#so sorry that this happened to you I have faith that you’ll get your accounts back though

[tariah23]

No way, they snipped Haven for no reason, he was the best guy AROUNDDDD!!! @mr-foods

[iznsfw]

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself. 

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung. 

It’s all because of her. 

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation. 

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it. 

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do. 

hey, it reads, you need to—

-

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it. 

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands. 

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together. 

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth. 

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours. 

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin. 

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look. 

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane. 

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?” 

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to. 

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection. 

Deception can’t lead you away. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?” 

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart. 

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve. 

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for. 

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder. 

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.” 

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin. 

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You. 

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that. 

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger. 

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right. 

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service. 

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already. 

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her. 

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game. 

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.” 

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.” 

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected. 

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too. 

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity. 

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again. 

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction. 

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways. 

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you. 

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you. 

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers. 

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs. 

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care. 

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes. 

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff. 

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent. 

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung. 

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down. 

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open. 

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good. 

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore. 

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both. 

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?” 

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips. 

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had. 

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect. 

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking. 

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker. 

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

-

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some. 

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too. 

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting. 

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

[prototypesteve]

hi! I just came across your acc and read some of your posts and you seem a really inspiring individual. im a 18yo demisexual person who's really close to their queerness (both in the sexuality and gender aspects) as its a fundamental part of my individuality. and i dunno, both my being acespec and genderqueer are a tricky... thing to get into when i want to get into relationships. im trying to be happy by myself. and this was very random and all, but as you're an adult aroace (i see very very few of them) its inspiring to me knowing I can still have a good, normal life? while living in full authenticity. idk. sorry if this is random. you dont have to reply. your account was nice to come across. have a wonderful day

Thank you for this. This is why I’m here. Honestly this is most of why I came out. Seriously.

Being Different and “New”.

The world is catching up with you, so you’ll have to be patient sometimes. Language often outpaces feelings. People know how to address genderqueer (they know all the words) but they’re still learning how to process genderqueer (they’re deconstructing all the old gender “archetypes” and stereotypes they were taught by parents and teachers who didn’t address or process genderqueer in their day). They will figure it out, because they can see it’s real. But it’s frustrating, in the meantime.

Even our own community of LGBTQIA+ (in Canada we use 2SLGBTQIA+, leading with 2S for two-spirit) is catching up with us in a lot of ways. The queer community has largely thought of queer as for/about genderqueer, and so when they see aros and aces and demisexuals and demiromantics, they have to either accept or reject that there’s a whole other layer of queer called relationship queer who intersect and overlap with genderqueer inside the bigger (and for some “newly bigger”) queer category/world/thing.

Being alone.

Alone is a complicated word for us. Aspec people experience a few kinds of alone-ness. There’s completion, which allos sometimes don’t get. We’re complete inasmuch as aspec people don’t have as many spaces in their lives where they need an “other half,” even though many of us spend a lot of our lives being told we have that space and we need to fill it. I wrote about that, here.

Then there’s the way we can can feel isolated from the bigger queer world because of the ways some people refuse to accept asexuality and aromanticism as queer, because they see it as a cishet thing, somehow.

We can feel isolated from traditional communities built around faith, politics, ethnicity, national identity, or even generational identity (GenX was wiiiiildly amatonormative), all because our defining differences are falsely interpreted as “new”. People misread our orientation as a phase, or a “made up internet thing” even though we’ve always been here. For ages, the world didn’t want to talk about all the asexual, aromantic, demisexual, and demiromantic people they could see everywhere—unlabelled, but plain as day—and now that we want to talk about ourselves, they’re going to say “you’re making that up”.

Then there’s the alone-ness of trying to explain how we do love, but differently. That one’s hard. I think that’s the one I’m going through the most, this year.

“See Also”:

Anyway, here’s a poorly-sorted and always growing “library” of links to my most popular social media posts, and stuff I’ve learned as an older ace. The recurring theme is that it really is going to be okay.

I’m still me, but now I know why. (How I explain my “thing” to straight friends who knew me from before I came out.)

Phase (You don’t outgrow it. I’m proof.)

Complete (Our complex relationship with “Alone���)

1994 (The counsellor story)

When I realized (Slow origin story)

Lifeline (Something bad happened to me when I was young, and believe it or not, Spider-Man rescued me.)

Recipe for Disaster (When life happens BEFORE you figure out your orientations)

Sexual Induction rather than a sexual awakening. (Things won’t always follow the romance novel playbook.)

Complicated. (Being queer AND Christian.)

Din Djarin Aroace Rep (We love. We just mostly do all the other kinds of love)

Treasure (a note to my trans friends)

Happy Ace Week (yes we’re here)

Masked (About not being out to everyone)

Negotiating (About gaining “acceptance” from the bigger queer community.

[zzencat]

Tarot Mini Reading Request

My initials: SR, Sabrina Rocha

17.06.2004

Sun-Moon-Mercury-Venus-Lilith Gemini ♊️

His Initials: RP, Rico P.

29.11.1991

Coworker at gastro, leader/shift supervisor 2nd in-command. Charismatic, hard to get to know personally. Problem-solver, strategic and professional. Great at teamwork. Gym rat. No hobbies. No faith in love or trust, but seems to be devoted to God (wears cross), always has his doppio espresso. Speaks Spanish and likes Shisha bars.

Green eyes, tall and very fit, beautiful smile. Blueish-greenish grey aura/vibes.

Sort of became a little more softie towards me. Caring when I don’t make him book food for my dinner (one of his tasks for the team), sometimes double-asking. Defending me from a disrespectful coworker on some occasions. Seemingly being closer to me at times. Or like that time he stared almost intensely at my eyes….and I tried to hold the stare until I looked down and away…shy as hell.

Last time we worked together, I gifted him a letter. Sort of love letter confessing that I like him more than just a coworker and inviting him to a coffee date. Also reassuring him I respect him a lot as a person and hope nothing will change after this if he feels uncomfortable or can’t reciprocate the feelings back. At the end telling a little more about me via a self-made quote and songs. A few drawings and scents (coffee, vanilla and lemongrass) on the letter and envelope.

What will the answer be or rely to be most likely? Positive, negative. Any other cards telling more, as it’s a short reading?

I’d be willing to expand on that through paying a little extra amount for more card pulls and energy-reading.

Thank you so much already!

sabrina sorry but does his surname happen to be…puerto?? nah nah im kidding 😂😂😂 my own lil jokes haha im playin

rico’s energy?

ok so…he kinda has a weird energy to him? it’s kinda strange. it’s like he’s putting on some sort of act or something or maybe he has to but yeah you’re right about him being hard to open up. he’s getting there yes, also correct.. but there’s something that’s going to be revealed and it will change everything. it was probably your little confession, but he’s taking everything into account. it’s also strange that i got deception like 3 times in the reading already. not in a bad way but like…hiding his true feelings? ik this is a little late so idk if he’s answered you yet, but in his mind he’ll try to keep things as peaceful and harmonious, at least at work. i will say that whatever the outcome is, you’ll try to keep yourself balanced and logical. it’s gonna be hard at work but you’ll try really, realllllly hard. you might hold back feelings or suppress some emotions. also i pulled some advice for you. again, whatever the outcome, make sure you don’t change yourself. love will come to you naturally. ALSO!!!! be very careful materially. don’t be sharing finances out so easily, NO MATTER WHO THEY ARE!!!!!!! very important. be careful of theft as well. be careful who you let in easily. if you’re already guarded and are an alert person, that’s going to do you some good for now. i think you’re a fair person or at least you want to act fairly. you might have some moments where you feel like you have to overcompensate or prove yourself and your worth, especially at this job. be careful that you don’t become greedy materially. AND if people know you’re a hardworker and they happen to know how much you make, even if it’s more than them maybe, be careful with that as well. i want you to be super cautious money wise. you’ll feel down at times and to deal with it, you could put that energy into work or other things, so make sure you rest yourself and give yourself time to sit down and process emotions sometimes ok? i don’t think you give up easily either so good on you! you’re just getting started hahah. and you are worthy alright? don’t ever doubt it.

i think there’s possibility for there to be a love connection (in the future)! it just probably won’t happen super soon bc of financial reasons. he could feel pretty stuck and unsure how to really move on from now. whatever the outcome, he doesn’t want there to be drama between you two or work. he’d like to keep everything civil. if he’s a little avoidant, it’s probably bc you’re taking steps to pursue him. not that he thinks it’s bad! he’s just kind of in that…uncertain period, esp emotionally. it’s not you tho! not your fault or anything. the good thing is that he’ll try to be nice about everything. maybe it won’t happen so soon, but there is definitely a chance for you in the future with this guy. it could also be an age thing, so maybe he’s waiting for you to be more financially stable or just ready in general. he could also be in that energy where if he pursues this relationship, he’s thinking about *everything* that could change in his life.

that’s all i have for you sabrina!! thank you for joining the game :)

[juromegweekend]

Hello everyone! The hiatus this account was going through is over. Let's discuss what that means in a thread shall we?

First of all, I want to say I’m sorry for going basically radio silent for a month. My intention was to take a short break and return shortly, but between starting university, having some personal issues, and even a crisis of faith in this project itself, it eventually spiraled into this month-long break.

Again, I apologize for leaving you all hanging for so long, and I hope you’ve all been doing well, both in your projects, and in your personal lives.

On to the next topic, JuroMeg Weekend is happening in ten days! If you wish to submit anything for the Daily Post, now is your last chance to do so.

To put it frankly, I only have enough post ideas to last the weekend. Assuming we get flooded with responses I’ll use each one for a daily post (with credit, don't worry), even after the event closes. Rest assured your submission will be used!

Finally, I hope everyone is nearing completion of what you’ll be posting for the event, whether you’ve got something for each day, or could barely finish one project (like me lol). I look forward to seeing each and every one of them! Remember to use the hashtag or at the account to be retweeted.

There will likely be more posts leading up to the weekend itself, so stay tuned for those!

[yevasxvoid]

On The Other Side [Scaramouche x Reader] Pt. 1

The Balladeer was exhausted, both his body and mind aches after another extended period of time in the abyss. This time he didn’t have to breathe in the stench of Dottore’s lab and hear the scientists’ incoherent mumbling and scrutiny. 

For the first time in ages, his mechanical joints ached and it was too difficult for him to even move. The headquarters were almost empty, and there was nobody in the hallways to witness his pathetic state.

“Allow me.” Y/n reached out to him.

“Don’t,” He snarled.

“The Doctor is busy, allow me.” She accentuated the last two words.

He caught a mere glimpse of the bruises littering her neck as she led the way into her lab. 

Dottore was always short on assistance. His sinister aura struck fear into most people. His paid assistants usually only lasted a few months, and Y/n has been around longer than any of the rest have. 

“Stockholm Girl,” The Balladeer had called her for the longest time. Any human who worked beneath The Doctor was brave. One who volunteered to do so was just stupid. 

He laid flat on the lab table, lights irritating his eyes. Y/n worked diligently to repair him, and silently took down notes. Her aura was much less probing and oppressive than Dottore’s. She behaved as if she acknowledged him as a living thing, rather than a puppet test subject. Her touches were gentle and silence was comforting. The Balladeer could only grimace at her as she worked.

“Is there an issue?” Her gaze moved up to his face. There was an undertone of sorrow in her indifferent expression. 

His eyes flickered down to the ugly colors on her neck, “If you stayed in your place, that wouldn’t happen at all.”

“As a researcher, it’s my job to ask questions.” Her hands moved swiftly as she treated the wounds that painted his legs. 

“The Fatui are remarkable at maintaining individual philosophy, aren't it?” He paused before there was a shift in tone, “You’ll be useless to The Doctor once he accomplishes his goals, and your insolence won’t be enough to save you. If you’re as genius as they say you are, go work elsewhere in Teyvat.”

For a moment she tightened the bandage around his upper thigh enough for him to hiss. He silenced a string of curses and leered at her. She felt guilty, “Sorry…This is my home, and I refuse to ever abandon it. Pointless sentiment, I know.” 

He scoffed, “What were you even disagreeing on?”

“The procedure for this experiment was too risky,” Her brows furrowed and a hint of anger rose in her voice. 

“A few more trails would’ve accounted for any corrupted data. It’s nothing to get yourself punished for.”

“That’s…” She was unsure what to say.

“I’m gonna start rusting at this rate, spit it out.”

Her face burned, “The Data has been coming out quite well compared to when we first began, but it’s taking more of a toll on you. You realize that you’re still in pain, even now after I’ve treated your wounds.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” there was an edge to his voice, “Don’t develop a sense of morals now, after decades of work.”

“Even a lifeless doll has its limits, and you won’t even realize when it’s reached you.”

—

After decades of pain, The Balladeer has never felt more alive. The tubes protruding from his back gave him a sense of elation. Soon, he would be a god. His desires would completely manifest into reality once he receives Divine Knowledge.

He glanced over to the woman taking notes on him. For a human who spent just as long working on this as he did, she did not appear half as excited.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d be your first follower.”

“You lack faith in me?”

“There’s nothing the gods can offer me.”

“Well, what do you want?” He asked.

“I have no idea, but it’s not something I can find within the Fatui. After this experiment is complete, I’m resigning.”

“You’re no longer enamored with your homeland?”

“I was never in love with Snezhnayah, it’s only a landmass.”

“You’re the same woman who always spoke of persevering for the homeland.”

“This is where we part ways.” She smiled, “When I said ‘home’, I did not mean Snezhnaya.”

Scaramouche pondered the meaning of her words, but every conclusion he drew upon was nonsensical. He could not bring himself to ask, in the fear that her “home” was another human. He shoved the idea to the back of his mind, ‘If I entertain her any longer, worldly filth would defile me again before I reach godhood.’

--

“You’ve served me diligently over the years, so I will do you a favor in return.” The Doctor spoke, “The Balladeer stands no chance against The Traveller. His plans will be foiled, so if you know what’s good for you, abandon your pathetic feelings for him and leave.” 

“Your cold heart ceases to surprise me, Dottore. I have no intention of taking your advice.”

“Suit yourself, but he doesn't love you. He who lacks a heart can never love, and if he tried, it would only ever manifest into something ugly.”

“I don’t need him to return anything. My relationships are not transactional as yours.”

“Do I need to remind you of when you caught Hanahaki Disease? Face it, even if he cared about you enough, a puppet cannot love.”

“None of this is your concern.”

“Perhaps, but I’ve always enjoyed watching my disloyal little assistant squirm and struggle.” He grinned. 

Y/n walked past him and the sound of his maniacal laughter echoed. Even as memories flooded her mind, she was determined to find the Balladeer.

[mcalhenwrites]

Oct 15: Sharing a Tradition

[Wren, Dunn, Tessa, Niven, and... Well, Flick's around somewhere, I'm sure, being moody. All from The Hostile Credence. Warning for mention of cannibalism. I barely edited any of this, sorry. At least I'm getting these written???]

Wren and Dunn always went shopping together. They left Niven behind with Tessa, who couldn’t come on account of her being a dragon that attracted a significant amount of attention. During these trips into town, Flick often disappeared. No one asked where he went, which always raised more suspicion.

Wren and Dunn brought back a special treat after dropping in at a small village at the edge of a mountain lake. Dunn held up a set of stringed fish in a gloved hand as soon as he had Niven and Tessa’s attention.

“Yernin salmon,” he declared proudly. “A real treat where I’m from!”

“One of the only ones,” Wren remarked. “The only meat other than mushrooms to eat.”

“Other than mushrooms and people,” Dunn corrected him.

Niven frowned at him. “You can joke about that?”

“About cannibalism?” Dunn shrugged as he hooked the line over one of the corners of their cart. The fish slapped against the wooden side. “I never stooped to it. I was a strict pescatarian until I met Wren and went hunting with him. Sometimes you have to joke about grim events in your life. It’s a fucked up way of coping, you don’t have to remind me.”

“I don’t think your jokes will ever be as bad as Tessa’s,” Niven assured him.

“What?!” The dragon let out a loud huff that sent the leaves kicking up around her. “I should be commended for making the effort. Methla was my teacher in all things human, after all.”

“Fair.” If Niven’s teacher was someone who spoke in riddles, he might have a strange sense of humor as well.

Niven walked over to the salmon. They were larger than he would have expected from an inhospitable region like Yernin.

“How did you cook them?” he asked Dunn.

Dunn leaned against the cart, one elbow hooked around the top. “First you make Yernin asparagus soup, then grill the salmon and drop it in the bowl. Adds a lovely fish flavor to the broth.”

“How do you make the soup? It’s not like we have Yernin asparagus around.”

“We’ll use regular asparagus. Tastes entirely different, though, so we’ll see. Yernin asparagus doesn’t get soggy when boiled, so we’ll have to add it last. You start with vegetable broth like what Wren makes his stews from, add seasonings, toss in any local produce that blends well together, and let it boil while you’re grilling the fish. Tastes good with a drop of soy sauce too. We’ll have to make due with the carrots, onions, and potatoes we have right now. We usually have mushrooms with it in Yernin, but I’m not sure what’s safe in this region. Just having the salmon travel this way is a rare treat.”

“That all sounds good to me! The question is, who is making it? You or Wren?”

“Wren’s got the soup, I’m grilling the fish.” Dunn scowled. “You don’t have faith in my soups?”

“I do, but I’ve been spoiled on Wren’s.”

Dunn leaned back a bit more and laughed. “That happens! But I’m the one who grew up in Yernin. I’m the best one to cook and share my traditional food with you.”

“No, I think Wren will do a better job,” Niven teased. “Even though you’ve never cooked anything I didn’t love.”

“You’ll love this for sure,” Dunn promised, reaching over and slapping Niven warmly on the arm. He pushed away from the cart and lowered the hatch. “Now, where did I put my skinning kit?”

[freebooter4ever]

Hello! Another random anonymous but I kept seeing you’re posts about some relationship relating things and saw the negative stuff you’ve said about yourself. Even if they might be teasing jokes about yourself, you might not realize this (and not in a creepy way 😅) but you really are wonderful! I love seeing your posts and you’re personality!

You’re super pretty too! This might sound really random and weird (and I’m honestly probably not getting the right context of anything because I’m sort of confuse about the topic since English isn’t my first language and the events are hard to catch up with) but my grandma has found love when she was in her 50s and has lived a nice life.

I know your situation differ from hers but have faith in yourself. Nothing is wrong with you at all, it just takes time to find the person right for you and when you do, you’ll find someone who deserves you and you deserve them, if you wish to find someone to love of course. But try to remember that you should try and have some more love for yourself, no matter how tough it can get.

Just know that there are people out there and no doubt people waiting to meet you and love you. Haha sorry if this all sounds super weird and awkward, it’s just how the people of my culture see things. There’s always that one person out there who loves you and is waiting to love you 😊

Hi there! Not annoying at all, my entire blog could probably be classified as annoying, this is most definitely not a curated space :). I waited to respond to this cause i wasn't sure how.

First, im really sorry, i should probably tag my insecurity posts with trigger warnings, i know it can be...a bit much. and can hurt other people who read it. The good news is the insecurities usually only happen when im dating and i like...never...date. So as soon as i find a job i will happily go back to 'im too busy to date', and i can shove the insecurity back under the self hating rug. Its like a hornets nest - its only if you poke the nest that you get stung and i keep poking the nest lately.

Second, I apologize if i generalized too much, i am trying to be more aware of myself doing that. There's lots of examples of friends with good long relationships in my life - the friend whose wedding i'm going to has been with her husband for ten years, my other childhood bff has been with her partner for 11, and jelly bean and her husband have been married since 2015 and dating since college (lord we are old). And of the celebrity couples i kinda idolize, im pretty sure only steve ao*ki and recently rami (lol good for him) are the ones with break ups. (i have been REALLY entertained by the sheer sudden volume increase in thirst traps on steve's insta starting around the time nicole got cozy with this new guy and deleted her loving tributes to steve off her account - dont get me wrong i fully appreciate the photos and selfies, enjoying every minute of it but yeah he must be single right now LOL i would feel more bad for him if he hadnt been the one doing the dumping)(it must be hard dating with his insanely fast paced lifestyle though, i dont envy him :( ). So its absolutely a 'me' problem.

My only experiences dating over the years have taught me that i dont have much to offer that someone cant get through friendship (or friends with benefits) - entertaining and fun to hang out with but not pretty enough (or good in bed enough LOL) to be actually worthwhile. At this point its kind of a joke; "its saturday night, why are you calling me, dont you have somewhere to be?" "no, of course not, i was wondering if i could come hang out with your dog"

Thanks for trying to cheer me up? :) i'm sorry i'm an insecure mess!

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

I think there’s a baseline level of trust you can and should give to content creators (and strangers in general), but that baseline level is to assume that they’re, like, a person coming into things with good faith intentions and not acting in malice. Like, basic human decency stuff. Of course, if someone ever crosses that trust at all then you shouldn’t trust them with that, and you shouldn’t use that assumption to ignore red flags at all, but I think having a basic trust in people to not act maliciously is healthy, and I think a lot of the people acting parasocial about this are either putting too much trust into ccs, treating them like friends, or they're not putting enough trust in, acting in paranoia and assuming the worst. The former is dangerous, but so is the latter too- it’s a trauma response. I've lost friends falling into it and lashing out. I lost a friend literally yesterday for doing that (if ur reading this somehow, hi, hope you’re doing well, i was a bitch to you and i am aware of that and i'm really fucking sorry) and it was well within their rights to do that because if you don’t trust people to be decent human beings who may make mistakes, you lash out and act mean. and lashing out and acting mean and being constantly vigilant won’t help you avoid any of this! it’s just stewing in incredibly unhealthy coping mechanisms. or at least that’s how i see it.

though, again, if any cc breaks that trust in you, that’s fine. i know several who did, both for personal moral stances (stuff that happened to me during my trauma and I therefore view as inappropriate to do around minor ccs, for instance- stuff that’s personal) and like. being an abuser. but what does lashing out and being mean do even if a cc is bad? it just makes you feel worse, right? like, absolutely spread awareness over those you view as dangerous. talk about behaviour you view as inappropriate- i've been talking about how safeguarding should be better for both underage fans and underage ccs in this space for years, i am the last person to tell you to stop doing that. like, i barely even watch mcyt content outside of using exile vods to lull me to sleep i don’t care about any particular cc but i've seen a lot of toxic, unhealthy behaviour portrayed as normal precautions to take against ccs, and honestly, y’know what i think?

it’s a way to feel in control. and that’s understandable! it’s why it’s so addicting. but doing so ignores the fact that there’s a far larger culture of abuse outside of mcyt circles, and in fact while it’s Pretty Bad in there due to specific stuff, it’s unfortunately not much better outside of it in any other community or the real world. abuse is normalised and silencing and hurting victims is a cultural problem we all engage in, in one way or another. you can actively speak out against it, but the very nature of our society is structured to make it harder for people to speak out. mcyt is only unique because it’s a nerd space, which generally are insular which can lead to extreme denial of toxic behaviours, and that it’s a position of power over young people. you’ll find the exact same problems are in the smash community, in the Pokemon community, in the fnaf community. hell, the fact more people are speaking out shows this toxic culture is somewhat getting better, so paradoxically it’s probably less alarming and worthy of extreme paranoia than periods of prolonged silence where the abuser can do whatever the fuck they want.

and this isn’t to say to not hold ccs accountable. do that shit. but don’t use it as a way to build a false sense of security in your head, projecting issues that I’d honestly say effect most of humanity (abuse is so incredibly normalised in society i think very few people have gone through life without at least one abusive relationship- parenthood itself is structured in a way to not only encourage but often demand phsyical and mental abuse of children, especially in the past) as a solely mcyt problem so you don’t have to confront them in everyday life, and don’t use unhealthy coping mechanisms that serve only to make you miserable and paranoid when you can’t spot an abuser from tiny context clues- while i do think wilbur absolutely acted in questionable ways before, and those are very valid to criticise if you don’t fuckin put words in peoples mouths about what happened behind the scenes bc i do think a lot of them helped to contribute to the specific abuse culture behind the scenes here, it was over a long enough period of time that it was hard to see until it was all together (same with dream, for instance, who's habit of making weird jokes about minors didn’t seem obvious until people compiled them- and that is another issue of safeguarding I think needs bringing up, since while I absolutely don’t believe it was meant as anything but a joke it’s just like. treating sexualisation as a joke in relation to teenagers can be damaging in so many ways) bc literally everyone fucks ip sometimes. sometimes incredibly badly. abuse is a pattern of behavior, not little moments.

idk just. i wish criticism could be more nuanced. you can talk about the way violent behaviour and outbursts were normalised through jokes in the cc space without calling people victims. you can criticise and drop ccs for any reason without falling into a paranoid self fulfilling cycle of fear and misery. abuse is an incredibly complex subject, and not black and white all the time (obviously the victim isn’t ever in the wrong but most abuse is not done intentionally and most abusers and enablers are not doing so intentionally and only a very few specific forms of abuse are even recognised by society so people involved may genuinely not recognise it as abuse, even if it’s obvious in hindsight).

the difficult thing is that everyone involved is human. even abusers. even enablers. treating them as evil caricatures will not help, and pushing a view that removes any sort of treatment as an option hurts more than it helps. abusers can learn to change that mindset and become better people (they still shouldn’t have a platform, thofuh, even if they are better people, since entitlement is a major part of the mindset involved and have you seen mcyt fans). education is a better way to stop enablers than anger. they are not pretty or appealing solutions, they are ugly and require working with dangerous people and take a long amount of time, and that is not time you should be involved in as a viewer. but again like, if you don’t know Why people do things it’s very hard to know whether they’re awful or not. and we probably will never know. and how you deal with that insecurity is up to you but sometimes not knowing is how things go. there’s no hints at who genuinely intended malice and nor should there be, because this isn’t a situation of immediate danger and dragging up private info to get a match is invasive for no reason. life isn’t a movie. sometimes you have to deal with getting no resolution. and you have to accept people will handle that differently. because that is a personal moral question that everyone will have a deep seated opinion of.

what level of guilt do we presume not knowing severity? how do we treat those who do bad things but we don’t know why or the degree of the badness? that’s a very very complex question. and no answer is really wrong, as long as you respect the wishes of the victims and spread support.

btw watch shubbles hide and seek video it’s hysterical. genuinely such a cool cc go check her out.

So Tommy posted on twitter about the situation regarding how Wilbur was abusive towards Shelby.

Now we can speculate on how much other CCs knew about things but we do know that Tommy was really close to Wilbur. In fact, he dropped out of school and moved to Brighton so that he could live near Wilbur, like it was his dream to share an office with him and stream with him.

Tommy is friends with Shelby too, though more distantly. But they have spent time together and made content and he probably saw a fair bit of them together when they were dating. But that doesn't mean he knew what was going on in the privacy of Wilbur's home. And indeed, it took Shelby a lot of time herself to process how abusive the relationship really was. Wilbur was good at hiding that the abusive elements and presenting it as normal.

So, this would have come as a huge shock. (It might even make Tommy ponder his own relationship with Wilbur - it was likely mostly fine, the lack of respect WIlbur showed Shelby and the misogny won't be there, though there is a age gap.)

I don't think making some snappy remark condemning him publicly on twitter would have been the right thing. If he wants to say something to him, there's a better place than a public platform like twitter.

I do believe he needs time to process things, and it would have been nice were he able to not make a statement, but there's far too much pressure to for someone so close to Wilbur and with such a large platform himself.

I like that he didn't hide it in a reply or on a smaller alt account, he tweeted on his main, in support and love for Shelby. He will make another statement when he's ready. Wilbur definitely has had a huge impact on his life and he's still going through a lot at the moment, about to move to America to go on a large comedy tour, not long after his surgery.

[skylarmoon71]

Raphael (Teenage Mutant NinjaTurtles)- Oneshot

New York was known for its crime.That was just a fact. What you didn’t account for was your current situation. It felt surreal. You’d seen the attacks on the news, but you never thought you’d become another story.

You were trapped in your car. When the first sign of trouble came, everyone panicked. Cars collided on the bridge, one had flipped over and knocked yours a few feet back. Now with a flaming fender, and the other cars that were abandoned, you were trapped, and running out of oxygen. With your seatbelt locked over your chest, you screamed pushing at the door.

“Someone please!!!”

It was useless, but you still tried. The man who’d started the uproar was much closer, the gun strapped to his shoulder lifting when he caught sight of another victim. He pointed at you, and you could feel the dread increasing. You were pinned, and even if you weren’t, the car was dented beyond repair. There was no escape.

You shut your eyes, awaiting your faith, jolting when you hear a grunt. Your eyes lifted, and the attacker was gone. When you saw the green scaled body come into view, your fear increased. You yelled out, practically bawling. The figure ripped the door right off its hinges, shoving the cars that blocked your way. You stared when it reached over. It ripped the seat belt off, and you gape in shock. You couldn’t talk. Behind it you could hear sirens. A few pull up, and three more mutants seem to appear out of nowhere. You felt paralyzed.

“Leo, there’s three more over there!” The red bandana mutant was speaking. In English.

Three officers came to your side, helping you out of the car. You couldn’t understand why none of them were reacting to four six feet giants.

“I think everyone else fled. But we caught him.” The one in blue was addressing a police captain.

“That’s good.” Another officer pulled your assailant off the ground, and he struggled, firing out shouts as they took him away.

“NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO YOU’LL ALWAYS BE MONSTERS!! YOU HEAR ME!!! MONSTERS!!” His screams continued, and you could tell the words had struck a chord. The red one gave you a short glance, turning the second he saw that look you wore.

“You guys should get going, thanks for the help.” The woman advised. Blue nods, gesturing to the rest of them.

“Let’s go.”

The police seem to be preparing to do the same. You swallow. It still felt like you weren’t fully sure what just happened. What you did know is that big green thing saved your life.

As you’re being ushered away, you pull back from the police, yelling out to them.

“HE’S WRONG!!”

All four turtles look over.

“Y-You may not be human..b-but..you’re not monsters.” You’re sobbing, because that could have easily been the last breath you took if not for the beings standing in front of you.

“You’re heroes.” You wipe your eyes, and as they help you into the car, Vincent smiles.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Mikey looks a lot more encouraged, and so does the rest of them. Raph can’t help but stare at the car as you’re taken away.

Being a mutant wasn’t that bad after all.

“Ya been zoning out a lot.”

You blink at Raph’s words.

“Sorry, I just remembered something.”

As you sat on the couch waiting for Mikey to bring the pizza, you were talking with Raph. That night had changed a lot of things. Mostly your perspective on the world. The differences that were present often brought so much warmth. Meeting the boys was one of the most amazing things you’d ever experienced. You wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything.

The only problem is you wanted more from a certain hot tempered turtle. You knew he was the strong one. Also looking fierce, ready for a brawl. Yet with you, he was always gentle, calculated. The more you learned, the closer you wanted to get. But like most moments like this, the second you tried to make your feelings known, you would back out, or he would pull away. There was also always some villain to take down, or person to save. You never seemed to get the timing right. You try not to dwell on it.

“I get the feeling Mikey is eating all the pizza.” You joke.

“Wouldn’t put it past him.” Raph grumbles, you start laughing. Raph stops for a while, just to watch you.

“Ya got a nice laugh.” His words cause your laughter to die out, and you look at him a bit shocked. He looks away quickly, standing.

“Gonna find Mikey.” He tries to rush out.

“Raph!” He stops.

“T-Thank you.”

He nods.

“Yeah.”

He disappears around the corner, and you blush.

~

When the turtles are ready to start their training, you can always catch Raph in here a bit earlier. You walk through the hallway, sitting down next to him.

“Ready to get your butt kicked by Leo?”

He scoffs.

“Hell no.” You smile, lying back.

You let your thoughts drift off, eyes on the ceiling. You turn your head.

“I’m really glad I met you guys. Especially you Raph. “ He just turns his head away.

“Quit saying stuff like that.” You frown.

“But I mean it.”

He rolls over, and you think he’s going to say something else, but he places his arm just above your head, and your breath catches, because he’s hovering above you. Those emerald eyes have you stuck in place.

“Keep talking like that, and I might get the wrong idea.”

He looks a bit angry, or maybe that’s just his natural look. He’s at a distance where your chest is almost touching his. Your eyes mark his, before they shift to his lips. You can’t help yourself. Somehow it looks like Raph gets the message. He lowers cautiously, and the last of your self restraint breaks. You press your lips to his.

Raph lets out a low sound, and you reach up, hooking your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. His left hand stays braced on the ground, and he leans into you. The feel of his muscled body is amazing. You try to map out every part of his firm body with your fingers as you kisses become more greedy. Raph has no problem reciprocating.

“I apologize for the intrusion but I believe it’s time to begin training. “ Raph jumps up, and so do you.

“M-Master Splinter!”

“Sensei!”

You’re both mortified to be caught in such a position. You straighten your clothing, standing and Raph clears his throat.

“We were just..” He can’t form a proper lie, because Splinter has seen everything.

“I-I should probably go.” You lower your head sneaking away, and Raph watches you exit.

“I believe as your parent it’s important that I tell you to use protection. “ Raph shakes his head with a groan.

"Sensei.."

That was embarrassing, but hey, at least he knew the feeling was mutual.

Later, he finds you. You're sitting on his bed, and you shoot up when he closes the door.

“Raph!

"Thought ya ran home."

“I-I didn’t run, I just..”

You’re blushing.

“Why did ya kiss me?”

“Isn’t it obvious, I like you dummy! I’ve been throwing hints for months now!”

Raph looks utterly confused. You groan.

“Guys really are blind when it comes to this stuff. “

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

“I thought ya were just saying that stuff to be nice. I ain't exactly a catch. “ You’re a bit annoyed.

“I hate when you do that.” You’re angry.

“What did I do?”

“You always put yourself down. Raph you’re a freaking hero.” He folds his arms, and you can see the wall he tries to put up. “So what, look at me. You can’t tell me ya aint see that I’m a freaking monster.”

Your eyes fall at that.

“Is..that really how you see yourself?” He doesn't respond and you don’t need one.

“Listen I really don’t need ya pity so let’s just pretend that didn’t-”

“Your eyes are beautiful.” He stops short, looking at you.

“You're tall, you have muscles that are the size of dumbbells. I’ve never really been into muscular guys but on you it’s ten times hotter than any regular guy I’ve ever seen. That tattoo you have is awesome. Sometimes I sneak into the dojo when you guys are practicing to peak and watch you train because when I see you fight it’s a major turn on. “

Raph isn’t sure he believes the words that are leaving your lips.

“I can watch you do push ups all day. Sometimes you say really sweet stuff out of nowhere and it makes me blush like a child. You're little New York drawl is the best sound I’ve ever heard. I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks!! I like kissing you! Having you close makes me feel safe. I love the fact that you stop by my place every once in a while to make sure I’m okay even though you don’t have to..”

When he sees the tears, he understands. Just how much it hurts you when he doesn’t value himself the way you’ve obviously value him.

“T-That day on the bridge was single handedly the most frightening and amazing day of my life, because I got to meet you…”

Your lips quiver, and he pulls you close.

“I..I..”

He kisses you, and you gasp, right before you melt into him. He lifts you right off your feet, and you part.

“You don’t have to say anything else. I get it.”

“Y-You better had.” You pout, and he can see all the color that has rushed to your face due to your earlier confessions.

“So my fighting turns you on huh?”

“Ugh.”

You drop your head on his shoulder, and he smirks.

He sure was going to use this to his advantage.

[loaprincessblog]

tw// rant + depression + anxiety + a lot of negativity mindset

ahh okay so, here we go. i am soooo lost. usually i would never give up. i would pick myself up again, but its been 2 years, and im tired, im so close to giving up on everything. i am scared for my future, and scared for my present, because i have had so much faith in the law, but i dont see any differences and now i feel like im snapping back to reality, my mom says that i need to put in work or im going to be a homeless loser when i grow up, i just live in my head usually to escape, but now it makes me anxious. i dont know what to do and i dont know how to get myself together this time i really dont, whenever i try to get better i get bad again even if i dont believe i will. i have terrible mood swings and therapy is seen as taboo in my family and im a minor so i cant get help. i tried talking to people at school but they said they cant help. i really dont know what to do i dont want to put everything on my friends because they also deal with a lot, and i also feel bad for sending this to you right now and honestly i get it if you ignore because it can be very hard to deal with people like this as a loa account. i just dont know what to do with my life i dont know what i will do and the only thing i know i need is proper help i wish i could get, i cnt even call people because my parents have an history of checking people im in contact with. they still do. im 16. im sorry for all of this i just??? i need to let it out somewhere im sorry thank you for taking your time reading this you are a saint.

I am so sorry you have to go through that.

you don’t have to apologize for anything, my dear. you’re the saint here and have done nothing wrong. please don’t feel bad for sending this. It makes me so happy I could help. And I’m really blessed and thankful you trust me enough to share this with me.

you are worthy of everything you’ve ever desired. it is your birthright. The fact you are even aware of the law of assumption is the biggest blessing. And you can use this to your advantage.

it is perfectly understandable to be scared. but what is more scary? having nothing or everything? The law cannot fail you. As long as you persist, it has to happen.

I cannot even begin to imagine what you’re going through. you will get through this. I am so proud of you, darling. you’re so strong. As long as you affirm, it will happen. always remind yourself of that.

and if/when it is safer, try again to reach out for help. always live in your imagination. The 4D is very real. And the more you focus on it, the more you’ll see it in the 3D. don’t view the 3D as your enemy. if you think it’s hard to get results, that will manifest.

every time you have a negative thought flip it with something positive. please know this is only temporarily. if you’ve been affirming for 2 years that means at any second now you’ll get results. i love you so so much and I’m so proud of you 💓💓💓

[conscious-love]

Why Holding On To Past Relationships Is The Worst Thing You Can Do For Yourself, Period

by Daniel Dowling via MindBodyGreen

Three years ago I was a 24-year-old failure-to-launch who lived on his mom’s couch and shared a bathroom with two teenage sisters. My friends had their own houses, degrees, and independence. And there I was, broke and depressed, totally reliant on my parents. It hadn't ever not been that way.

But in 2014 I made one small decision, which led to results I still sometimes can’t believe.

Today, I’m leading writers in a national campaign to rebrand my hometown, and I write for the best entrepreneurial and self-improvement sites in the world (mbg being my favorite; no lie). I make a great living coaching others to become the happiest and most successful versions of themselves. That’s a lot of change in just three years, from any perspective. And I can trace the transformation of my life back to one single thing: letting go of my exes—completely.

Breaking free from serial monogamy.

For most of my adult life I’d been a serial monogamist. I thought I just really loved love, but it turns out I was just really, really afraid of responsibility. So, for my personal dissatisfaction and unhappiness, self-improvement wasn’t the cure—it was a new girlfriend! And when that one didn’t work out, I'd find another. Yay for love!

Except it wasn’t love because I wasn’t becoming the best version of myself through these relationships. So after the last one ended ignominiously, I quit the love game—just not quite all the way.

I still kept in contact with my exes. And Jen—my former fiancee—was a particular crutch. We still visited each other even though we lived in different states. We kept in regular contact through texts and phone calls, especially during crises. I was still depending on her to make me happy.

Every time we talked, I renewed the connection to my former ways of thinking and behaving. It strengthened the conviction that, deep down, I could only be happy with Jen. She was my way out. If things got too tough, I could always come to her, and she could come to me. We even promised that if we weren’t married by 30, we’d get hitched. Talk about a safety net… (and, yes, also the plot of My Best Friend's Wedding).

Unfortunately, that safety net was keeping me from being the bold, successful, independent man I wanted to become. I just couldn’t seem to cut the cord on my own.

Flying without a net.

Then one day I was listening to an audio course from my favorite self-improvement mentor, Zig Ziglar. He was talking about how to right our wrongs and forgive ourselves. He advised writing apologies down and sending them to the appropriate people. But he had a special step for exes.

"When it comes to the forgiveness you want from your exes [Zig has a drawling Southern accent], I want you to follow all the steps I just gave you. But instead of sending off the letter, I want you to fold it up, light a fire, and burn the damn thing. Cuz there’s no point in renewing emotional connections with people who aren’t good for you. That’s why they're your exes! It’s time to move on from them and fully embrace your own life."

When one is slapped by truth, one’s jaw has a tendency of dropping, and the eyes have a tendency to glaze over, lost in a thousand-yard stare. That was the picture of my face. Might’ve even drooled a little.

I thought about Jen, and Em, and Katie. I thought about how important they’d been for me and how much security they’d brought me. And I knew I had to let them go for good. For good.

No more texts or calls. No more being Facebook friends. No email updates. No nothing.

I had anxiety about the decision, naturally—severing ties with my past and obliterating a huge comfort zone. But I had a future to step into. I had to do that on my own.

Dealing with the emptiness.

I missed my former girlfriends like crazy. But instead of feeling sorry for myself and longing for them, I prayed for them. I asked God for the same things I was asking for my own self-improvement journey—courage, faith, hope, positivity, inspiration, grace, and so on. I prayed for them to meet amazing and inspiring friends who could help them become their best selves. I prayed for my future wife. And I prayed that I would become the fully independent man capable of supporting her.

In all this praying, I completely changed my focus. Instead of relying on my girlfriends for faith and reassurance, I relied on God and my own ability to handle my problems. I took back the misplaced faith in my girlfriends and put it squarely in my own hands.

That’s when I finally launched.

Do you believe in life after love?

Just like Cher, I found my power only after letting go of my past relationships.

Without my exes as safety nets, it was just me. Nobody else was going to make me happy. So I did what I needed to do to make me successful—all the writing, studying, practicing, pitching, researching, and self-improvement. I actually become part of a community and made new friends. I fully embraced my own damn life.

Three months passed and I still missed my exes. But I was making money through my writing and making new connections.

Six months passed and I still missed my exes. But I’d started earning a full-time living through my writing. And I was growing more confident by the day, especially in my community.

A year passed and I still missed my exes. But I was fully independent through my passion. And I’d outgrown the anxiety and depression that had haunted me since I was a teenager—a by-product of my newfound faith in me.

It’s been three full years since I cut out my exes. I’m 100 percent over each one, but I’m human—I still miss them! Who wouldn’t? They were brilliant and beautiful women who were insanely fun to be with. I made thousands of joyful memories with each one.

Sometimes I’m reminded of them by hearing a certain song or watching a movie. But that’s just another opportunity for me to thank God for them and to pray for them. It’s another opportunity for me to be the independent and faithful man I know I can be for myself, for my wife, for my clients, and for my audience. It’s another opportunity to find security in myself and in a higher power. And through these opportunities, I’ve found the happiness and fulfillment I always wanted.

I advise all of my clients to go on a yearlong relationship fast, which most of them do. But the real growth comes when they fully let go of their exes and stop using them as crutches. It’s hard, hard, hard to do but absolutely essential if you want to grow.

Here are five tips to help you let go of your exes for good:

1. Start a self-improvement routine, complete with daily, weekly, and monthly goal setting.

Read this article as a primer.

2. Meet with someone weekly to discuss your personal growth and your journey.

This person will help keep you accountable to your goals and lifestyle choices. Can be a friend or an amazing coach.

3. Stay single for a year—totally single.

If you can’t be happy with you, you won’t be happy—truly happy—with anyone else. Love that you! Commit to being successfully single for a year. That means happy, connected in your community, fulfilled in your work, and in a state of continuous personal growth. (Your daily routines and long-term goals will be critical to this step.)

4. Surround yourself with positive, uplifting people.

Join a faith community where people strive to live out the values you identify with. This is where you’ll find the deep connections that you can grow with—and that will prevent you from leaning on your exes as crutches.

5. Pray or meditate often.

Use your emotions as mindfulness cues. When you miss someone, pray for them. When you’re lonely, pray for the courage, positivity, and fortitude to make good decisions. When you think you can’t go on—that happens to everyone—pray for what you need. This will help you grow faith in a higher power and yourself, which is an absolute must if you want to be happy alone.

And being happy alone? That’s an absolute must for loving someone unconditionally in a relationship that can last a lifetime.

Link to article on Mind Body Green

Author: Daniel Dowling

[seakicker]

If it’s not already, can you keep me anonymous?

Ms. Juju can I ask a really random question..how are you brave enough to ask for a commission of you and your favorite? I had only gotten one commission of something similar once and I loved it! I still do! I really adore the art style of the artist I got it from but when I look at it I feel awful in a way 😭? This happened a long time ago (like in 2018ish?) but I think about it a lot. The artist I got it from had/has? (Idr I unfollowed it) a spam account and they were talking about their commission orders once and they mentioned that someone requested to be drawn with a character. They were basically said that commissioner wouldn’t be their type or wouldn’t find them attractive or something. At first I didn’t think it was about me, but I was still like ??? Cause that’s so rude to say but said artist does this thing where after they’re done with their commissions they kinda up load them all and after seeing the set of commissions they did, I could 100% confirm that they were talking about me lol. I didn’t say anything about it, but after that I’ve been so scared to commission another artist, especially relating me with another character. I felt bad for even bothering them to commission me to begin with! I still like the art piece but when I see it I think of that comment, and it really stuck with me and even made me view the character differently. I couldn’t enjoy x readers in general after that because I felt so guilty about it. Like I know that’s so dumb because it’s just characters and with reader inserts you don’t have to necessarily insert yourself into them but that’s usually the point yk? I ended up making a whole different persona that looks absolutely nothing like me over a dumb comment but that really made me feel awful and I guess in a way it still does, since I’ve always had low self esteem to begin with and used reader inserts to feel better about myself.

I’m so sorry for making this so long but TLDR the first ever commission I ever got from an artist I really liked basically called me ugly on their spam / vent account and me being a big ass baby can’t get over it fully to go back to enjoying one of my favorite pass time hobbies which is reading reader inserts

so i’ve been thinking about this ask a lot since i first got it a couple of hours ago, and firstly i just wanted to say that i’m very sorry to hear something like this happened to you and that it has stuck with you for so long; i have faith that you’ll be able to recover some day and learn to become happier and more comfortable with yourself because i believe you’re strong enough to do so. putting the rest under a cut for length bc i typed tons omg

i’m sorry someone you trusted to handle your commission and admired as an artist would say something so unprofessional, rude, and unnecessary to you like that. you were a customer seeking out a business transaction and that shouldn’t invite them to comment on you as a person when (i’m assuming) they knew literally nothing about you other than what you chose to share w them for the sake of the commission. it’s ridiculous of them to make things personal instead of just being kind and thanking you for the support, drawing what you paid for, and carrying on w their lives and clearly they’re an insecure person if they can’t make a drawing of someone else without commenting on their appearance in the process. very weird of them and i don’t think that their insecurity and childishness is your fault whatsoever, nor should you feel like their words are true because they’re just not. there’s nothing you could have said or done to warrant them bashing your appearance and targeting something as personal as your attachment to your favorite character since ofc we all use favorite characters as a form of coping here.

i also had a persona i used for self-inserts that looked literally nothing like me (she was much thinner and much shorter lol) and i had begun to realize that… it just wasn’t fun to live through her because it wasn’t me and i felt like i was playing some character rather than being myself. of course, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with character x oc content, but she wasn’t an oc, just a Conventionally Attractive version of myself and so i just want you to know you don’t have to be conventionally attractive to be valuable and beautiful and that your fave—and everyone else including your irl friends and such— loves you just as you are and i do too. i’ve always used writing reader insert content as a form of coping and connecting w myself and becoming more confident in myself, and i would love to see you be able to use reader insert content to do the same again someday. i’m sorry to hear that that experience ruined such content for you though i can certainly see why— but just know that person’s inability to get over themselves and keep their unnecessary opinions to themselves is not a reflection of your character, it is a reflection of theirs. one thing that always helped me overcome similar fears of “oh my fave wouldn’t like me” i used to have as a teenager was actively seeking out content with my personality/body type in mind. things like “chubby reader” or “shy reader” etc, when people characterize reader a certain way, so maybe you could try that as well if you’d think it help you too. thank you for sharing your experience with me and know that i’m here for you, and i think a selfish part of me hopes that you can maybe find safety in me and my work too because that’s always what i’ve wanted for everyone who reads my stuff. take care of yourself and know that we here all love you and your faves love you lots 🙏🙏🙏

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 5

Summary:  As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince (Logan x Roman)  Moxiety (Virgil x Patton)

Content Warnings: arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst

Chapter Warnings: mentions of physical and emotional abuse, murder planning

Word Count: 2490

Read on AO3: here!

Cowritten with @ironwoman359 masterlist

False masterlist

Roman was not used to feeling small.

He was used to standing out, being loud, and carrying his shoulders with a confidence worthy of the title he held and the company he was expected to keep. Wherever he went, he knew he could always hold his head high.

Staring at his reflection now, he had to fight the urge to duck his head. His face was, quite simply, a mess. The cut from Lord Howard’s ring was small enough that Roman didn’t feel the need to bandage it, but the wound was slightly swollen, and his cheek was a truly shocking shade of purple.

Swallowing, Roman picked up a small compact that had been left on his vanity. He wasn’t in the habit of applying makeup, but when the supplies for doing so had appeared in his room overnight, the message he was being sent was quite clear. He wasn’t even sure whether he was sickened or relieved by the act, at this point. In some ways, it felt like another mark of ownership; the earl wanted him as perfect and pristine as ever, no matter what happened. But on the other hand, Roman wasn’t sure if he could stand to walk about the estate with the mark on full display like a brand.

Roman winced as he gingerly applied the powder to his face. It didn’t completely erase the injury’s appearance, but if he added some blush to the other cheek and styled his hair so it hung lower than usual, obscuring the bruise from the side...it was almost enough.

It would have to do for now.

Taking a deep breath, Roman exited his room and quickly made his way through the halls. He’d told Patton that he didn’t feel well this morning (which was not entirely untrue), and so he wasn’t expecting anyone to wonder where he was. After a few turns, he found himself standing before a door that he had never actually gone through before: the door to Logan’s office.

The office’s large door glistened with fresh wood polish and gave a pleasant, welcoming smell, though the scent actually only succeeded in making Roman’s nerves worse. He knew Logan would be on the other side, working on managing this set of numbers or that pile of letters even this early in the morning. Lightly touching the bruise across his cheek he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It had to be Logan- no one else. He trusted Patton with everything he had, but there was no telling how the loyal attendant would react. He knew Patton cared about him, but as kind and caring as he was, he was hardly a good actor. And Virgil was far from a snitch, but he was so wary of any sign of trouble that Roman didn’t want to burden him with this...at least not yet.

He had to be sure...he had to know he had even half a chance before letting the others in, and to have that chance, he needed Logan.

If Roman listened closely, he could hear him on the other side of the door, muttering softly to himself as he ran through whatever calculations he was scratching out with his favorite pen. Paper rustled every now and then and Roman could tell by the coolness of the hardwood floor just in front of the door that the window must be open. He stood a moment more, letting his mind’s eye follow the thought, picturing Logan’s long hair blowing softly across his shoulders as he sat hunched over his desk, glasses sitting just so on the bridge of his nose that Roman could probably reach forward and straighten them if he was quick enough.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he took a breath and knocked quickly, then without waiting for an answer, pushed the door open before he could lose his nerve.

Logan glanced up from his work, frowning slightly as Roman entered. His eyes widened when he saw Roman, and he stood so quickly that his chair screeched across the floor. Wincing at the sound, he smiled apologetically and gestured for Roman to take the seat in front of him.

“Roman, to what do I owe the pleasure this late in the evening?”

“I-” Roman’s throat ran dry, and his thoughts along with it. Logan was looking at him, worry etched across his brow and work forgotten, and Roman swallowed. “I need your help.”

“Certainly,” Logan said immediately. “How can I assist you?”

Sitting across from Logan now, Roman almost changed his mind. It seemed absurd to think that Logan would agree to what he had in mind...what if he had misjudged him? What if he had misinterpreted the withering looks Logan shot the earl when he thought no one was looking, what if he had placed too much faith in their budding friendship, and if Roman so much as breathed a word of his plan, Logan would be the first to warn Lord Howard?

“Roman? Are you alright?”

Logan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Roman looked up. Logan was sitting patiently, nothing but concern and quiet understanding marking his features, and Roman suddenly didn’t know why he should be worried at all. He could trust this man- he was sure of it.

“I need your help taking control away from Lord Howard.”

Logan binked once, then twice, fiddling with a pen that lay in front of his hands before setting it down firmly and leaning forward. No sound came from his mouth when he opened it at first, snapping it shut to blink a third time, slow and deliberate while he gathered his thoughts. “I’m sorry?”

“I- I need your help, please Logan.” Roman leaned forward as the other man straightened back up, his attention fully caught. “The earl has his fingers in far too many pies...and I’m not even sure he remembers what all the flavors are. If last week's meeting was anything to go by he disregards anything that doesn’t directly benefit him and only him and I’m sure land isn’t the only thing he’s notoriously stubborn with. Look at the way he treats his staff, expecting them up day and night to serve him and his entertainment of the day, extending that to you and all the responsibilities he shoves to the side in his confidence that you’ll pick up the slack. I haven’t even been here for very long but I know you hardly sleep for all the work you do in his stead. He expects everyone around him to be the perfect picture of their roles to mask the fact that he cannot play his own and I cannot continue this betrothal and eventual marriage in a state of constant anxiety and silence. He isn’t...he isn’t a good man Logan.”

Pursing his lips, Logan held up a hand. “Roman, I still don’t know that I understand what you want me-”

“He isn’t a good man, Logan,” Roman interrupted. “You must see that.”

“Yes, but Roman, he- I don’t know what you’re asking of me. He has more power than he knows what to do with, true, and he certainly abuses it, but I’m not certain what you expect me to be able to do about taking it away. I manage his finances and remind him of meetings; I hardly have the reach to do anything substantial.”

“For people like him, money is his power, and you’re the one that takes care of that. How many times does he actually ask you about anything official? Does he ever want full accounts of where anything goes? You sign documents for him of all things because he believes himself too important and you’re going to sit there and say you have no weight to throw?”

“But I-”

Seeing the doubt, Roman was quick to lean forward. “What if we could control the estate? Actually control it, and make smart decisions for it and know what’s going in and out of it? Surely you of all people would jump at the opportunity to make the changes you know need to be made here.”

“Roman.” Logan fixed him with a stern look, and Roman snapped his mouth shut. “It’s a nice thought in theory. I’ve spent many nights worrying over things that truly should not be my responsibility, and have done enough research to present to the earl a myriad of solutions to his problems, should he ever decide he actually wants to listen to my counsel. But for us to be in control of the estate, the earl would have to be deceased.”

Roman stared at him blankly.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Roman that is not-”

Taking a deep breath, Roman brought up a hand to wipe at his face, the flesh colored powder smearing his sleeve to reveal the dark purple and red underneath. This time it was Logan that snapped his mouth shut, with an audible click. Horror, anger and worry flashed across his face, and Roman winced.

“It’s going to get worse. I know it and so do you. This is how it starts, especially once he has someone who officially belongs to him, and especially when that someone doesn’t just lie down and take it. I won’t. And so it will keep getting worse, and he will never be accountable until one of us finally has an accident. I am not going to let that one of us be me.”

Logan regarded him sadly, sighing as he lowered his gaze. “What you’re suggesting is extremely risky. Even if we could do something after you marry him, the fact of the matter is that this is the Howard family’s estate. And I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the earl isn’t exactly...interested in making you an official member of the family in any capacity. If he were to pass away, the estate wouldn’t be bequeathed to you. You’d still have no control, and might honestly end up with less if his other family members decide not to tolerate your presence.”

“That’s where you come in.” Roman smirked, and Logan’s head snapped up. “I need your help to forge the will.”

--- --- ---

“Well that’s-”

“Excuse me, what?”

Roman fidgeted with his sleeve as Logan attempted to sooth Patton and Virgil long enough to allow them to explain. After getting Logan to agree to help him, Roman had immediately requested that they bring Patton and Virgil into the scheme. Roman was certain he could trust them, and Logan seemed to agree. They certainly wouldn’t be able to pull their plan off with only two of them. Getting Patton and Virgil to see the necessity in it, though...well that was the first hurdle they were trying to clear.

“It seems like a drastic measure to take, even with the lord’s uh...mood as of late.” Patton squirmed on the haystack he was curled up on, pointedly ignoring the baffled expression Virgil threw him.

“A drastic measure? You think? This is treason, Patton! We’ll be hanged!” Virgil turned to glare at the two men across from him. “We will be hanged. There has to be a better way.’

“We will have the will forged and officiated before the wedding, and then arrange it to look like his death was natural. As long as we can figure out a way to do that it’s a fairly simple process.” Logan held his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. “Even if we can’t find a way to make it look natural, I assure you Lord Howard has enough enemies grabbing at his various businesses and properties that it’d be anyone’s guess who tried killing him off. Half of them would end up paying investigators off just to avoid any public suspicion, it is almost guaranteed that no one would expect Roman to be the culprit.”

Virgil stared at him. “You’ve thought this through. Logan, why have you thought this through?”

Patton reached over and grabbed Virgil’s hand, rubbing soothing motions against his knuckles while humming softly. Virgil’s shoulders remained tense but he leaned against the attendant's shoulder, taking a shuddering breath as he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“I think...” Patton said slowly. “I think that maybe while we have this opportunity we should take it. Not that I take any pride in using you Roman!” He was quick to assure. “But- I’ve seen the way he gets...and how he is getting. People like that only worsen with age, and I’d rather not see any of us hurt...more.”

Roman touched his cheek self-consciously, trying to subtly cover up the spot where he had wiped the make-up off, but of course fooling no one. Patton glanced away but Virgil’s gaze only hardened, squeezing the other man’s hand and swearing under his breath.

“I guess....I guess all of us here- everyone at the estate really- would benefit from him not being in charge. It’s still incredibly risky.” Here Virgil glared daggers at Logan and Roman specifically. “But I think with the right people...the right poison maybe, it could work.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Logan asked curiously.

“Not me, but I know people that might. What are we thinking the time table will be for this?”

Roman perked up as they all looked at him. “Well...it might be a good idea to carry it out a good while after the wedding. If it happens immediately after, it would look a lot more suspicious than if we waited.”

Logan frowned.  “But Roman-”

“Logan, you know I’m right.” Roman startled a bit at the sheer amount of concern he saw in Logan’s eyes, but gave him a small smile as reassurance. “I’ll be fine until then.”

“Well,” Both of their heads snapped around to face Virgil again, neither acknowledging the slight pink in their cheeks. “If we’re waiting that long that’s plenty of time for me to get in contact with my guys and figure something out. Really it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Patton made a small noise in the back of his throat. “Um, exactly what kind of guys, Virgil?”

Virgil laughed outright. “Oh, total degenerates for sure! But they’re also both idiots, and that didn’t change when they set up their apothecary, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“So it’s set then? We’re doing this?” Roman couldn’t help the hopeful edge to his tone, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt.

What would his friends think of him now, so eager to take such a drastic measure? But a quick glance at their faces revealed only sympathy and determination, and he forced himself to breathe. There was a reason he’d come to these three specifically, and now he had to trust that he’d made the right call.

“Yes.” Logan said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, and Roman felt himself relax. “We are.”

First Previous Next

[aellynera]

Word of  Mouth (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

WORD OF MOUTH

(This has been sitting in my WIPs for-ev-errrrr and I finally got in the mood to finish it, since I haven’t written Santi in a while and I missed him. It’s nothing too involved, just a slice-of-life kind of deal, but I do like the way it turned out. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)

I think this one came out as GN!Reader (I’ve read over it a few times but if I’m wrong please let me know.)

Word Count: 2340

Summary: It’s not that Santiago is mad about it, exactly; it’s more that he doesn’t like the way it happened.

Warnings: Some cursing. Some angst. Some fluff. Argument. Two people being stubborn. As always possible lack of proofreading.

Santiago comes off duty and returns to your on-base housing, and he stays quiet for far too long. Usually he greets you with a kiss, or at least a hello, but this time he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t say a word as he goes into the bedroom, peels off his fatigues, and changes into a plain black t-shirt and plain khaki cargo pants.

He doesn’t say a single word.

“Um, hello to you too,” you call out, getting up to follow him. “How was your day?”

He just shrugs and shakes his head slightly. You get the same response when you ask him if anything interesting happened today, how training went, or if he’s hungry.

You haven’t seen him for most of the day, different assignments and different meetings keeping you apart while on duty, but you just know. From his silence and the way he’s acting, you just know. You’ve been trying to find the right way to bring it up, the right time to mention it, and clearly, that time is going to be now whether you like it or not.

He’s found out.

Even when different assignments keep you apart, you do work on the same base and everyone knows you’re together, even if you never officially said anything. It’s really no one’s business but it’s not really a secret, and you live together, so people just assume. And anything work-related was never unknown for long. Word has gotten back to Santiago, and from the looks of it, it has also gotten to him.

The fact that you can’t actually read his expression is what concerns you the most.

You sit down on the side of the bed and sigh again. “Frankie told you.”

Someone who had been in that early morning meeting with you, a particular someone Santiago identified as a best friend, certainty couldn’t keep it to himself. You make a mental note to have a very, very strict conversation with one Francisco “Catfish” Morales the next time you see him.

Santiago considers calling Frankie, so he can repeat exactly what he told Santiago this afternoon, after you’d already gone back home for the day. Instead he finally decides to answer you, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s my job,” you reply evenly.

“It’s your job if you get assigned to it,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not your job if you volunteer for it. That’s a choice.”

You furrow your brow at him. “Semantics.”

“Selection,” he responds, voice clipped.

You rest your head on your fingertips, four on your forehead and thumb on your cheekbone. “I’m the best person for this mission. and.. it’s not like it’s never come up before. We’ve had this conversation, Santi, we’ve talked about this exact scenario, and you even said that no one was more…”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Hypothetical and actual are not the same thing.”

“So, hypothetically, I’m not actually qualified to do this?”

“Actually, you should let someone else be the flag-waver this time.”

“The flag-waver?”

“What, now this hypothetically has nothing to do with being a goddamn hero?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes narrow at him. He glares in return.

“Actually,” you start, but Santiago’s short, humorless laugh cuts you off.

This time, your words drag through the tension like dull razors through styrofoam. “Actually,” you repeat, “this has zero to do with being a fucking hero and everything to do with the fact that no one else could get this done the right way and it is my goddamn duty to do what I signed up for.”

“There is no right way that this isn’t going to be an absolute shitshow.” The venom in his voice is like ice in your veins.

“Thank you for having so much faith in me and my abilities, Santiago.”

Silence falls on the room for a few long minutes as you both fight to check your emotions. You understand he’s angry - and maybe scared, although he’ll never admit it - and he knows you’re absolutely right on all accounts - although he is not ready to admit it.

You break the silence, voice tuned down and level. “Look, I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn’t see you all day. I didn’t want you to find out like this. Frankie shouldn’t have gotten involved. But I am going on this mission. I...I don’t want you to be mad about it.”

He looks at you for a moment, and this time you can read his expression, but it almost makes it worse. It’s a combination of worry, sadness, understanding, and yes, traces of anger. It’s not a look that suits him. 

You shift in your spot on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed,” he says softly, then turns and walks from the room.

Oh. Shit.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a thick, uncomfortable silence. It’s been hours since your confrontation in the bedroom, and the fullness of night has fallen without a single other word being spoken between you.

You spend the night in bed alone, and Santiago makes himself mostly uncomfortable on the couch.

Morning breaks and you pull yourself from the confines of the comforter. Not that you had been sleeping very well anyway. It was warm under the covers, temperature wise, but it somehow felt so cold, and you haven't slept well. Your mind refused to calm down.

You shower and dress, going through your morning routine almost on autopilot. As you wash your face and glance into the mirror, one side of your mouth pulls up into a sad smirk as you recall Santiago’s last words from the night before.

Not mad, disappointed.

Your parents used to say that, when you’d done something against the rules, potentially stupid, and possibly morally questionable. It always seemed to hurt more than actually having them be mad at you, and you wince as you realize adulthood has done nothing to change that feeling.

You and Santiago have your fair share of arguments. Usually they’re not serious, even kind of playful. You both like to talk and you both like to be right, so a little verbal battle isn’t uncommon. But you’re still running the previous night’s...it wasn’t a conversation, but was it really a fight? Was it even an argument? No category really seems to fit, and this one just feels different.

You go downstairs and expect to find Santi on the couch, it’s still early, but as soon as you hit the bottom of the steps, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaults your nose. 

He hands you a mug full of the dark brown liquid as you enter the kitchen. You take it with a nod of thanks and he nods back. But he still doesn’t say a word.

It’s a good sign though. At least, you hope it is, anyway.

You sip from your mug as he turns back to the stove, pushing some stuff around in a frying pan. It smells like bacon and potatoes and your stomach grumbles in protest, and you’re not sure but you think you can see the corners of Santi’s mouth turn up just a little.

Also a good sign. Maybe.

You sit down at your usual spot at the table and play with the handle on the mug. You offer him a singular glance and then stare back into your drink. Clearly he’s not going to be the one to talk first. You sigh.

This is not the first time he’s done this. Santiago is a good man, the best you know, and he’s honorable and decent and so fucking kind, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since living with him, it’s he’s damn stubborn and can be a petulant brat when he wants to. And in typical macho hero Santiago Garcia style, he will not be the first one to cave after an argument, especially when he thinks he’s right.

You’ll give him shit for it later, when all the animosity has worn off, but for now, you’re going to have to cut the tension. You’ve never been good with silence and it’s only been one night and now this brief bit of morning and it’s starting to get to you.

And okay, maybe you’re not always the best at communicating with him, either. So you’ll be the first to break, this time.

You sigh again. “Santi…”

He turns his head slightly, away from his work at the stove, and glances at you. An eyebrow goes up.

“Are we going to talk about this? For real?” you ask.

He shrugs and turns back to the contents of the pan.

A frustrated growl erupts from your chest as you push your chair back and take the three steps over to the stove. You grab the handle and push the pan off the heat, snapping the burner off as you do, and then whirl and stare at Santi. He narrows his eyes and takes a step back, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter by the sink.

“Please say something to me,” you bite out. God, he’s so frustrating sometimes. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first, but you cannot be upset with me for doing my goddamn job. For doing what I signed up to do. Just...fucking talk to me. Please.”

This time it’s Santi who sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair and massages a spot on the back of his neck. “I told you, I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” you nod, “but you really also can’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t just be...wait, what?”

“I said,” he says, uncrossing his arms slowly and reaching for one of your hands, “I’m not.”

You just blink at him and bite your bottom lip.

“I just...I don’t like the thought of you being out there without me.” Your mouth opens to retort but he holds up a hand to stop you, and you close it again and he continues. “I know you can do this, I know you’re totally capable and you can handle yourself, you could probably kick my ass on any given day in sparring, but...I just…” his voice trails off and he turns to stare out the kitchen window.

You squeeze his hand firmly and pull his attention back to you. He looks so handsome, his hair still tousled slightly from sleep and his t-shirt wrinkled from being on the couch all night, but he also really does look troubled and it makes your heart drop. “What is it, Santi?”

“There’s always a danger with any mission,” he says softly. “And it just kills me that I can’t protect you. I just want to protect you and have you come back safe.”

Then he’s pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your neck, and you feel wet spots on your collarbone and it makes tears prick at your eyes too. Santi shakes slightly in your arms and you whisper soft, soothing words into his hair.

He’ll never admit it, but you know. He’s scared.

Because he’s not wrong. This mission has the potential to go sideways and tits-up at the same time, and then flip over backwards for good measure. And you have to admit, although you’re not going to admit it to him because that would likely make it so much worse, that you’d give anything to have him on this mission with you. But you can’t. You can just do your job and do it well, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. 

A common mantra in your line of work. One that you always stick to.

But you have so much more to lose this time, and Santi does too, and your breakfast is forgotten as you take him by the hand and drag him back up to your bedroom. You lead him to the bed and lie down on your side, pull him down with you, and curl up into his side. He just wraps his arms around you and holds on like you’re a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to come back to you,” you trace your fingers over his dog tags.

“I know,” he kisses under your ear.

You hope you’re telling the truth. He hopes you’re telling the truth. You both hold each other like it might be the last time, even though it won’t because you’re not leaving for several days, but you’re both acutely aware that you have no way of actually knowing when it might really be the last time.

So you just hold each other silently for a while, until a thought occurs to you and you huff out a gentle laugh.

“What?” Santi asks you, peering at you with heavy lids and stupidly long lashes.

You lean up to kiss him on the nose. “Wanna help me run some strategy?” 

His answer is cut off by the very insistent complaint from your stomach. He quirks an eyebrow. “Wanna have a breakfast meeting?”

You giggle. “Probably a good idea.”

Santi plants a kiss on your lips and then gets up, holding out a hand to pull you off the bed and you stand, stretching your arms over your head. He goes to the doorway and says, “I’ll go finish making the food. Meet you at the table in 20, Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” you smile at him.

He moves to leave, and then calls out, “Oh, and Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Santiago?” you roll your eyes, another giggle escaping your lips.

He sticks his head back in the door, just for a moment, just long enough to take all of you in with a look of adoration, and mouths the words “I love you.” Then he turns and goes downstairs.

And you know you can handle - no, you will handle - anything that might happen, and your heart soars.

~end~

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[ragingpancake]

Hotel California

A/N: An Earthside AU wherein John is a college student on his way to Spring Break and Rodney is a hotel receptionist. NC-17. Reposted from my old AO3 account.

The midnight sky is gray and muggy, thick with heat and humidity. The air conditioner stopped working over a hundred miles ago and even the air flowing through the open windows isn't enough to cool the sweat beading on John's forehead.

In the passenger seat, Teyla's stretched out, humming along quietly with the static on the radio as Ronon sleeps on in the backseat, oblivious to each passing mile.

John reaches out and changes the station.

"I was listening to that," Teyla says dryly as the low twang of a country guitar fills the car. John gives her a sleepy smile in return and thumps his fingers against the steering wheel, drumming along with the beat in a last ditch effort to keep himself awake. "Perhaps it would be wise if I took over for awhile?"

"I'm good," John says dismissively. He trusts Teyla's driving almost as much as he trusts her cooking, which is to say not at all.

"I have been practicing."

"Not nearly enough for my liking," John says, grinning to take the sting out of the words.  Teyla just rolls her eyes and goes back to staring out at the endless stretch of empty highway in front of them.

Driving out to California in Ronon's grandfather's beat up old station wagon hadn't been John's best idea. He's cutting two full days off their spring break with the drive there and back, but since Teyla had apparently grown up under a rock and had never taken a road trip, John and Ronon decided that their yearly trip to Long Beach was the perfect remedy.

"If you will not let me drive, maybe you would at least consider stopping for the night? We still have another five hours ahead of us and I would like to make it alive."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"Much like your faith in me," she smirks. "Now please, find the nearest motel and pull over. I'm sick of looking at the inside of this car."

John can't argue with that.

---

It's another twenty miles and another state line until he finds a motel and by the time he climbs out of the car, he has to admit that stopping was definitely the right call; there's no way he would have made it another four hours and forty minutes.

Ronon grunts and snorts as Teyla smacks him awake. He's annoyed that they've stopped and he wants to take over driving so they can keep going, but John trusts his driving less than he trusts Teyla's. He's seen what Ronon has done to the trash cans outside of their apartment just trying to back out of the parking space.

"It's stupid to stop," Ronon grumbles as they trudge into the lobby of the seemingly deserted motel.

"I would rather get a few hours of solid sleep and then hit the road. If we continue to drive, we will be no good for anything tomorrow," Teyla says solemnly.

"Don't need sleep to surf."

"This is true, but I need sleep to finish the drive, so I say we're staying and sleeping," John says. Ronon stands just a little straighter and blinks lazily at John in what's most likely an attempt to intimidate him. It would work under other circumstances maybe, but John's just too tired to care so he waves Ronon off and slouches against the front desk, slapping his hand down on the bell.

It reverberates, echoing throughout the empty lobby.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hold your horses, I'm coming." The voice comes out of nowhere and whoever it belongs to sounds annoyed at the interruption. Seconds later, a skinny kid stomps out from behind a curtain, looking harassed and harried. He's wearing a pair of dark slacks that are at least a size too big and a white uniform shirt that's partially untucked and stained. His name tag reads 'Rodney'. "What do you want?"

"You get many people in here lookin' for something other than a room?" John drawls lazily.

Rodney snorts. "You'd be surprised. Double beds or...?"

John grins. "Double."

John watches as his fingers fly over the keyboard seemingly of their own accord. "Unfortunately, the only available room I have is a king with a pull out couch. Sorry." He doesn't sound very sorry about that.

It's not ideal, but John's exhausted and he'll be damned if he's getting back in that car. At least not until he's had a good five hours of sleep.

"John," Teyla says.

"We'll take it."

"Suit yourself. That'll be thirty five for the night."

John makes quick work of paying Rodney but he has to force himself to ignore the slight tingle when the tips of their fingers brush together. It has nothing to do, he tells himself, with the kissably crooked mouth or the hair that's curled almost delicately just above the nape of Rodney's pale neck.

Rodney stares at John for just a moment too long and John knows that he felt it too, but he pushes the thought out of his mind. "Right," Rodney says, clearing his throat. "If you'll just... follow me, I'll take you to your room."

It isn't easy, John thinks, to not stare at the barely-there outline of Rodney's ass. The baggy pants do a good job at concealing what's really underneath, but John sees enough to know what he wouldn't mind sliding into it.

He's halfway hard when Rodney slips the key card into the lock and pushes the door open. The hotel room is as nondescript and boring as every other hotel he's ever stayed in and after a quick once over, John's eyes return to Rodney just in time to catch Rodney staring. Again.

John can't help but smirk just a little.

Rodney flushes beautifully; he turns pink from the tips of his ears all the way down to his neck as he averts his eyes. "I um... I'll leave you to it, but if you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John says.

Rodney nods, turns away and practically sprints down the hall.

---

The couch is worse than the one in their apartment, John decides as he tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position. Teyla and Ronon are already fast asleep, sprawled out comfortably on the large bed. John hates them just a little; he would have been more comfortable sleeping in the car.

He gives it another ten minutes and when he's no closer to sleep, he climbs off the couch and stalks out of the room, cursing Ronon and his ability to sleep anywhere and Teyla for being... well, for being Teyla.

He doesn't know where he's going and he's not sure what he's doing until he steps into the lobby.

Rodney's sitting at the front desk, hunched over something and John's cock twitches to life almost immediately.

"Hey," he calls before he can stop himself.

Rodney startles and looks up, blue eyes wide in surprise. "Uh... what... did you need something?"

He does, but John really doesn't know if it's something Rodney's willing to give but it doesn't stop him from slinking over to the desk. "What are you working on?" He asks conversationally. Mentally, he's kicking his own lame ass.

"Nothing that can't wait until later," Rodney says and then he flushes again and John can read the worry on his face; he's wondering if he's misjudged the situation.

"Cool," John says lazily. "You know, the couches in these rooms really suck."

"Yeah," Rodney agrees, clearing his throat just a little. He looks nervous and excited so John relaxes just a little bit.

"Don't happen to know a place that's a little more comfortable, do you?"

"As a matter of fact..." Rodney says.

---

Kissing Rodney is exactly like John thought it would be; his lips are incredibly kissable, but he's clumsy and awkward. It should turn John off, but it strangely enough, it doesn't. It just leaves him wanting more.

When they break apart, Rodney's breathing heavily, shoulders and chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mousy brown hair is soaked to his forehead because even though it's a million and five degrees outside, apparently hotels don't believe in air conditioning their employee break room.

"It's hot as fuck," Rodney complains.

"Gonna get hotter," John says and leans forward, capturing Rodney's lips again.

---

The next time they break apart, Rodney's naked and writhing beneath John. He's about two thrusts away from shamelessly humping John's leg as John takes his time undressing himself.

"Torture," Rodney wheezes.

John responds by leaning over and swallowing Rodney's cock.

It's effective in shutting him up.

At least for a minute.

--

John has had a series of one night stands before. Plenty of college guys--and girls because he's not picky--but none have been as vocal about being fucked as Rodney.

When John finally slides in between those round ass cheeks, Rodney moans and whines and pleads and begs. He arches against John, crying out for more, more, more and John doesn't hold back. He thrusts against Rodney over and over, burying himself deeper and deeper each time.

"Fuck, Rodney," John gasps and he can already feel the orgasm building low in his belly. It hasn't been this quick since the first time Kenny Lewis blew him in the passenger seat of his uncle's van, but it doesn't matter because he can feel Rodney already trembling beneath him, his cock red and weeping between them.

He's close, but Rodney's closer.

Rodney's whimpering now and clinging to John harder with every thrust. He'll have marks and bruises for days, he thinks, but it's worth it when Rodney cries out and John feels the warm spray of come on his chest.

He leans down and buries his face against Rodney's neck as he rocks his hips desperately, torn between needing to come and wanting to prolong it.

He tries to hold out, but suddenly he's coming hard enough that his vision goes hazy and when he's finally spent, he collapses on top of Rodney, breathing heavily.

John rolls off of Rodney after a minute and reaches for his discarded boxers to clean himself up. It feels wrong to just dress and go, so instead, he slumps back against the couch beside Rodney, their shoulders brushing occasionally. John thinks he should say something, but he isn't sure what.

It's Rodney who breaks the ice.

"That was..."

"Yeah," John agrees. "I should..."

"Yeah."

John doesn't move.

---

When John jogs into the lobby late the next morning to check out, he's surprised to find Rodney still hunched behind the counter, staring at a text book. He doesn't seem to hear John approach, so John clears his throat, grinning when Rodney jumps at the sound.

"What?"

John drops the key card onto the counter and slides it towards him. "Just thought I'd come say goodbye. We're heading out."

"Where to?"

"Long Beach... four days of nothing but surf and sand."

"Thrilling," Rodney says dryly. He takes the key card and clicks the computer keys. "You um... come this way often?"

"Just once a year," John says and he thinks he imagines Rodney's face falling just a little.

"Well then..." Rodney says.

"Yeah," John agrees. "I uh... my friends are waiting for me at the car, but I just..."

"You should go."

"Yeah. I..." John sighs and turns. He takes a step toward the doorway and then stops. "Hey Rodney?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe... maybe on our way back through..." He trails off.

Rodney looks hopeful. "If you need anything..."

"I know where to find you," John grins before he turns and walks out of the lobby.