioning breeze. “mhm? what is it?”

“i asked you if you want anything.”

his knee-jerk reaction is to say a hasty no, thanks, but he’s finding it harder and harder to deny your offerings each day, when the small curve of your lips as you patiently wait for his response is so tempting. think faster. “uh, guess i could go for a tea. earl grey.” 

you nod and hand the barista your card, quickly paying for the order and standing by the counter. he remains a few steps back, waiting for the drinks with you. as soon as it’s ready, you hand him the cup of tea, fingers gently grazing over his, sending lightning sparks on his skin. keep to yourself, Simon. 

he shakes the feeling away and opens the door again, catching your eyes flicking to the silver pendant around his neck. once again, old habits die hard. he still wears his dog tags, the glinting metal serving as a constant reminder that he’s Simon Riley civilian, but will always be Simon Riley soldier. 

“military?” you question, stepping back to match his pace and walk by his side, curious eyes searching for his hardened gaze.

“yes.” his voice is sharp, settled in not prolonging the conversation.

you hum, turning your head back to the horizon, “that explains your skill set.” only then he shifts to see your face, raised eyebrows and question marks oozing out of his head. you chuckle, amused by his confused expression, “i got a file on you too, Simon.”

[rottenpumpkin13]

AGZSC find a copy of Cards Against Humanity and decide to play. How much chaos ensues?

SOLDIERs Against Humanity

• Genesis pulls out a Cards Against Humanity deck when they're all in the break room one day. Angeal's knee-jerk reaction is to dive across the couch and grab it from him.

• Indignant, Genesis asks him what's wrong. Angeal makes it clear that they won't be playing Cards Against Humanity, on account of it ending like every other game they play together.

Angeal: I'm calling it now—Genesis is going to whine about being given unfair cards, Sephiroth is going to accuse everyone of cheating, and Zack is going to cry when he loses.

Zack: That's bogus! Where did you get that idea??

Angeal: Because that's what happened the last time we played Uno, which resulted in a crime scene tape, a table being cut in half and the discovery that you can, in fact, stab someone with a card. *Looks long and hard at Sephiroth*

Genesis: That won't happen again, I assure you.

Zack: Yeah, well behave! We promise!

Sephiroth: And I'll do it again.

*Zack and Genesis slap him upside the head*

Sephiroth: I mean....yes, we'll behave.

Angeal: Fine, but since I'm playing too we'll need a game master.

Sephiroth: Get Strife in here.

Zack: Cloud said he won't play board games with us anymore because he doesn't wanna go to jail.

Genesis: Ridiculous. Sephiroth, come with me.

• Thirty minutes later, they drag Cloud up kicking and screaming (literally). Angeal sets the game up on the coffee table—he insisted that they play right there so that the entire SOLDIER floor can hear them fighting and it'll shame them into behaving.

• Cloud shuffles the deck and hands them out to everyone. Zack takes one look at his own cards and pales, staring at them frozen in horror.

Zack: Uh...are these cards right!?

Angeal: What did I just say about complaining about the cards!?

Zack: I'm not complaining, I'M CONCERNED.

• Cloud pulls out the first black card.

Cloud: "Because they are forbidden from masturbating, planetarians channel their repressed sexual energy into_____"

Genesis: Ha! Dying of dysentery

Angeal: A family of chocobos. This game makes me feel like a terrible person.

Cloud: Sephiroth, you're next.

Sephiroth: Actually, I don't feel that these cards accurately answer the query. You see, planetarians—

Genesis: Sephiroth, do you understand the game?

Sephiroth: I do.

Genesis: Then answer with a card.

Sephiroth: But the cards don't make sense. In what world do planetarians channel their repressed sexual energy into, quote, Filling every orifice with butterscotch pudding??

*Angeal and Genesis lose their shit*

Cloud: Zack, you're next.

*Zack is trembling in fear*

Cloud: "Because they are forbidden from masturbating, planetarians channel their repressed sexual energy into_____"

Zack: Sephiroth's mother.

Angeal: WHAT?

Zack: IT'S NOT ME, IT'S THE CARD I SWEAR *he shows them the card*

Genesis: HOW DID YOU GET A SEPHIROTH-THEMED ONE? THAT'S NOT FAIR.

Zack: Sephiroth, you're not mad are you?

Sephiroth: Of course not. It's merely a game.

Cloud: Zack, one point. Let's continue.

Cloud: "In Midgar County Jail, word is you can trade 200 cigarettes for_____"

Genesis: Blow Up Bianca the Latex Lovedoll!

Angeal: A defective condom.

Sephiroth: Again, I'm unsure how one can trade, quote, "Feeling aroused by vehicular manslaughter," for cigarettes. Usually, when in jail, one will look to trade comestibles and other—

Genesis: I am going to choke you to death with your own hair.

Sephiroth:

Cloud: Zack, you're—stop crying—you're next. In Midgar County Jail, word is you can trade 200 cigarettes for_____"

Zack: A night of passion with Sephiroth's mother.

Genesis: HOW COME YOU GOT ALL THE GOOD CARDS?

Angeal: SERIOUSLY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUR CARDS?

Zack: I DON'T KNOW.

Zack: Sephiroth, please don't be mad!

Sephiroth: I'm slightly irritated, but otherwise calm.

Cloud: Zack, two points. Moving on. "A romantic, candlelit dinner would be incomplete without____"

Genesis: Calculating every mannerism so as not to suggest homosexuality!

Angeal: Oh my god. Dwarf tossing. Zack, are you sobbing??

Sephiroth: Due to my limited romantic experience, I cannot possibly—

Genesis: FOR THE LOVE OF SHIT USE THE CARDS.

Cloud: Zack is having a panic attack.

Sephiroth: But it doesn't make sense. How is a romantic, candlelit dinner complete with, quote, Fetal alcohol syndrome?

Cloud: Zack, you're next. A romantic, candlelit dinner would be incomplete without____

Zack, sobbing: A mutual orgasm with Sephiroth's mother.

Genesis: THAT'S IT. I CAN'T PLAY IF ZACK'S GOING TO CHEAT.

Zack: I'M NOT CHEATING LOOK AT MY CARD.

Angeal: GENESIS, SIT DOWN YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD BEHAVE.

Cloud: WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?

Angeal: WE'RE NOT FIGHTING. WE'RE HAVING A LOVELY GAME AMONGST FRIENDS—SEPHIROTH WHY DO YOU HAVE A KNIFE?

*Zack is sobbing louder and trying to run away, Genesis is holding him down*

Sephiroth: I like to have it on hand should I feel the need to use it.

*Lazard pokes his head in the room*

Lazard: STOP YELLING OR I'M GOING TO CALL THE POLICE.

Cloud: GUYS, SHUT UP. SIT DOWN. Zack, one point.

Genesis: WHY ARE YOU GIVING HIM ALL THE POINTS??

Cloud: BECAUSE HE'S THE ONLY ONE WITH GOOD ANSWERS.

*Lazard pokes his head back in the room*

Lazard: WHAT DID I JUST—

*Angeal rips off his boot and violently throws it at him*

Cloud: Next round. "What's the gift that keeps on giving?"

Genesis: Being a dick to children!

Angeal: A snapping turtle biting the tip of your penis—HEY! WHERE ARE YOU—Cloud, sit on Zack so he doesn't escape.

Zack: I'M GOING TO DIE.

Cloud: Sephiroth, you're next.

Sephiroth: I feel that I need more context to provide an accurate answer.

Angeal: I FEEL THAT I NEED TO REARRANGE YOUR FACE WITH A TIRE HAMMER TO GET YOU TO PLAY PROPERLY.

Genesis: AH-HA! YOU SAID WE HAD TO BEHAVE!

Angeal: WE'RE NOT FIGHTING. WE'RE BEING CIVIL TO EACH OTHER.

Sephiroth: You're red in the face. That suggests internalized anger.

*Angeal rips off his other boot and throws it at Sephiroth*

Cloud: Zack, now you. What's the gift that keeps on giving?

Zack, sobbing: Sephiroth's mother's breasts.

*Sephiroth puts Masamune on the table*

*Zack screams and sobs louder*

Genesis: UGH! WHY DIDN'T I GET ANY SEPHIROTH THEMED ONES??? HOW IS THIS FAIR???

Cloud: Zack, another point to you.

*Genesis flies at Cloud but Angeal and Sephiroth hold him back*

Genesis: THIS IS BULLSHIT. I'M AT A DISADVANTAGE.

Sephiroth: Angeal, you were wrong. Genesis is the one crying because he's losing.

Angeal: CAN WE JUST FINISH THE GAME ALREADY? ZACK, STOP CRYING. SEPHIROTH ISN'T GOING TO HURT YOU.

*Sephiroth is sharpening his sword and smiling sweetly at Zack*

Zack, sniffling: I only have one card left and it's not about Sephiroth's mother. Maybe I'm safe now!

Cloud: Good. Next round. "What did Sephiroth bring back from his trip to the labs?"

*Zack sobs loudly as he holds up a card that reads "AN OEDIPUS COMPLEX"

Sephiroth: THAT'S IT

*Sephiroth dives across the table and grabs Zack by the neck. Zack is screaming. Angeal is trying to pull them apart*

Cloud: Zack wins.

Genesis: FUCK ALL OF THIS.

*Genesis breaks the table in half*

*Lazard pokes his head back in the room*

Lazard: ALRIGHT! NO MORE CARDS AGAINST HUMANITY. YOU PEOPLE CAN'T HAVE SHIT.

[mllekurtz]

Something neat and relatable I noticed about Neve is that she has complete control over the image she projects of herself.

Specifically my radar pinged when I heard some of her banter with Harding. "You're trapped on a deserted island, you can three things!" Harding says, and Neve replies with items that will help her leave the deserted island. Then Harding asks, "Fried fish or coffee, if you had to pick?" to which Neve's first answer is, "Depends", and then: "Why do I have to pick one? Has something happened to the fish? To the coffee?" (the latter in an adorably alarmed tone).

And the thing is, she has to know these are getting-to-know-you questions, that Harding is essentially making small talk; I believe her answers are a kind of "yes, and" and they also lampshade the fact she's a detective ("They want you to choose which one you like better!" / "Who are they? What's their angle?").

(Any time I see a Tumblr poll that asks me to choose between completely arbitrary stuff with zero context, my adult reaction is to tell myself, "This is just for fun, Jess, it's not a real question, you don't have to take it seriously," but I still have to battle the knee-jerk reaction of "WHY are they making me choose? Who are they? What's their angle?" This is the relatable part.)

Neve comes from the poorest district in town, but mingles with high-borns effortlessly. She is a gremlin whose idea of decent coffee is dishwater filtered through a sock, but dresses impeccably. The idea of talking about her feelings almost makes her throw up, but she is one of your most empathetic companions.

There are So Many Filters between her thoughts and her words, between her soft core and her hardened shell, and the thing is: it doesn't make her less genuine! She still goes along with Harding's parlor games. She deliberately presents a competent, approachable image of herself, and at other times she is deliberately playful. Seeing her at her most spontaneous and vulnerable is an almost unbearable privilege afforded to none but the selected few, and it's made even more precious by the fact she usually controls how you see her, not in a manipulative way (hi, Solas), but because keeping her distance is safe for both you AND her.

(And it's also, in a way, a measure of politeness and consideration: you don't want to deal with her unfiltered self, believe her. You don't deserve to be subjected to her mess.)

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

I believe that 50% of the hate Leonie gets is because people don't understand apprenticeships. The Master-Student relationship is not familial, but you traditionally live with them, eat with them, and learn from them every day. It's supposed to last seven years. I'd bet Jeralt didn't give her seven weeks before skipping town.

She spends years being defined as Jeralt's apprentice, the village hero, in her small community. It's become part of her identity by the time she goes to Garreg Mach. (How many hours, days, months, years does she spend going over and over the things he taught her before he left? How many people mocked her for not being able to get him to stay?) Of course she's going to be thrilled to find him again! Especially since he finally takes the apprenticeship seriously.

It has nothing to do with sex.

The other 50% is because grief can cause you to make bad, insensitive decisions. And for some reason people prioritize her B-Support, a one time event, over the fact that anytime else in the month she willingly acknowledges that Byleth is struggling more with the death of their father than Leonie is.

It's a knee jerk reaction. A bad one that she only apologizes for in her A-support with Byleth, which a lot of people don't see because they drop her after the B-Support. (Yes, the apology is followed by a claim that she's still Jeralt's best apprentice and Byleth's rival in that way, but that's always come off as her trying to crack a joke to me.)

The writers did her dirty and people don't understand her situation correctly. But she's a good character and a good unit. Most of her supports are fantastic and don't even mention Jeralt! She does have a personality beyond her Master-Student relationship with him. You just have to give her a honest chance and a little grace.

tldr; Leonie is misunderstood and is actually awesome and a good person.

(please forgive me if this counts as 3H discourse. i wasn't sure, but this is important to me so i had to try)

!

[buckysgrace]

Bleed it out

Billy Hargrove x Reader smut

CW: use of handcuffs, milking, edging, anal fingering

You wanna make Billy feel good.

“What are you doing?” He questioned you, watching the way you brought his hands up above his head. You grinned, gently linking your fingers across his wrists as you beamed down at him.

“You said we could try something new.” You reminded him, sending him a cheeky look as you let the handcuffs dangle down from your palm. Billy stared at them, an unamused look crossing his features.

“Yeah, for you,” He mumbled as you slowly linked one of his wrists within the metal band, “Not me.” He shot you a look. You bit your bottom lip, leaning down to lightly press a kiss against his nose.

“My turn after,” You told him gently, “Please. This will be fun.” You pouted your lips out, hoping that you would be able to convince him. He sighed deeply as he rested his other hand up against the headboard. 

“I doubt that,” He mumbled but let you link his other wrist regardless, “Just don’t lose the key.” He reminded you pointedly. You felt your lips curling into a grin, thinking that making the key disappear would be a cruel joke. 

“I won’t,” You told him seriously, “Just relax.” You mumbled as you dipped your head down to meet his lips again. You kissed him harder this time, deeper as you slowly began to grind yourself down against his lower abdomen. You let your hands trace down his bare chest, thankful that you’d already taken the time to undress one another.

“Mhm,” He smirked softly as he snagged your bottom lip between his teeth, looking quite proud of the moan that left your lips, “You just gonna sit there or what?” He asked as he pulled away, his blue eyes flickering full of lust.

“Impatient,” You teased as you drifted your fingertips across his nipples, enjoying the way that he squirmed against your touch. You slowly moved yourself off of his body, settling between his knees as you gently pried them apart, “I’ll treat you good.” You promised as you slowly wrapped your manicured hands around his hardening cock.

He sighed out, watching as you lazily stroked him in your hand. You enjoyed the feeling of your skin against his ridges, the way his cock curved and how he was slightly thicker at his base. You moved your fingers back to his tip, slowly spreading the precum around his reddened skin before jerking your hand back down again.

You felt your stomach building in anticipation as you glanced up, meeting his observing eyes as he stared you down. You could feel warmth spreading throughout your body, but you kept yourself relaxed. He’d taken his time with you so many times, you just wanted to do the same.

“You’re so big,” You gushed out, enjoying the way he was slowly beginning to grind his hips up into your hand, “Wanna make you feel so good.” You told him earnestly as you began to jerk your hand up and down the length of his cock a little quicker.

“Always do,” He grinned languorously. His eyelids shut again as he continued to grind up into your hand as you began to watch the pleasure that spread through his features. You were determined to draw more of a reaction from him, to make him sing from your touch, “Such a good girl.”

His words spurred you on as you began to move your hand faster. You repeated the motions of spreading his precum down his cock, enjoying the wet sounds that were beginning to slip free from your motions. Billy began to groan a little louder, move his hips forward a little harder. 

“Fuck, fuck,” Billy cursed, his hips snapping forward roughly as he fucked his cock into your hand, “Jesus. Don’t stop.” He begged, his eyebrows knitted together in pleasure. You grinned, letting him get one last stroke in before you were pulling your hand away.

“Not yet,” You whispered seductively as you bit down on his earlobe. He huffed underneath you, “Don’t give me that look. You’ll get there.” You promised, watching the way his body jolted as you rubbed your finger across his leaking tip.

“Can you stop with the fucking teasing?” He snapped at you, his blue eyes blazing as he turned towards you. You gently played with his harsh tone as you teetered back onto your heels. 

“That’s not very nice,” You pouted softly, “Ask me nicely. I might consider it.” You told him seriously as you began to drag your nails across his thighs. He jolted for a second, looking rather defiant until your hands moved closer to his cock again. You slowly moved your hands across his heavy balls, squeezing them softly to draw a moan from his lips. 

“Please,” Billy spit out between clenched teeth, before huffing and relaxing his jaw, “Can you please stop teasing me?” He asked you softer as a desperate look flicked across his features. You bit her lip, pretending to debate on it as you continued to massage his warm balls in your hands. 

“Do you want to cum?” You whispered out, watching the way his lips parted again. He breathed in deeply, nodding his head a little too eagerly. You grinned as you moved towards the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube.

“What are you doing?” He asked as you shook the bottle and began to squirt the liquid out onto your hands. You spared him a quick glance before you attempted to shake more of the liquid from the near empty bottle. 

“Gonna make you cum,” You promised as you tossed the bottle aside. You leaned forward to press your legs against his slowly, “Just trust me.” You promised him, but saw no sign of resistance in his eyes. This wasn’t your first experience with fingering him. 

You let the lube drip down your hand, coating your fingers as you slowly rubbed your fingertips across the sticky liquid. You grinned, catching the desire in his eyes as you dipped your fingers back between his legs. 

You ghosted a finger across his rim, enjoying the way he squirmed underneath your touch. You slowly pushed one of your fingers inside of his tight hole, watching the way his hips slowly jolted up off the bed. You breathed in slowly, pleasure tightening in your tummy as you watched the way your finger disappeared inside of him. You slowly wiggled it back and forth, letting him adjust before you slid another in.

“Fuck,” He spit out, his thick eyelashes fluttering from how he peacefully shut his eyes. His pink lips parted in bliss, his white teeth shining in the light as you slowly scissored your fingers inside of him, “Jesus.” He breathed out a second later, snapping his eyes open as he looked down at you with hooded eyes.

“Do you like that?” You teased him with a grin, scooting forward a bit so you could rock your fingers into you deeper. You were moving with a purpose now, desperate to find the spot that would have him crying out in pleasure.

“Yes, yes,” He moaned a little louder as he dug his heels into the mattress, trying to fuck himself back onto your fingers. You chewed on your bottom lip, staring at the precum that was leaking out of his cock and onto his skin. You wanted to feel him throbbing in your palm again, but the thought of making him cum without touching your cock sparked your interest, “Please, please don’t stop.” His voice was raspier this time, begging to come undone underneath you.

“Awe,” You pouted your lips out mockingly, the same way he’d done to you a hundred different times, “Does it feel good? Do you want to cum?” You drew out slowly as you continued to curl your fingers inside of his tight walls as you pressed your other palm against his hip, trying to keep him still.

“Feels so fucking good,” He mewled in pleasure, his tanned cheeks burning as he closed his eyes once again. You giggled to yourself, feeling quite proud to see him in this state. You dragged your fingers in and out of him slowly, pushing them in deeper with each movement as you eventually found the spot that left his whole body jerking underneath you, “Fuck!” He cursed again as his cock bobbed against his skin.

You curled your fingers in the same position, keeping the same dire movements as you became more desperate to make him feel good. You pressed deeper against his warm walls, hitting that spot repeatedly as his groans grew louder.

“Need to feel you,” He whimpered softly, “Come on, touch my cock.” He begged, looking rather undone as he peered at you with lustful eyes. You felt yourself squirming against the bed, nearly losing all of your self control as you thought about sliding his cock inside of your cunt. 

“S’okay,” You breathed out, teasing him as you blew hot air against his throbbing dick, “I know you can do it without my hand. You’re such a good boy.” You praised him, lingering for just a second before you allowed yourself to flick your tongue up the length of his heavy cock.

He squirmed against you again, crying out even louder as he jerked his hips forward. You felt a moan leaving your lips as you tasted his slick against your tongue. You slowly rolled it around your mouth, enjoying his taste as you continued to pump your fingers against his prostate.

His sounds grew louder, dancing against your ears as you continued to rock into him. You could feel your own pleasure growing inside you, simply by watching him squirm and grind himself back onto your hand. You listened to the way your fingers slid inside of him and how tightly he gripped a hold of you, keeping you in place as he slowly became undone.

“Fuck, fuck!” He cursed, his knees pressed up against your sides as his hips jolted off the bed. You stared with heavy eyes, watching as thick globs of spunk spewed from his red tip. His groans filled the room as he clamped down around your fingers. You grinned, slowly rocking them up into him as you watched more liquid drizzle from his cock, “Holy fuck.” He whined, sending a jolt of pleasure traveling down your spine.

He was still squirming underneath you as you drew your free hand up to his cock, slowly giving it a few more pumps as he cried out from underneath you. You squeezed at his tip, watching as more spunk streamed from his red tip. He cursed again, his eyebrows knitted together tightly as you ensured that there was nothing left. 

“Such a good boy,” You teased him as you slowly withdrew your fingers. You watched the way his chest moved, how red his cheeks suddenly were as you moved up towards his chest. You flicked your tongue out, slowly licking away his cum as his eyes darted down to face you, “You did so good.” You praised him, watching the way his lips slowly curled up into a smile.

“Yeah?” He asked, still breathing hard as he tried to catch his breath, “Then can you do me a favor and let me go?” He asked with a smile as he slowly banged on the headboard of the bed. You grinned as you sat up on your knees again. 

“Billy?” You drew your eyes back towards him, noticing the tired look that was beginning to cross over his features. 

“Mhm,” He shifted his eyes up lazily to look at you, “Yeah?” You felt your lips pull into a sheepish grin as you rubbed your hands across his hairy thighs. You paused for a second before you spoke up. 

“Do you remember where I put the key?”

[justaragdollysblog]

appears micheviously rubbing my hands

may we perhaps have that zooble idea where they’re stuck in a room through of mirrors or a customisation menu >:3

take as long as you need to write it/nf!!

Fear Factor 

A Zooble angst fic

@ezrazwrldz HERE IT IS!!! IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!!!!

WARNING: ANGST, PSYCHOLOGICAL TORTURE, IDENTITY ISSUES

———————————————————————

The one day. The ONE day they decide to take Caine up on his incessant offer to participate….

it was a fear challenge.

Zooble stood, doing their best to express how much they HATED this idea. Seriously, they thought they were supposed to be distracted!

Caine’s algorithm’s bugged, they thought.

There was a large…room in the tent, disguised as some kind of mystical fortune telling place. Dark reds and purples adorned it, with “Face your fears!” draped over the entrance.

Zooble was the last to go in. They couldn’t decide if that was lucky or not. They’d seen Ragatha, pale as a ghost walk out with centipedes all over her. They’d seen Jax run out screaming, something about corn.

Pomni, after she got out, laid flat on the ground with scribbled pupils. Something about heights, they thought. Everyone else came and went, and now it’s their turn.

“Well!” Caine began, hands on his digital hips. “Looks like you’re our last contestant! Can you brave your darkest fear, or will you succumb to the safety of familiarity?” He boomed dramatically.

Zooble glared at him. “For one, I don’t feel safe here anyways. Whatever your AI can conjure up can’t rattle me, Caine.”

“See, I’ll prove it.” They boldly approached the pitched tent of fears, looking up at him with a determined expression. “You’ll see.”

With that, they walked in.

-

Zooble was dumbfounded.

The inside of the tent, strangely MUCH bigger on the inside, was completely covered in mirrors.

And staring back at Zooble was their reflection.

They let out a nervous laugh. This wasn’t bad. Mirrors? Did Caine think they were THIS childish?

But….

They began to stare. And stare. And stare, only at themselves.

The parts they chose that day….why did they choose them? They didn’t even look good. They didn’t work. They didn’t WORK-

Zooble quickly looked away, but it was completely fruitless. The whole area was covered in the reflective surfaces.

They jerked their head around, catching every glance on the mirrors. Panicked and distressed whimpers escaped them.

Ugly.

Another mirror.

Horrifying.

Another mirror.

Why can’t they find something that fits? Something that works, something that doesn’t make them want to scream and break things and who even are they -

Zooble fell to their knees, shutting their eyes and letting out a deafening scream. They were sobbing, in complete and utter distress and panic.

They couldn’t get out, this was how they were going to die and don’t look just keep your eyes closed -

Suddenly, a whooshing feeling. Suddenly, the bright lights of the circus tent.

Suddenly, they were on the ground outside of it.

Zooble still had their eyes tightly shut, thrashing around in blind panic and anxiety. They were shaking violently.

Gangle rushed over, kneeling down next to them. She didn’t know what they saw, but it had to have been something horrific for them.

“Zooble? Zooble, can you hear me? It’s Gangle.” She kept her voice calm and steady despite her concern.

Zooble eventually dared to open their eyes again. “Gangle…?” They whispered.

She smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s me. I’m here.” She slowly and carefully wrapped her ribbons around them, helping them stand up.

She knew Zooble would tell her what they saw on their own terms; she’d never force them to talk about it. For now; she had to get them somewhere safe and quiet.

As they walked away, Caine nodded to himself. “An amazed reaction, indeed!”

They never did this adventure again.

———————————————————————

WOOOHOOOO!!!

reblogs are appreciated!!! see u guys next time!!!