#so there was a struggle to match it ����

[prael]

Alternatives

IZ*ONE Kang Hyewon x male reader

7.6k words

"All I'm saying is: try it. Let me put you in front of a camera and we'll see how it goes."

"Ah," she breathes out a small sigh of discomfort. Hyewon pushes at your hand, forcing you to loosen your grip on her waist. "And no," there's a brief pause for a deep gasp, "I'm not that desperate."

Her neck beckons your mouth with each swallow and suppressed groan. You lean forward, lips pursed, and lightly nibble across the column of her throat. "I think it'll suit you." You punctuate the statement with a singular, harder thrust of the hips to drive home your point. "The roleplay," you whisper into her ear.

Hyewon laughs, "You're sick," she spits, "but go on."

"Imagine being that college student all alone at her house. A handsome man," you kiss her cheek in the most delicate way possible, "- me - knocks on your door and introduces himself as a salesman." Your hands are tangled in her hair, nails softly scratching her scalp. "But then something about him, his smile, or lack thereof, seems so familiar..."

"Do I let him in?" she asks. It's posed as an innocent question, even with her fingernails scrawling down the wall you have her pressed against. You take a moment to let the question simmer, slapping your hips against her ass. You're forced to slow down - you almost finished right then.

"No," you manage between heavy breaths, "because you're smarter than that." There's a deep moan that travels through your chest like fire before you say: "You ask what he wants, why he's come. But when he reaches for his briefcase and shows you what he has to offer," you reach around to her stomach to brush past her clit on the way towards her labia. "You see a couple of toys and decide you might want one after all."

Hyewon arches her back against you at that, burying the tip of your cock into her deepest part. "Toys?"

"Yes," you thrust forward, holding her body flush against yours with your hand splayed across her stomach. "Then he invites himself in and you watch as he lays them all out on your living room table."

"I bet you'd like to tell me what he says next."

"Hmm... 'How about a free sample? So you know which one's right for you?' I'd pull out this very-" You lift her leg to get a deeper angle.

"Y-yes... fuck."

"- Large dildo that was just the perfect size for your tight little hole." You snake another hand around to hold her throat, thumb and finger teasing at squeezing her tightly. "And then it would just be us, doing what we do best - in front of the cameras."

"Oh my god, shut up," Hyewon whines, head tilting back to rest on your shoulder. "Keep fucking me." Your thrusts grow heavier as she grinds down on you.

"All your pretty orgasms caught in 4k." Hyewon's entire body twitches under your hold, legs shaking against the wall where they struggle to keep her upright. "People would pay a fortune just to get off on the sound of your voice alone."

"You're insane," she cries.

"I can't wait until someone else sees how beautiful you are."

"What makes you think-" You cut off her words by squeezing harder. Her mouth hangs open, eyebrows furrowing together. She rolls her hips down, and you let go so she collapses back against the wall.

"Think of the money we'd make together."

Hyewon's back arches against you as you feel her walls fluttering around your cock. "Ah," she gasps, trying desperately to match your pace. "Please," she whispers. Hyewon isn't in any place to talk; her breath hitches each time you drive inside her cunt. You push your fingers into her mouth as you continue speaking.

"Picture the comments; thousands, maybe millions, of strangers who'll never touch you but are so desperate that they'll pay to watch. Just one video is all it'll take." You smile into her neck, relishing the feeling of her warm skin against your lips as she trembles through another orgasm. "Just say yes. Say you want it too."

She shakes her head, swallowing thickly. "I don't - Fuck."

Your hand finds purchase in the curve of her hipbone before forcing her down against every snap of your hips. The sounds her pussy makes with each thrust fill the room alongside her whimpers of pleasure. "Come on."

"I'll never be that desperate."

-

The text said to come right over, and to bring wine - you know what that means.

"Again?" you ask.

"Someone else is more suited for the role," she mimics and mocks in an exaggerated impression of some director whose name you soon forget. It's always something; some new, trivial reason. It's no longer enough to tell someone they're not right for the part - they need some special way to reject someone and make them feel bad about themselves. Every little thing wrong with a candidate gets nitpicked to hell and back. Hyewon could act circles around anyone, and she's being passed up for whatever half-assed reason they can come up with.

She deserves better.

Your reassurance would be as hollow as the director's apology. It doesn't matter - the only response it earns is an eye-roll, anyway. "I know what you're going to say," she says. "And you can shove it."

You stand, bringing the glass to your lips. "You have to stop beating yourself up like this." You gesture vaguely at nothing in particular. "You shouldn't even be mad about missing out on such a low-quality project anyway. Seriously," you scoff, "the movie's going straight to DVD if they couldn't see your potential." Her eyes finally roll up from their downward glare. "Plus," you raise an eyebrow, "now you have all this extra free time."

She lifts her nose towards the ceiling. "To work on other projects that I'll get rejected from."

You set down your glass with a laugh. "To find one you're passionate about."

"And when the money dries up?" Her question is sharp and pointed; the implication is unsaid but clear.

You step closer. "The money’s already dried up. But, you know, we can still-"

"No." Her eyes narrow. There's a moment of silence, and then she sighs; her shoulders slump, and her face softens into something more vulnerable. "I bet you don't have this issue, do you? You turn up, do the same generic plot for the hundredth time with the fifteenth pretty woman of the month and move on." She drops onto the sofa with a groan. "Easy."

"I guess you could say I'm an opportunist," you smirk, sliding down next to her. Hyewon shifts away in annoyance before grabbing her wine.

She takes a long, slow drink; staring into nothing. After finishing the entire glass, she slowly licks her lips. Hyewon looks at you through her lashes. "You did it today, didn't you? You always have this look after filming. I can spot it every time." A single manicured finger taps against the stem of her wine glass, the soft clinking noise echoing around you. "Tell me about it."

"What do you want to know?" You inch closer, shifting your body towards hers. "The setting?" The heat of your breath washes against her cheek; a barely-there whisper. She tilts her chin, angling herself toward you.

"Yes."

"A large hotel room," you reply easily. "There's a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting on the nightstand next to a bed with a very neatly done coverlet." Her pupils widen as they scan over your expression.

"With satin sheets?"

You hum, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear. "Right. And the plot, well; cheating girlfriend seduces bell clerk the night before her wedding - very tasteful stuff. So anyway, I'm helping her with her luggage while wearing my perfectly pressed uniform with the fake nametag - let's say I was called Alex this time." Her lips quirk into the hint of a smile before vanishing again. She reaches for the bottle sitting on the table beside the couch; her glass gets refilled while yours goes unnoticed. "So I'm working, right? But I can't help myself from staring at how pretty this woman is." Your gaze flickers towards Hyewon's mouth. "With these perfect, pouty lips begging to be wrapped around my cock, so naturally, I'm a little distracted from doing my job." Your voice lowers; dropping down to a sultry drawl. Her tongue slides across her lower lip.

"And she's all flirty, I bet? Did she really play it up like most actresses do? Just looking at you all doe-eyed and shit," she laughs, "because there's only so many times a person can take seeing some bimbo flutter their lashes all innocent-like without getting tired of it. I guess you don’t really care for realism."

"So one thing leads to another-" she rolls her eyes "- and next thing you know she's on her knees begging to get railed by 'Alex'," you nod.

Hyewon makes a face of mock-shock; eyebrows raised and her hand flying up to her chest to feign surprise. "How forward!"

"The director wanted to insert some foot stuff, but she didn't like the idea, so we skipped that. You would've liked the lingerie though, real lace number - all white. Very angelic, actually," you muse aloud. "Reminded me of you." She turns her head to the side. Her neck flushes red, the colour creeping upwards until the tips of her ears glow crimson.

"How thoughtful," she says dryly before taking another sip of wine.

"You can imagine the rest. There's sex, more sex, more sex, and then we wrap it up." You wave dismissively at the thought of work. Hyewon nods along silently; nails tap loudly against the glass. Her leg shakes incessantly; you lay your hand high upon her thigh, stilling her movements. Her breathing quickens under your touch.

"Sounds hot," Hyewon rasps. "I'm sure people will love getting off on such a masterpiece of cinema."

"Something's got you pent up," you note, completely ignoring the snipe.

"Got enough left in you to stay the night?" Her eyelids lower in a challenge.

You squeeze her thigh and lean forward to murmur in her ear: "Depends what’s on offer." Your fingers glide higher, stopping just short of touching where you both know she wants it. You trace lazy patterns on her inner thigh instead. She tenses before exhaling sharply through her nose; brows pinch together momentarily, frustration mounting steadily inside.

She shrugs, nonchalant. "Me."

"You're gonna need to be more specific than that."

A sigh escapes her lips; she purses them briefly, annoyed. Then she opens them slightly to speak. "Do you want to fuck me or not?"

The laugh rumbles from deep within your chest before spilling out of your throat without restraint. "Hyewon," your fingers finally drag across her pussy. "Anytime."

-

It's not often you take the time to just walk, but when neither you nor Hyewon have anything to film today, there's no harm in two friends taking a stroll. Of course, she has to wear a hoodie, a hat and glasses just in case some creep, adoring fan, or tabloid freelancer recognises her and starts following her around. If someone had told her before how exhausting fame can become, you doubt she'd listen. How does Hyewon keep herself from being crushed under the pressure?

Maybe that's why she keeps you around.

But she smiles brighter here, walking shoulder to shoulder with you on an empty beachfront street. Nobody ever really smiles in the spotlight. It reminds you of your teenage days: when the two of you were young, naive - stupid.

"So then," Hyewon draws the word out, pausing to inhale deeply before continuing her story. "I saw this old woman, she was trying to pick up this one fruit from the ground. And, I swear I thought I was watching it happen in slow motion because they all topple and there’s oranges everywhere." She chuckles at the memory. Her laughter sounds genuine, unlike her interviews and staged performances. Here it comes easily, bubbling up from within. The sound is soft yet vibrant and musical all at once. "And she looks at me, right? With this total 'Can you believe this shit?' look on her face. I'm losing it - trying so hard not to laugh, but I end up doubling over laughing hysterically anyway. Then I try to help her collect them all. We go back and forth between laughing at each other."

"So now you come down here and visit her regularly?"

"Well, yeah. See, she gave me an orange, so I came back the next day and I paid her for it. But then she gave me more fruits so I had to keep going back," she explains simply. Her shoes click against the sidewalk as she takes each step. "Plus," her lips twist into a faint smile, "I think she's lonely sometimes, you know? Just wants somebody to talk to about life outside the market."

"Ah," you grin, "I didn't know you had such a heart of gold."

Hyewon punches your shoulder with a scowl. "Fuck you."

"Out here by the beach? If you insist."

She rolls her eyes at you. "That wasn't a proposition," she points out flatly.

"But it could be," you offer with a sly smirk. She rolls her eyes harder - so exaggerated it looks painful.

"God, you're insufferable. Wait by the beach, will you? I'm going to go see her quickly," she says as she veers away from you; footsteps light and springy carrying her into a skip. "I'll come find you after."

Your gaze follows her figure until it disappears around a corner.

-

You had to text her directions. You walked off onto the beach and veered off down between the rocks near a quieter, closed-off part of the cove.

Now you watch the water rolling against the sand below, the sun beating down on the sea with waves crashing against the shore. You're shielded from sight by tall stone formations and an overhang above and it gives you just enough shade for comfort.

"Hey," Hyewon calls out, pulling you from your reverie. You glance up to see her striding towards you; long legs closing the distance quickly.

"All good?"

She nods as she sits by your side and slips her arms around yours. Her body is warm against you. "Yeah."

The wind picks up slightly and carries the scent of saltwater with it. A cool breeze brushes past your face and tickles your skin. You shiver involuntarily; goosebumps appear along your forearms where they're exposed to the elements.

"So when do I get to meet her?" you inquire, which makes Hyewon furrow her brow in confusion.

"Why?"

"Just curious if she knows how much of an ass you really are."

"I don't think you'd survive the trip," she jokes dryly. "She'd eat you alive."

You scoff dramatically. "I'm sure I could charm my way out somehow."

Hyewon laughs openly and unreservedly at the comment; bright and loud and sweet. "Trust me, dude. She would chew you up and spit you out faster than anything."

Her fingers trace absent circles along your bicep as she talks idly, rambling about nothing important. Hyewon always speaks easily; rarely hesitates before jumping into a conversation. Sometimes it seems like she loves hearing herself talk, and perhaps she does, but more likely she needs to fill the silence that permeates everything else around her.

She tells you about something funny a mutual friend said recently and something cute her cat did last night and eventually about some rumours going around the industry lately. The whole conversation is a backdrop for what's happening between you.

You study Hyewon carefully. The curve of her jawline where her hair frames her face perfectly; her dark lashes fluttering when she blinks slowly at you; the shape of her lips, curved upwards slightly every time she smiles softly. Her body is relaxed against yours, and she lets her hands wander freely.

"And this one time, my cat seemed obsessed with stealing my socks." She recounts the stories of how he kept bringing them back into her bedroom whenever she left. "He's so cute," she's telling you while slipping down your shorts. "I should probably pay attention to him more. He's been really needy lately..." She trails off, humming thoughtfully.

"Maybe he's bored, or just needs to play more," you suggest with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Bored of what?" she asks curiously, and bringing no attention to how she just placed her palm on your crotch, slowly moving her hand back and forth. She doesn't pause while waiting for a response.

"I mean, he's stuck in the house all day." You clear your throat nervously; eyes fixed firmly ahead, even as she continues to stroke you. "Don't cats need exercise?"

"He's still so lively and playful, though. Always wants to wrestle or run after toys or chase bugs, and he tires himself out." She never once glances down between your legs. "So, do you think it's just pent-up energy?"

Your breath hitches slightly when her palming becomes a grip, and she twists her wrist on the next stroke. "Maybe he just needs a release," you try to say in a level tone, only partially managing to hide the tremor from your voice. She pumps at a steadier pace as she processes this idea for herself.

"Yeah..." Hyewon trails off, seeming unsure. "That makes sense...maybe."

You sit there in the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine, allowing yourself to relax into her touch as she continues to jerk you off lazily. Neither of you makes any effort to address what's occurring beyond it; simply two friends passing the time, talking aimlessly.

"I guess you might be right," she concludes eventually, before slipping her hands into your shorts. "I should definitely buy him a scratching post or something." Hyewon rubs her thumb at the head, spreading pre-cum further before using it to ease her strokes. The new slickness makes the movement glide smoother against sensitive skin. It catches you by surprise, and you gasp quietly at the sensation.

"Seems reasonable," you manage to mutter under your breath; barely audible over the crashing of waves nearby.

"Or maybe I should get a friend for him," Hyewon ponders. A moan slips past your lips as she pumps particularly slowly, making sure to drag her fist tightly along the length. She seems lost in thought and distracted by her musings - her pace picks up speed subconsciously.

"A f-friend?" Your mouth hangs open as another gasp escapes you.

"Yeah, y'know, to give him companionship so he isn't so dependent on me." She purses her lips in contemplation. A sigh comes from you in response, eyelids drooping as pleasure builds low within. Hyewon picks up the change in your demeanour; she slows her pace ever-so-slightly. Your hips twitch impatiently under her deliberate slowness.

"Although," she begins, "maybe he prefers having me to himself. He gets awfully jealous if anyone else gets near me."

"Don't they all?"

She hums. Her gaze sweeps towards you casually, almost disinterested. But her eyes linger far too long, and you know she feels the same pressure coiling tighter and tighter within your core as well. Hyewon studies your expression intently as your breathing turns shallow, and she squeezes her hand gently, pumping faster - twisting just right beneath the crown. Her rhythm remains controlled. A groan escapes your lips as the heat grows in the pit of your stomach and radiates outward. "You close?" Her question breaks the silence. You merely nod, mouth slack-jawed.

A satisfied smirk curves across her lips. Without missing a beat, she leans closer to kiss the side of your neck lightly. Then she murmurs into your ear softly: "Do it for me." Her teeth scrape over your lobe; a gentle reminder of whose hand is on your cock, and why exactly it's there.

And it's that combination - the subtle order paired with her tongue flicking against your earlobe - which sets your body ablaze and causes the tension in your muscles to finally snap. Her name falls from your mouth as you release messily over her fingers, and some ropes splatter on the sandy ground.

There's a soft laugh followed by a teasing remark on how much of a mess you've made. You grunt weakly. Hyewon smiles and shakes her head before removing her hand from your now-softening length. "You're gross," she comments idly.

When you glance at her, however, there's nothing malicious or irritated present in her features - rather, amusement dances behind those brown eyes. There's something undeniably erotic about seeing her expression so neutral after stroking someone to completion. You tell her, "Felt like a waste. Could have put it somewhere more useful."

"Could have, but I didn't feel like putting in the effort today." Hyewon licks her hand clean, sucking her fingertips with an exaggerated pop. "Besides, we're not done catching up."

"Got more cat stories?" you ask jokingly, sliding your shorts up your legs with shaky hands.

"Nah, going to tell you about my cousin's divorce."

"Sounds thrilling."

"Truly," Hyewon smirks as she pulls your hand up under her skirt. "Wanna hear it?"

"I'm all ears." Your fingers slide against her underwear and immediately feel the damp fabric clinging to her skin. "Start talking."

-

"Are we pretending again tonight?" She slides over your thighs; the silk of her nightdress riding up her hips.

You skim your palms across the thin fabric covering her chest; feeling the swell of breasts beneath. She arches into your touch as you cup their weight. Her nipples stiffen visibly beneath the sheer cloth. When your fingertips brush over them, she shivers, leaning further into the caress. Her fingers dig into the meat of your shoulders as her mouth finds yours hungrily; tongue slipping between parted lips as she explores every inch of your mouth. And all you can do is surrender fully to the sensations she elicits inside you - heat blooms low in your belly; desire courses through your veins like fire igniting everywhere her skin makes contact with yours.

"We've been doing this a lot, recently," you comment as she drags her teeth along your jawline; leaving small, reddish marks where they graze sensitive areas of your neck.

"Going to complain about sex?" she breathes against your neck, punctuating each word with another bite.

"Not at all," you reply, sliding your hands along her thighs as they tighten around yours. "Can't help but think it's the boredom. Or the stress?" you say with a tilt of your head as you push aside strands of hair covering half of her face. Your lips find hers. Soft moans escape her lips when you press deeper into her mouth, savouring every bit of sweetness. Hyewon tastes sweet - always does. Something soft yet tangy, reminding you of ripe berries. Your tongues clash together in a sloppy dance of hunger and longing - a mix of lustful passion and simple comfortableness borne from familiarity.

"Not this shit again," she says, lifting herself up. "If I wanted your concern and not just your cock, I'd tell you."

"Hyewon," you whisper her name as you grab her ass. "I've paid your rent for the past two months. I'm gonna be a little concerned." She grabs your chin as soon as you finish speaking.

"Shut the fuck up." She kisses your cheek first, then trails downwards until reaching your collarbone. Teeth lightly scrape over bone before moving towards the base of your throat where they sink firmly into the flesh, eliciting sharp gasps of surprise and discomfort alike.

It hurts so damn bad; but there is no denying it feels so fucking good, too. Every nerve ending in your body lights aflame like fireworks under starless night skies - so bright and vibrant they nearly blind you completely. Pain melts away into pleasure seamlessly - it becomes difficult to distinguish between one sensation and the next.

"Besides, I've made up my mind. You've won," she mutters while nipping her way across your shoulders, dragging her nails down your spine. Her nails leave stinging trails wherever they travel; scratches etched across the expanse of your back, burning hotter than hellfire itself. "I'll do it. Tomorrow I'll call up your guy, set up a meeting - whatever. Okay?" She pauses for a moment, looking directly into your eyes.

It explains the intensity. Normally, it's all so casual, but now she has something to prove.

"Okay."

"Consider this my audition. Now, lie down on the floor." You push off the couch, settling onto the thick carpet, letting Hyewon take control. She positions herself on the edge of her seat on the couch, looking down at you, her expression cold. "Remember the one you told me about last month. When she dominated you?" Hyewon whispers as she places both feet firmly upon you. One at your chest, one at your abdomen, and she presses her dainty feet down heavily, pinning you firmly against the ground beneath her.

"The rich brat roleplay?" you ask.

"Mmm hmm," Hyewon hums affirmatively. She pushes one foot up from your chest and into your face. "Bratty could kinda be my thing."

"First video would be a little simpler, besides, you don't really get to choose -"

"- I do, or it's deal off." She pushes the sole of her foot against your mouth harder. "Now shut up." She uses her toe to pull down your bottom lip, prying open your jaw forcefully. "Get to work."

You shoot her a glare, but ultimately part your lips slightly further apart, allowing access, and you taste her. She seems pleased when you swirl your tongue along her toes - her breath quickens audibly when you suck gently at the top of each digit. The act of obedience excites you as well. There is something so strangely erotic about submitting fully to another's demands.

"That's better," she coos contentedly. Slowly, deliberately, she pushes her other foot down between your legs. She grinds against your hardening cock until it becomes fully erect. "No, you can't use it yet." Hyewon retracts her limb from your mouth and brings it back onto your chest. "Hands behind your head," she instructs sharply. You comply obediently with a muted growl, interlacing your fingers behind your head.

Once again, Hyewon grinds her foot against your cock with a forceful push. A whimper escapes your lips. Your erection throbs beneath her relentless foot and twitches uncontrollably whenever she puts extra pressure on it. She drags her other foot down too. She looks at you with a smirk as if to tell you that this is only just getting started.

"You've been in the industry long enough; ever had a girl do this?" She asks as she positions each foot on either side of your length, sandwiching it firmly between her soles. Hyewon applies more pressure now and starts massaging it with alternating powerful movements. "Well?"

"No," you moan in answer.

Her toes curl and extend repeatedly with each rhythmic motion - back and forth they flex against your swollen cock - until she stops for a moment to rub her big toe up along the underside of the shaft, circling lightly around the tip before coming back down to continue rubbing up against it once more. "Bullshit. I see this all the time in videos."

"You should watch more of my videos."

"I tried," she says so casually. "But then I always think 'I could just go over and fuck him.'" She presses her heel into the base, pushing your cock flat against your pelvis. "Besides, I've seen you cum enough times now that it's only exciting when I get to do it myself." She speaks, she rubs her foot against your cock and the speed builds gradually as she watches you carefully. "Think you can cum like this?"

"I'd much rather do it inside you instead." Hyewon moves her foot faster, grinding harder down on your cock. It makes it increasingly harder to breathe properly. The friction sends shivers running throughout your entire body. Each press sends waves of ecstasy washing over you.

"Not today," Hyewon grunts. "On my feet or not at all."

"Shit." You writhe under her pressure, desperately trying to hold yourself still, to prolong this torture just a few moments longer.

"What? No snarky remark now? I think I like you better when I do this." Hyewon leans forward, positioning her head right above her feet. She spits down onto your cock before rubbing your spit-covered dick between her feet once more. "Whatever turns you on, I suppose."

"Apparently your feet are right now." You arch upwards when Hyewon picks up the pace. "And it's something about the view."

You're looking up at her, perched there and peering down at you with that mocking face she does so well. Her legs are long and smooth; her skin gleams golden in the dim light cast by the lamp beside her. Her thighs ripple enticingly with every pump of her feet against your shaft. And there's the star of it all - her feet. Nails painted white and her soles slick with spit.

Her pace becomes erratic - wild jerks and erratic thrusts become interspersed with firm grasping motions around the sides of your cock as if she intends to milk you dry. She's laughing now. Mocking the way you squirm and twist beneath her. "You're really going to cum on my feet?" Hyewon says through a giggle. You can hear the disbelief in her voice, and it irritates you immensely because, yes, you actually are about to do it.

Your orgasm surges in a violent burst of pure pleasure - you lose complete control then, spilling copious amounts of cum all over Hyewon's pretty little feet.

Her laughter rings out clearly when she sees how badly you've coated them. "Wow!" Hyewon marvels loudly as she wiggles her toes in the substance that's dribbled onto them. "Looks like somebody liked my audition."

-

"Look, we're not going for an epic here. Just ten minutes of chopped-up footage and they'll be throwing money at us," The director’s excited, almost too much so. His speech is fast-paced, and his arms move wildly through the air in sweeping gestures. Hyewon sits across from him, perched on the bed in pose. You're watching from afar. They've given her the real summer vibe. The shorts are denim and shorter than any pair you've seen her pull from her own wardrobe. That tight, orange tank top accents her breasts perfectly. She's got her legs to the side and she's resting on one arm, nodding along at the director's rambling.

She's a pro, she doesn't need this.

"Don't look at the camera. We're going for natural. Remember what we said earlier. This is just two friends having sex." You catch Hyewon rolling her eyes at that. He continues: "Nothing too fancy, just enjoy yourself."

"I've got it, can we start?" You notice the smile creeping up on the director's face as he turns to his cameras.

"She knows what she's doing," you tell him as you approach. "Let's just get started."

"Just fine by me. All set, right?"

"Yeah, we're all ready," you tell him. You climb onto the mattress and lie beside her. "Finally." The words are said low and quietly, almost inaudible under your breath.

"Too many cooks," she mumbles under her breath.

"It's your scene," you tell her. "Take the lead, he won't question it."

The room goes silent, and the director gives his signal. And in an instant, Hyewon changes; her vibe is all ditsy and wide-eyed innocence. "It's so hot here!" Hyewon fans herself, pouting dramatically. "How can anybody live in this weather?" She pulls the hem of her shirt up so slightly as to expose a little more skin.

Is this really the direction she's going? It's a little generic.

"I don't want to wear clothes anymore, Daddy."

Okay, that's unexpected.

Her line delivery is perfect, and the inflexion in her voice suggests an irresistible degree of desperation; a perfect balance of pleading whine, frustration, and underlying lust that sounds entirely genuine. Her hands run over her bare midriff, and she moans quietly; she looks beautiful and vulnerable, helpless without even knowing it.

"We have to leave, baby. Don't do that..." You watch her hands slide over her hips, riding up the material even further, exposing her slim waist.

"I'm not going." She spits out the words and pouts petulantly. "Not until I'm satisfied."

This is different - more fun than her usual performances. She's being playful now; her eyes are lit up and sparkling. You're wondering if she's been holding back on you before now.

"We're leaving." You grab her wrist. An action to which she whines indignantly, shaking free from your grip. Hyewon pushes up higher and climbs atop your lap. She's not messing around anymore. She wastes no time grabbing hold of your hands, guiding them down to her ass.

"Daddy," she repeats. "Daddy..." This time she draws out the words slowly, savouring each syllable; savouring the way your fingertips tremble against her skin. "I'm not leaving. I need you."

She doesn't need prompting to keep going - doesn't need encouragement or coaxing from you. She already has a story in her head, and she's working her hardest to bring it alive. Hyewon reaches between her legs and palms your crotch, squeezing tenderly.

"It's so big," she remarks reverently. She unbuckles your belt quickly, eager anticipation driving every action.

She lifts herself onto her knees before tugging everything off. As soon as your cock springs loose, Hyewon descends upon it greedily - wrapping her soft hand around its thickness and stroking along the entire length.

"I love Daddy's cock."

Fuck, she's really into this, isn't she?

Her thumb caresses along the crown while her fingers close tightly around the shaft. Hyewon begins pumping faster and faster as she works you into hardness. Soon enough, she slips the tip between her parted lips and engulfs it within the warmth of her wet, inviting mouth. She starts sucking slowly, bobbing her head up and down your shaft with a steady rhythm.

"No baby... We need to..."

Hyewon releases your length with a wet pop and stares up at you with wide eyes. There's no hint of shame present within those dark orbs, nor hesitation evident within her flushed cheeks. Only pure eagerness. Hunger. Desire. Lust. Unadulterated need for cock.

A truly compelling act.

"But Daddy... I want it..."

She lowers herself back down over your cock, plump lips stretched wide to accommodate your size. She moves leisurely at first - seemingly content with simply licking lazily around the bulbous tip - but soon enough increases her pace steadily until she bobs eagerly, moaning lewdly around every inch of your girth. Her saliva coats your member liberally as she slathers it lovingly with sloppy, affectionate attention.

"Baby girl..."

She pulls off completely with another loud slurping noise, trailing strings of spit connecting her tongue to your erect pillar of flesh.

"Put it in my pussy, Daddy."

There's that spark in her eyes again, telling you it's alright to follow your instincts. To forget the script altogether. You rise upwards suddenly, grabbing hold of Hyewon's slender frame by her shoulders and pushing her down forcefully onto her back atop the mattress. Hyewon yelps in shock at the sudden movement, staring dumbly at you as you tear her clothes off, tossing them away carelessly.

"W-wait!"

You flip her roughly onto her stomach, then tug her rear upwards to expose her slick centre. She instinctively props herself onto all fours. Her pussy glistens wetly and drips juices down her inner thigh, proof positive of her arousal. "Want to be such a brat, then you'll take it like one."

You grab her ass and do as you have so many times before. You slip yourself into her pussy. You're actually doing it on camera this time. All the sex that happened offscreen, away from the prying eyes of countless people tuning in, is now there to be recorded. This is what will make it onto streaming sites and DVDs and websites - you and her fucking. Her voice rings out loud as you drive yourself deep inside her pussy; groaning aloud at the intense sensation of her walls enveloping your cock.

"Oh, Daddy. So big." She speaks as if entranced. She's playing it up for the camera but it's all so perfect; you can't tell where the act ends and real lust begins.

"Fuck," you hiss through gritted teeth, as you grab her by the waist and plunge deeper. It's not hard to lose yourself within her; you forget about the cameras entirely. Every inch of her velvet folds clamps down tightly around your shaft and squeezes rhythmically around your cock in rippling waves of constrictions.

She feels so hot inside! Her walls cling greedily onto you; begging wordlessly for more stimulation. For more pleasure. And it gets worse (or better) once she starts to move with you.

"H-harder," she tries to demand. It comes out choked and needy despite the strength in her words. "Harder, Daddy." Her body quakes with ecstasy as she struggles vainly to maintain any semblance of control whatsoever. Instead, she resorts to merely clinging to the sheets below, gasping hoarsely whenever your cock spreads her open particularly forcefully. "M-more."

There's nothing quite like stretching her open; the tightness and heat that greets you with each stroke remains remarkable nonetheless, regardless of how many times you've felt it before.

"I knew you could handle it." You smack her ass, the clap of your hand ringing out around the room as she winces loudly in pain. "You know why?" You wrap a hand loosely around her neck, squeezing lightly; Hyewon squeals adorably, her legs shaking violently beneath her. Her breaths come short and ragged through her clenched jaws. "Because you're mine."

You pull her flush against your chest. A camera pans in front of her and sets down low, capturing every twitch her cunt makes when you drag against her walls. Hyewon's mouth falls agape as if frozen in place, eyes wide and wild with desire, staring blankly straight ahead. Sweat forms over her flushed skin like pearls cascading down marble; beads rolling smoothly along the curve of her collarbones.

You hold her like that for a while, fucking up into her hard and fast. She bucks backwards with each thrust; her cute tits bounce for the camera. It's all so performative - the high-pitched shrieks and loud gasps, the whining and mewling constantly tumbling from her parted lips.

The director signals - he has enough footage in that position. So you're guiding Hyewon over to the next. "How's it going so far?" you ask as you guide her to the wall. "Is it just like you imagined?"

"It's just sex," she shrugs. You turn her around and press her back against the wall, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. "Good sex."

She holds herself aloft with surprising strength. Her toned legs coil around your waist snugly while her ankles hook behind your lower back securely. "Ready?" She gives a brisk nod, smiling slyly.

The director counts down, and you're inside her once more. "Ohh Daddy," she coos breathlessly, burying her face into the crook of your neck as her hips gyrate frantically.

"You've made us late," you growl at her as you snap your hips into hers. The thud of flesh slamming against wettened flesh reverberates through the room audibly. Every time your hips connect with hers, Hyewon cries out sweetly. Loudly.

"I don't care. Fuck me." Her nails dig painfully into your back, scoring angry red furrows down your spine. Not that you care, and the fans will love it. "Daddy." It's so over-used, yet somehow never grows stale; possibly because Hyewon's tone carries equal parts lust and malice.

You grab hold of her ass and step back once away from the wall. She leans back, shoulders against the wall and everything else suspended in the air. You take her weight into your hands; she's so light that it hardly takes any effort on your part to hold her aloft like that. Like some sort of erotic art piece, contorted in a sexual pose - the very image of depravity.

You're in complete control. Your thrusts dictate her very existence right now: when you push forward, she takes your entire length willingly; when you withdraw, she begs desperately for your return. 

Each motion elicits wonderful reactions from her; little twitches and convulsions that speak volumes about how badly she needs it. You fuck her like that for a while, suspended in the air. Her toned stomach tenses and her thighs tighten with every stroke. Her breathing quickens and shallows. Her half-lidded gaze fixes on yours intently; pupils dilated hugely as they drink in everything about you. Every grunt, groan or snarl you make seems to send shudders throughout her body.

There's no signal this time. You just lift her, throw her onto the bed and lift her legs into the air, holding her ankles in front of your face. You ram yourself deep into her. Her limbs flail limply in response; her calves lie unresponsive against your shoulders whilst her arms flounder about aimlessly atop the mattress.

It's rough. Violent, even. But Hyewon doesn't care. Far from caring, she welcomes it wholeheartedly. Welcomes every violent, powerful plunge and smack of your body against her thighs. You lean over her, folding her neatly beneath your frame.

"Harder, Daddy, harder," she chants ceaselessly. "Punish me for making us late."

"Open your mouth," you command sternly, pulling out almost entirely. "Stick out your tongue." She does exactly as told without hesitation. You spit into it and push back into her. She accepts both gifts eagerly; and relishes them openly, devouring your essence like candy. She swallows hungrily with an audible gulp and sticks her tongue back out, requesting more.

You spit again. She catches it, closes her mouth, and then you lightly slap her cheek. Not too hard, but enough to jostle her. The surprise causes her eyes to widen momentarily in alarm before quickly relaxing into hazy contentment. A blissful haze settles over her features, glazed eyelids drooping heavily shut.

"Come here." Your fingers thread through her silky black locks and yank hard; she whimpers sweetly at your roughness, tilting her head accordingly towards you obediently. She lets you steer her effortlessly.

Your mouths meet amidst an explosion of fiery passion. There's urgency in the kiss - an insatiable hunger permeating every lick and nibble of lips against tongues clashing together wetly between hungry gasps for air. It escalates quickly: lips parting further apart; teeth clicking accidentally; tongues entwining aggressively; saliva freely exchanging between heated breaths; soft moans rising unchecked.

By now, you have stopped caring about anything besides pounding yourself deeply into her receptive depths; rutting madly into her welcoming core without regard for comfort or safety.

She breaks first; breaking off suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, followed immediately after by an ear-splitting squeal; a keening shriek ripping forth from deep within her chest as she convulses wildly beneath you. Walls spasming uncontrollably around your cock; clutching possessively at every ridge and vein; milking insistently at each inch buried hilt-deep inside her.

There's a finale to it all. You agreed in advance how it should end. She'll take a load for the camera, right on her face. You slow yourself, reluctantly prying her legs off your shoulders and carefully extricating yourself from her clenching core. She looks almost comical in the aftermath. Her usually immaculate appearance utterly ruined - hair sticking messily up in odd directions while strands plaster erratically across her brow, cheeks aflame and glistening damply with sweat trickling from every pore; her lipstick smeared around swollen lips which remain parted in exhausted stupor.

"On your knees, now," you say, pulling her limp frame upright and off the edge of the bed. Her movements are clumsy and shaky, and she stumbles clumsily as you spin her around. Her legs fold under her as she collapses to the ground. But still, her eyes lock onto yours - fixed upon you expectantly; wanting; yearning.

And you stand tall above her, cradling her head gently in your palm. You brush your cock against her cheeks; coating them thickly in her own juices. Rubbing back and forth slowly, sliding up until you rest atop her pouted lips. She kisses the tip as you stroke yourself off above her; you run your fingers soothingly through her tousled locks encouragingly. "Take Daddy's load on your pretty face, baby girl."

Her lashes flutter dreamily as she watches enraptured. Her mouth hangs slightly slack as her hot exhales fan over your sensitive flesh; tickling enticingly. Your own ragged breaths echo throughout the room, perfectly meshing with her soft moans of encouragement as you stroke yourself closer towards climax.

She looks so vulnerable, so small sitting beneath you like this - kneeling submissively on the cold hardwood floor with your slick shaft laid heavily against her chin; staring up at you with such reverence, waiting patiently for your release. The cameras are in close. Waiting for that moment of truth.

Then it finally happens, your breath catching mid-gasp before escaping as a guttural groan.

Your orgasm hits and you release directly across her features; you cum across her lips, her nose, and her cheeks. White ribbons cascade down her visage, dripping obscenely off her jawline. She laps some into her mouth as it passes, but her gaze never wavers. Rather, she remains fixated solely on you; watching, rapt, as you unload across her features in viscous spurts until the last wave eventually washes over your senses and fades away.

You stumble back, and the camera moves in again, zoomed up onto Hyewon. She looks absolutely filthy like this - streaked thickly white across every inch of skin available atop her dainty face. Strands cling delicately atop long lashes and strings hang languidly between her parted lips.

She smiles lazily up at the camera and punctuates it all with a "Thank you, Daddy."

[lordzannis]

This is urgent! A baby has cancer and needs immediate care, but the doctors are threatening to remove the ventilator if $2,650 USD is not paid! So please donate and share!

Verification: Shared by @/90-ghost and #576 in the vetted fundraisers' spreadsheet by @/gazavetters. Make sure to contribute to the PayPal account so the family can access the funds quicker! Remember: You can give as little as $1 since PayPal accepts such amount! You match me, as well! I have given $10 USD, but you're more than welcome to give any amount!

This Fundraiser Needs Your Help – Urgent Support Needed! 🍉🌿🇵🇸

The fundraiser is critically low on funds, and we need your help to make a difference. Can you donate $40, or $60 to provide urgent and essential support to families and individuals in need? Every little bit truly helps and brings us closer to hope and relief. Why Your Help Matters:

We are reaching out with heartfelt urgency during this devastating time. Your generosity can change lives, helping those affected by the ongoing crisis to access necessities like food, shelter, and medical care.

No matter the size of your contribution, every dollar counts toward supporting families struggling to survive unimaginable conditions. Together, we can make a life-changing difference. Here's How You Can Help:

🌿 Donate: Your kindness has the power to bring hope. 🌿 Share: Amplify this message to help us reach as many people as possible. 🌿 Engage: Reblog, comment, and keep the conversation alive.

Let's stand united for Palestine. Your support is urgently needed today to give families a chance at a better tomorrow. Together, we can fight for dignity, hope, and humanity!

Hello, everyone.

I don't like guilt tripping people but a baby’s life depends on this. I am in tears. I wouldn't do this if it wasn't a life or death situation. @life-111 is my friend. He is in Gaza with his family. His baby has cancer and needs $1,130 for an operation TODAY. It's possible to achieve this. Together we can do it. Please, I beg of you, don't just reblog. Donate, whatever you can.

https://paypal.me/ofkt637

If you're gonna donate, please don't mention Ahmed Hammad in the paypal message. PayPal is racially profiling and it is retaining all money that accompanies that name.

His fundraiser is vetted by @90-ghost , @gazavetters (#576) , and @bilal-salah0. Gofundme takes too long, you can dm @life-111 if you want to confirm that paypal goes to them. Please help.

[holyblonded]

strawberry swing | always sunny in australia

pairings: sam kerr x teen!reader

summary: the story of chickie

warnings: foster care, social workers, abandonment

notes: before anyone accuses me of fucking trauma porn again (smd) most of my characters backstories reflect my own experiences. so leave me alone 😀

Your birth is a mystery.

There’s no hospital certificate, no photos of a baby wrapped in a blanket with proud parents smiling beside her. No recorded time of birth, no gentle whispers of a name chosen with care. You were surrendered at a fire station in Perth just a few days after coming into the world—tiny, blinking up at the fluorescent lights, swaddled in a blanket and left in silence. The only thing anyone knows is the date you were found: September 3rd.

So that became your birthday. You’ve never celebrated the actual day you were born, but September 3rd became a symbol of something different, survival. Existence. The day someone, somewhere, decided you deserved a chance. And so, when you started playing football, it was only natural to wear the number 3. Not because it was lucky. Not because a hero wore it before you. But because that number was yours. A reminder that you made it. That you’re still here.

You were placed in foster care right away. At first, everything was a blur, faces came and went. Families with different smells, different rules, different ways of making dinner. You learned not to unpack too deeply. Not to leave your clothes in drawers. Not to get too comfortable with anyone’s pets or start calling someone “Mum”. You learned how to adapt, how to nod when spoken to, how to keep a tiny part of yourself locked up and protected.

But then came the Patels. Mr. and Mrs. Patel were older, their children grown and long moved out. Their home was warm in the way that made your shoulders drop as soon as you walked in. The first night you stayed with them, you were so quiet that Mrs. Patel brought you warm milk with honey and sat next to you on the couch without saying a word. Mr. Patel gave you a bedtime story and called you “little one” with such affection it made your throat ache.

You were five years old, and for the first time, you felt like a child.

They never treated you like a charity case. You weren’t just a number in a file or a check from the government. You were their kid. Mr. Patel taught you how to garden, even though you pulled up the carrots too early. Mrs. Patel showed you how to make roti, guiding your little hands with gentle patience. They gave you a bedtime. They taught you to fold your clothes. They came to every parent-teacher meeting.

And when they saw you running circles around the backyard with a half-deflated ball tucked under your arm, Mr. Patel chuckled and said, “We’ve got a little footballer on our hands.”

So they signed you up.

You still remember your first match. You were wearing hand-me-down cleats that were a little too big, shin guards that kept sliding, and a jersey two sizes too long. But you were buzzing with excitement.

“Go, sweetie! Run, run, run!” Mrs. Patel called from the sideline, her voice high and delighted.

“To the goal! That’s it!” Mr. Patel shouted, jumping up and down like he was the one sprinting across the pitch.

You scored. It was messy, a bit lucky, and absolutely glorious. When you turned to the sideline, they were both clapping like you’d just won the World Cup. That moment was burned into your heart forever. Not the goal—them. The way they looked at you like you were something special.

But good things, you learned early, don’t always last.

By the time you were seven, Mr. and Mrs. Patel were struggling. Their age had caught up with them. Mrs. Patel’s arthritis made mornings difficult. Mr. Patel was having trouble keeping up with appointments. And the social worker gently, apologetically, told you it was time.

You didn’t say a word as you packed your things. Just a small duffel bag. The rest had always been borrowed.

Mr. Patel gave you a hug that lasted longer than it should’ve. Mrs. Patel tucked a little hand-stitched elephant into your pocket — “For courage,” she said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

The drive away from that house was one of the longest of your life. You curled up in the backseat, forehead against the window, watching the world blur by. Michelle, your social worker, kept glancing at you in the mirror. You didn’t cry. Not then. Your chest felt like it had caved in.

But then you whispered, almost too softly to hear: “Wherever I go from here… I want to keep playing football.”

Michelle didn’t blink. She just nodded, voice steady. “I can do that for you.”

And she did.

No matter how many places you bounced around after that, she made sure there was always a ball at your feet. Always a field. Always something to hold onto.

You were small, and angry sometimes, and too stubborn for your own good. But you never stopped playing. Never stopped believing that maybe, just maybe, one day, you’d find another place that felt like home.

And until then, you had football. You had the number 3, you had yourself, and most importantly you had the fire to survive.

You were used to doing things on your own. By thirteen, you had already lived more lives than most kids your age. You had lived in group homes and in strangers’ guest rooms, unpacked your bag more times than you could count, and learned how to get to practice no matter the distance. If it meant walking an hour, hitching a ride with someone’s cousin, or kicking around in a parking lot with a half-flat ball, so be it. You didn’t complain. Football made you feel alive, like you were more than your case number, more than another kid shuffling through the system. It reminded you that you were good at something.

But when you were turning fourteen, everything shifted.

You were placed with Edison and Savannah Mulberry, a well-off couple in Perth with a house full of sunshine, a garden that actually looked like a garden, and the biggest flatscreen you’d ever seen. They reminded you so much of Mr. and Mrs. Patel it almost hurt at first. Savannah hummed while she cooked and called you “sweetheart” from the moment you walked in the door. Edison was the type to high-five you every time he saw you and blast music from the speakers in the kitchen while making pancakes.

And best of all? They were massive Tillies fans. Not the fake kind, not the people who tuned in once a year for the important and barely knew any names. No, Edison could rattle off stats for every player, and Savannah had a scarf signed by Lisa De Vanna from years ago. When they found out how serious you were about football, it was like Christmas had come early. They bought cones and pop-up goals. They cleared out the garage so you could store your gear. Edison went full soccer dad mode, showing up to every training, every match, yelling like he was the coach.

You were embarrassed at first. Then, you secretly loved it.

And one weekend, they brought friends with them to one of your matches. Roger and Roxanne Kerr.

You didn’t know who they were at first, just that they were really friendly, smiled a lot, and seemed to know everything about football. Edison was buzzing with excitement, talking you up before the match like you were already a professional. You tried not to let it get to your head. But you did what you always did when you stepped on the pitch: you balled out.

You scored two goals. Assisted another. Broke ankles. Ran the game like you were born to do it.

After the final whistle, Roger and Roxanne came up to you, all smiles.

“That was brilliant,” Roger said, giving you a little clap on the shoulder.

“Seriously, you were everywhere,” Roxanne added. “So much composure for someone your age.”

You muttered a quiet thank you, looking at your shoes, trying not to blush. Edison, of course, was already grinning like he won the lottery.

“I told you she was good!” he said, practically bouncing. “She’s got something, doesn’t she? The instincts, the footwork, the mind for it!”

They smiled, nodded, clearly impressed. You didn’t realize how important their opinion was. Not until you got home.

Because Sam Kerr, the Sam Kerr, their daughter, happened to be visiting that week.

Over dinner, Roxanne casually said, “You should come to her next match, Sam. The kid’s got something special.”

“Really?” Sam asked, half-interested as she chewed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

You didn’t know she was going to be there. You didn’t know Tony Gustavsson, coach of the Matildas, would be there too.

You were just playing. And again, you crushed it. Another goal. Two assists. Dominating the midfield like it was your backyard. You played with joy, freedom, and a touch of feral hunger, like you had something to prove and nothing to lose.

From the stands, Sam leaned over to Tony.

“We need her,” she said. “She’s a freak. But she’s only thirteen.”

Tony didn’t take his eyes off you. “She’s fourteen in a month,” he said with a smirk.

That was the beginning of it.

Sam wasn’t someone who half-did things. If she believed in you, she believed in you. She spent the next month in Perth during a break from club and national duty. And instead of resting, she spent it with you.

She started by casually showing up to your training sessions. Then she offered to play one-on-one. Then she took you to this corner café you loved, where they had killer sandwiches and live acoustic music on Fridays. You opened up slowly, walls still high, trust still tentative, but she didn’t push. She just stuck around. She teased you when you tripped over your own shoelaces, taught you how to loft a ball with your laces perfectly, listened to your favorite playlists. You even made her watch some dumb rom-com you liked, and she didn’t complain. Much.

One afternoon, you showed her your favorite view of the city, up this trail behind the local park. You told her about the Patels. You told her about walking hours just to play. She didn’t say anything for a while.

Then she said, “You’re tough as nails, huh?”

You shrugged. “I just love the game.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. I can see that.”

By the end of the month, she had gotten your favorite cookies, these fancy ones from Sydney that were nearly impossible to find, and gave them to you on your birthday.

“Happy fourteenth,” she said, grinning. “Now come play for the national team.”

You hesitated. But something in you trusted her. So you said yes. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place.

Until it wasn’t. Just weeks before your official call-up, Edison had a sudden heart attack. He survived, but it was serious. Savannah was overwhelmed, struggling to keep up with his care, and social services stepped in.

You were going to be moved again. It was a gut punch. After everything. After hope. After belonging.

You sat in the office, arms crossed, bracing for another round of disappointment, when Sam stood up out of nowhere and said, “She’s not going back into the system. I’ll take her.”

You whipped your head toward her. “What?”

“I’ll take you,” Sam repeated. “You’ll stay with me.”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “You’ve got enough going on. You’re— You’re Sam Kerr. You don’t have time to—”

“I’m not letting this happen to you,” she said firmly. “You don’t have to keep starting over. Not this time.”

And just like that, she became your legal guardian.

You cried when you signed the paperwork. Sam pretended not to see, just ruffled your hair and said, “Alright, let’s get you packed. You’ve got a debut coming up.”

You never said it out loud, but in that moment, you stopped surviving.

And for the first time in your life… you started living.

[seishroo]

rin and marathon sex cause he's a freak like that

“make her tap out” — r. itoshi

cw. smut mdni, overstimulation, reader being pathetic as hell, rin just being yummy yum yum

rin was always a beast when it came to soccer. dominating the field, he’s intense — commanding authority without even trying.

and when it comes to sex? he’s practically a machine running off of talent, ego, and pure domination. you’d think he’d be worn out from all of his matches, but his stamina never wavers when it comes to you. not even for a split second.

he’d have you in a brutal mating press, pounding into you with relentless vigor as you struggled to even catch an intake of breath, your hands scrambling for something to ground yourself with — which happened to be those godly biceps of his.

“rinnie!”, you’d whine, tears rolling down your delicate features as he fucked you to yet another orgasm. what was it now? third, fourth, seventh? who knows at this point. you were too dazed, and it seemed like he was having zero issue taking you to peak after peak after peak.

“yeah, pretty baby?”, he’d question just to humor you, acting as if he was paying attention to anything you had to say. he didn’t need to know what you were thinking, your pussy spoke for you — fluttering around his cock frantically. he’d continue to thrust into you, hard and deep. he was clearly getting a kick out of sending you far past mere overstimulation.

he’d push down on your tummy, feeling how deep he was inside of you. “tsk, you feel that, baby?”, he’d ask between thrusts, watching exactly what it does to you. “feel me in there?”, he’d chuckle, grasping the back of your knees tighter and pushing your legs back further, folding you like a fucking beach chair. “shit, ‘s like this pussy was made just for me”, he’d mutter, hitting your sweet spot over and over with the new angle.

you could barely come up with a response, just incoherent babbles and chants of his name, your body now being a bunch of mush as he had his way with you, moans filling the room like a sweet melody.

he groaned at the way your cunt swallowed him whole, just greedy and filthy. it tightened around him like a vice, signaling your impending release yet again.

“ohmygodohmygodrinrinrin”, you’d cry out, choking on your own words as you felt yourself becoming pathetically needy for him, to soak his length in your juices again. “shhhhhiiiiittttt, ‘m gon—“, you panted before your brain short-circuited once his thumb met your throbbing clit, applying just the right amount of pressure and speed to get you there even faster.

“i know, baby”, he coos, holding your legs in place with one hand while the other abused your swollen clit. “doing so well f’me, jus’ let go, yeah?”, he’d mutter in that sexy low tone, just his voice alone could have you a mess.

in which it did, you quivered erratically as your orgasm rushed through you, back arching before your body went limp and practically melted into the bed. rin continued to fuck you through it, making sure to draw every last bit out before he spilled inside of you with a choked groan, his hot seed filling you up to the brim.

he slowly pulled out of you before pushing back in, ensuring that none of him spilled out of your hole. “you look s’pretty when you’re all messy for me”, he whispers — more so to himself given you couldn’t process jack shit at the moment, still pathetically whimpering.

he pulls out of you, flipping you onto your tummy and pushing your legs in, putting your ass in the air before burying his face in your cunt, slurping up the mixture of both of your releases and eating you out from behind. he’d chuckle at your little whines, telling him 'you can’t take anymore' and this and that. nipping at your inner thigh, he’d coo once more, “aw, you can take one more f’me, can’t you?”, before diving back into your folds.

it was in fact not one more. don’t ever believe rin when he says that shit.

an: i loved writing this tysm for the req - now i can't stop thinking abt rin LMFAOOOO

© seishroo | much love ꨄ

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

I just had an idea and would like someone to write it.

What if WB!Reader goes drinking and kissing with random strangers to evade her family problems and is seen by someone? What reactions would there be?

Sorry if it's weird and short. 😿

You wouldn't call yourself a party girl or party anything; I mean, your Friday nights are usually spent in your room on your laptop watching crappy reality TV or playing a yandere dating sim. Ironic, isn't it? But Trish has been trying to drag you out of that godforsaken manor; she'll drag you by your ankle just to get you outside. You make up excuses, saying you don't have anything good to wear, and she'll giggle with Cleo and Kiara as they show Trish's monster of a closet that would make Minnie Mouse jealous. The diamonds are dressing you up like a little black Barbie doll, putting you through a whole fashion montage just to find the perfect fit. And they found it: a cute top with some flare jeans with rhinestones on the back and a pretty design when you turn around, along with some wedge heels that make you way taller than you were before. Cleo is all over you, saying how cute you look, while Kiara is looking for earrings to match. When they finally finish, you look like a pretty little Bratz doll, in their words, and you're being dragged out to some random house party that is way too crazy for your liking. The girls are at your hips until you sneak off to get a drink, which is when you meet a boy you recognize from your class, but he doesn't notice you at all.

"[Name]?" Your body inwardly closes in on itself. You try to act like you didn't hear his voice, but it doesn't work; being invisible didn't work when you looked this pretty. "Haha! Yeah, that's me," you said softly with a fake smile. Why couldn’t you just leave you alone, you thought, but no sane guy would leave a pretty girl at a party alone. He's all over you, basically asking you about yourself, and he is actually interested in what you have to say, which is crazy. Did you just fall in from another planet? "I'm sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I? You don't want to hear me talk about myself all night." You laugh sheepishly. "Who said you could stop talking?" Excuse me? "I told you to tell me about yourself, so..." he got closer. Lord Almighty, help you. "Talk about yourself." You squeezed the red cup in your hand filled with beer. "Oh, uhm, uh," you were struggling to speak, which is a first. "Do you like Sonic? I could talk about Sonic for hours." You laugh, looking up at him, and he is staring right at you, making you feel small. "Yeah, I think you're an Amy Rose." Taking a stray strand of dreads and tangling them in between his fingers, you felt weak, and you hadn't even drunk anything. Now you find yourself in a corner with him holding your waist as you ramble about anything, but then he looks at you, making you slow down, and the whole world slows down as he pressed his lips against yours. Let's be honest: you were a little buzzed, but who wasn't? You found yourself making out with a boy at some stupid house party, which is crazy because people have their phones filming and taking pictures. When the diamonds finally find you, they drag you away from that boy, leaving him with pink-glossed lips. You wake up to Gotham Twitter and Instagram having a field day with this: "[Name] caught at a house party making out with high school basketball star ****," and people are making theories like they did with Taylor Swift and her little football boyfriend about whether you guys were seeing each other or not. People are foaming at the mouth because, "OMG, look at how he's holding her!" "That hand placement!" "The height difference goes crazy!" It doesn't take long for the bats to find this either, but they can't even believe it. Their introvert younger sister being at a party and not feeling socially awkward and drained is absolutely insane. You look miserable at galas, but at cheap house parties, you're acting like this? Tim and Barbara are doing you a favor by destroying all footage of you and this boy, and by blackmailing people who got the footage into deleting it, so no one can get their hands on it. Damian is tracking down the boy you just kissed. Duke and Jason are interrogating you like this is the FBI, and Bruce is just going through it with Dick. You're their little bird; how could you do this to them? And who the hell is that boy? Why would you sneak out to a party when you could just spend time with them? He'll work out his whole schedule so nothing like this happens again, but it will, and you'll definitely be seeing him again. The bats can't keep him away for long.

[friedcheesemogu]

Every time I do one of these something incredibly stupid or annoying or unhelpful happens, and you know what? I'm already tired. I'm already living in a failing country and my friends are struggling, I have very little energy, and I'm continually disappointed by things I thought would make me happy. So bring it on, Golden Potato. Will I get yelled at by customers tomorrow instead of having a good day? Will I continue to fail to clean my room and organize my life rather than find $10? Will the government destroy something else while I try to find something positive in the world and make me feel stupid and helpless? Fine. Do it. I'm already in the dumpster and I brought my own matches. It's your move.

[vegan-peppermint]

Older!Konig is a creep.

Cw: slut shaming, toxic ex, masturbation

Older!Konig who has just moved on your floor. You don’t see much of him, leaving his apartment early in the morning and returning long after sunset,

Older!Konig who sees you struggling climbing up the stairs with your bags one random tuesday, elevator out of order for weeks now. You don’t hear him coming, just feel a wall of presence behind you as his much larger hands reach out and take the bags from your grip.

“Let me help you,” he says softly, his voice calm but firm. You’re caught off guard by the gesture, but before you can protest, he’s already several steps ahead, heading toward your door. You hasten to catch up, your mind fleeting with words you meant to say but quickly forget as he stops in front of your apartment.

He turns sharply to face you. It’s the first time you really get a good look at him — those few times you peeked through the blinds don’t count. You linger, fumbling with your keys. He’s in his mid-forties, with gentle lines framing his face, and his icy blue eyes are sharp, alert, guarded beneath tired eyelids.

“You’re Konig,” it’s the first thing you said to him, before introducing yourself as well.

He humms solemnly interested in getting your groceries inside.

Older!Konig who notices your clothes getting slutier every time he sees you. Over time, you notice his eyes lingering a little longer each time noticing our short skirts and tank tops.

Older!Konig who made it his main activity chaperoning you from your door to the exit of the building and vice versa. Always claiming “Ladies first,” letting you walk in front of him up the stairs. He’s just a polite man, schatz. Getting a look at your panties was just his reward for his courtesy.

Older!Konig who hears some loud noises coming from your apartment. He wasn’t eavsdropping, of course- but the muffled voices and raised tones make it impossible not to listen in.

“Oh, that’s rich,” your voice was muffled by the not so thick wall. “I think it’s fucking rich you could even think about screwing other chicks given the fact you didn’t make me cum once. Not even one time, you fucking prick.”

Konig who can’t help but chuckle at your frustrated complaints. How poorly had this man fucked you when faced with proof of infidelity it’s your second on your list of complaints.

Your shouting matches with your boyfriend are your main source of entertainment for König. He’s come home after a tough workout, collapsing onto his couch with a cold beer, the TV on mute as he leans in to listen.

Today your boyfriend started the argument, and Konig though his opening was weak.

“Can you stop dressing like a hooker for once?” Kyle sneered.

Konig’s lips twitch in a chuckle. Poor Kyle, having an eye-candy such as yourself as a girlfriend sure sounded like a problem he also wished he had.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you,” Kyle continued.

“It’s just a cute outfit,” you snap back, voice trembling wih anger.

“Those pieces of clothes barely cover your tits, be for real,” his voice grew louder. “You didn’t act like this before, when we first got together. Who are you tryin to impress?”

“Are you dense?” your screamed back. “Has it ever crossed you mind that I might do this for your attention? So maybe you would get hard and fuck me?”

“Don’t play all innocent,” he sneered, stomping so heavy the floor threatened to collapse. “I saw the way your eyes flickering after that old fuck across the hall.”

“Kyle,” you said in a calmer voice.

“Thats what I thought,” he continued with lowering voice.

Konig’s ears pricked, eyes narrowing as if it would help him hear anything. Muffled voices came from behind the wall separating your apartments but the man could not untangle the words spoken.

A sudden thud made Konig tense up hiis gaze flicked from the wall to his own silent front door and back again. If he knew anything it was what a fight sounded like- Yet, the idea of such a disturbance involving someone as seemingly delicate as his doll of a neighbor felt jarring, almost unbelievable. This put him in a precarious position. What was the right thing to do, Schatz? Would you welcome his intervention, a knight in shining armor barging through the door? Or would his interference be met with your proud defiance? You were strong, independent; he knew you would likely bristle at the notion of being "saved."

Then came a sharper noise, like something solid hitting the floor, followed by the unmistakable tinkle of shattering glass. Konig's breath hitched when he heard your voice:

“Get out! Get the fuck out!” you choked out just loud enough for Konig to promptly jump from his seat and walk straight through the door.

Older!Konig who is not surprised your shouts and swears were audible from the hallways, cut abruptly by the buzzing sound of your ring bell.

Silence.

Followed by muted movements and Kyle’s harsh voice urging you to be quiet.

Older!Konig who would cover the peephole just as your boyfriend tried to look through- element of surprise and what not.

Older!Konig, who really tried to not escalate the situation, just firmly told Kyle to step out of the apartment and leave, given he became a nauseous to you and implicitly to him. But that smug boyfriend of yours just had to show he had balls. So full of himself and aggressive for no particular reason- Konig was the same at his age. He, however, had older men teach him the hard and painful way it’s no way a true man acts. Showed him a thing or two about authority when he needed to, and fixed Konig’s testosterone induced behaviour issues.

It’s really in Kyle’s best luck Konig will do the same for him.

Older!Konig who dodged your stupid boyfriend’s punch effortlessly, eyes looking for you inside the apartment. This boy was not his priority nor the reason he came down here, were you okay?

He’d try to hide his smirk when he caught a glimpse of your doe eyes peeping from the living room door.

Konig does not condone violence. He has lived a long life at both ends of aggression, death and gore interlinked with the fiber of his very being. It’s a hard burden- the one of war. It stains the most precious things one could get in life long before he gets a chance to even touch them.

But he'd be lying if he said the way your eyes flickered when he knocked Kyle to the ground didn't entertain his darkest, most brutal tendencies.

You were not overly excited or thankful, not that he expected you to. Kyle left screaming and threatening, nothing to be worried about, Konig assures you.

“Sorry we bothered you,” you said distantly.

He hesitated, uncertain how to respond. Maybe you felt he’d crossed a line. He studied your features carefully, searching for a sign, a hint—how do you want to be treated, Schatz?

Older!Konig settlig on a quiet hum of agreement before turning away, retreating silently back to his apartment without another word.

Older!Konig who quickly noticed you realised he could hear you in your own home.

No more loud phone calls or fights, no more late movie nights with your friends or other activities he was used to. He was conflicted- what else could he have done? Not protecting you when that happened wasn’t a choice, but he regretted the outcome. Why did you cut his access to you? Those thoughts were overwhelming, and he grew more and more desperate to interact with you. Mind racing with plans on how he would knock on your door to apologize, bring you thousand of flowers - anything so you would allow him to be a witness to your life again.

Until one uneventful night, half past eleven- the dead of night interupted by your sweet voice.

Older!Konig who came to a sudden halt, brian short circuited. It couldn’t be…

“You will be the death of me,” he whispered. He walked with heavy steps towards your common wall, almost throwing himself at the sound of your moans. Ear pressed on the cold surface he closed his eyes, letting you flod every bit of him.

You’re too kind to him.

His jeans get tighter as he grabs his cock. This is wrong, he knows. You’re half his age at best, young and pure- way too pretty for someone like him. The fact he even allows himself to get hard to you should come as an insult, angel. His forehead is stuck to the wall as he fights with himself.

He know better than to do this, yet he quickly unbuckles his belt.

This is for the best, if he allows himself this- this time only- he won’t want more. You wouldn’t mind, would you? If he lets his mind wonder to your ass, and your tits,- to your dumb, whore face.

Gosh, his mother taught him better than to disgrace such a young thing with his seed but you are. So. Fucking. Wet.

Even through the thin wall, he can hear it when you slap your pussy. It’s as if you were spread in front of him, legs open wide just for him. You fucking tease.

His calloused hand brushes against his cock. He strugled to imagine your hand instead of his, disappointment and frustration building up. But the noises you were shamelessly making were meant for him to dry his balls to.

He always had his certain curiosities about your body, about you. He's glad to find out you're a whiny mess. Loves the fact you're loud.

What would you like? Could you fulfill all his wants and demands? Would you cry when he fucks you, balls deep in that needy hole of yours?

You’d scream.

Hand moving up and down his length to the rhythm of your pathetic whimpers. He curses under his breath as he imagined you on the other side. Were you wearing a cute matching set or were you completely undressed in the cold air?

He hopes you’re playing with your tits, pinching those needy nipples he saw so often peak through your shirts. Make him proud and slap them for him.

He grunts thinking about choking you. Slapping your ass and spitting on you- he knows you’d like to be owned like that. He’d fuck away any memory of any other man you’ve been with and mold you to his cock. He’d be too rough, but you wouldn’t complain. He’d stuff you full without any warming up and pretend not to get off to your cries and discomfort.

“Mmph~ Fuck me,” you moan louder this time. “Konig, please!”

You needy slut, of course you’d beg for it.

He laughs, hand stroking his dick faster.

He knows you’ll suck him off tomorrow.

Hell, you’d be on all fours for him right now. Bet you left your door unlocked for him to come, barging in on you in such an intimate. You’d like that, no? Why else would you try to get his attention like this? You want him to be the big, bad wolf. It would be too much for you to admit the want to be fucked dumb on his fat cock. No, you’re all innocent and kind- this is beneath you.

Don’t worry, Angel. He’ll take the blame for ruining such a pretty thing like yourself.

He will ignore your protests as he breeds you like a bitch tomorrow.

For now, he curses you for making him cum in his hand.

[blackmoonoracle]

How can you sustainably & realistically glow up?

Hello lovelies! I wanted to focus today’s reading on self care & nurturing, over here we are ALL about wholeness, healing, & authenticity. So I wanted to give channeled messages to all of you regarding this particular niche. This advice is meant to be flexible and manageable, growth happens and increments and I want you all to be patient with your growth.

pile i

You guys are observers, you may enjoy connecting and love people but just can’t seem to fit in. The problem is that you are focusing too much on trying to mirror and match. Your authenticity is calling, and it’s trying to claw its way out. Some of you may struggle with feeling like you’re in survival mode or have bad relationship trauma. This can be romantic, platonic, familial, etc! It’s giving TRUST ISSUES, y’all have beautiful minds and fiercely loving hearts. Your honesty will set you free, your authenticity will cleanse the pain away. Set boundaries and stand on them, you don’t need them- THEY NEED YOU. You can’t be a pushover forever, stand on your own two feet who cares about rejection. You will find people that accept you for who you are, people who are loving and compassionate who hold space for the contents of your mind & heart without turning it against you.

For some, it may be time to consider therapy and or medication. Health, quality of life- go outside more, exercise (you don’t have to make this stuff a chore, stagnance can be difficult to remove. Why don’t you start by opening the windows, sweeping and saying “by broom and air and with delight I remove this stagnance and make room for life” set your intentions, and what energies you want entering your space)

Make cleaning easier for yourself, find better organizational habits, you DONT need to be spic and span- but just have better general organization and be less harsh on yourself. Maintain your routines to the absolute best of your ability and don’t be afraid of messing up or losing track. It isn’t about being perfect it’s about quality of life

Recommendations: Journaling, music, spending time outside (even if ur on ur phone, it’s better than nothing), stretching and light exercise (u don’t have to lose weight, it’s not about societal standards it’s about loving who YOU are, taking care of your mind, body, heart, and soul)

Signs: seashells, Aphrodite, classical romantic art, drama tv shows & telenovelas, Dolores from encanto, stomach pains from anxiety, trouble sleeping, fear of loss & fear of connection, chronic illness (mental or physical)

Zodiac: Lilith in Capricorn, Sagittarius, and Scorpio, Gemini sun/moon/rising, Capricorn stellium, Uranus 6h, chiron 6h Chiron in Libra chiron in Scorpio Chiron in Sagittarius.

pile ii

In a loving way I’m about to beat ur ass fr omg

You need to be creating, stop avoiding your creativity it’s WHO YOU ARE. When you create unrealistic expectations of your creativity & try to cage yourself in you start to feel drained and tired. You can beat your exhaustion by just being you. There’s a message about teeth, taking care of your teeth, water flossing, going to a dentist, make an appointment asap! They’re still salvageable if you take action and put forth effort. For some a big chop could be in order, or at least a trim & some shaping. You are meant to be putting yourself out there, people actually REALLY admire your beauty and your harsh overly critical nature often blocks you from being satisfied with what you create and what you do. Give yourself the chance to just be. Stop creating stipulations for everything you make, if it flops who fucking cares. You guys don’t trust in your own ideas, and it’s because you block out a LOT. It feels like you struggle to connect with others and the world around you.

You can level up by caring less and investing more into your creative endeavors. You might get so restless and moody because you aren’t actually living in alignment with this part of yourself. You have an incredibly active mind that you’re not stimulating properly, when you’re gifted with such a mind it should be sharpened and exercised! Honed to your liking, the power is in you to make that choice.

Stand in your ideas, and get up and do something with them before they are given to others who will actually do the damn thing.

Recommendations: connect with nature, jot down your ideas, don’t shy away from self expression, dress how you really wanna dress, be bold, be brave, be unapologetically you.

Signs: blackbirds, crows, ravens, Lana del Rey, charmed, whimsy gothic/celestial aesthetic.

Zodiac: Aquarius, Leo, Capricorn, Aries midheaven/cancer rising, Saturn in Taurus ?, Uranus in Scorpio, mars sextile Venus

pile iii

It’s time to stop focusing on image and start focusing on tact, you may have to put your ego on the back burner for a bit but that’s okay. We all have to do it one time or another, you’re being called to re-examine your approach to life and the skills you’ve developed. Have more balance, and think more thoroughly and skillfully. Idk I feel like this pile is genuinely very impulsive and at times an active participant in incredibly foolish behavior. You spend a lot of time justifying your egotistical responses and knee jerk reactions- you can glow up by being more open minded to change. Changing your outlook, changing your approach, etc- perhaps sometimes you treat yourself like a one trick pony. Some of you could have also experienced bullying or othering in school. Feeling like the odd one out, you can glow up by confronting this wound and releasing it. The fixation on the wound is unhealthy & seemingly subconscious. You can also glow up by not reacting so strongly to everything- learn to not crash the fuck out every time you feel triggered. Or learn not to quietly implode every time you feel triggered, aim for flexibility and call in clarity in these moments it WILL be brought to you.

Hmmm pile 3, I’m not sure what’s going on for you my loves- but I see that in order to help further glow up that you would benefit from more privacy and alone time? Perhaps you have a validation seeking issue? I’m not saying all of you aren’t working on this btw! I’m sure some of you are, but I see where spending the foreseeable future in a state of solitude would be super duper beneficial for you. You need to rest and recuperate from something. Perhaps you feel burnt out trying to upkeep an image or upkeep a persona and you’re unable to keep up anymore. I feel like you guys need clarity, and unfortunately you’re only going to find that within right now. Perhaps some of you could even have some kind of obsessive thinking patterns- addiction to tarot or divination- you’re being told to relax. Lean into the healing, allow it to overtake you. You will come out of the other side, but when the darkness beckons. It is not always an invitation but an inevitable occurrence.

Signs: swans, lace & ribbons, ripped fishnets, beat up converse, a densely wooded area, tj maxx (lol??), Ayurveda, denim, cadavers.

Recommendations: thinking before you speak/act, being slow & methodical- not allowing people to push you over the edge but also knowing when to back down and reflect. Surrendering to the change so you don’t get dragged by the hair 😭

Zodiac: Sagittarius rising, cancer moon, black moon Lilith in Aquarius, north node in Libra, Aries moon and mercury, Saturn in the 12th house.

[ms-demeanor]

So these computers will be mostly be used for CAD but also video editing. The time we are looking for is in the next few months. It will be running autodesk fusion which at minimum needs 2 cores, recommends 8 for cpu, needs 8gb of ram recommends 32gb, and needs aleast some sort of gpu and something like a nvidia quadro is recommended though I am mostly sure we would do fine with a 40s or 50s series GPU.

This is very funny to me because this is actually quite similar to the conundrum I had buying computers earlier today. Workstations are currently a bitch to get (and also that means that $1500 per device is somewhat unrealistic in the opposite direction of what I was initially thinking, especially given the graphics card)

------------------------------------

Hi Anon!

Thanks for the details! We're beginning to see some stock availability issues with hardware so I'm not finding anything that's a perfect match out-of-box for your needs but I believe I've found a solution that should be comfortably within budget as long as you've got in-house IT or an affordable contractor to help with the build.

What I've found is a Lenovo ThinkStation P3 Tiny that comes with a 20-Core, 14th gen i7 processor, 16GB DDR5 5600 MHz RAM (SoDIMM), and an Nvidia T400 4GB graphics card. The workstation includes an upgraded Lenovo Premiere warranty with next-day onsite service. The ThinkStation has one RAM module soldered to the motherboard but two free slots and can handle a max of 96GB, so I'd recommend purchasing this device and adding 16GB Crucial modules.

Just to be sure, I did verify that the graphics card with this device is on the list of compatible cards from Autodesk.

I'm finding the workstation available from a number of vendors at about $1200, and the RAM is available for around $50. With tax, that brings your per-unit cost to around $1400, leaving just under $100 per machine to account for the labor cost of installing the RAM.

Let me know if this sounds like a solution that works for you, or if you have any further questions.

Given your timeline, you could choose to place orders from vendors who are not carrying the full 30 machines right now, but considering the possibility of scarcity I'd recommend making a decision sooner rather than later.

Thanks! Ms-D

--------------------------------

Part of what I was struggling with on my quote today is that my employer doesn't want our techs mucking around with desktop hardware; we're not supposed to be ordering and upgrading before we send things out the door but that is not a limitation that an end purchaser has to live with so you (reader or anon) have more options and more flexibility when looking for computers than I do *IF* you make sure to check that you can do upgrades. It's not hard to add RAM to a desktop unless the RAM is soldered to the motherboard with no free slots, in which case it's impossible.

You can save a ridiculous amount of money on buying machines and have a LOT of options for dealing with scarcity if you know what kind of hardware is easy to fuck with.

In this instance, I wouldn't upgrade the GPU or by a card separate from the workstation (this computer has a 300W power supply and the computer itself is the size of most power supplies, so I wouldn't want to try to find something teeny tiny to work together), especially because there's a budget-friendly option that will allow the necessary programs to run available pre-built, but literally it would cost like five hundred dollars more to get something with more RAM. So save yourself a few hundred dollars by getting a fifty dollar RAM module and paying someone to install that in the machine or doing it yourself.

I don't think we're going to get to a point of completely empty shelves, but I do think we're likely to see fewer options that exactly match what we're looking for without doing some extra work. Large Bastard has been vaguely making noises about getting a new computer for the last two or three years and he's still on the fence and my comment to him was that I'm sure there's always going to be something available at a high enough cost, but there are going to be fewer choices if he has to replace a computer quickly (which, given the age of his desktop, he might have to at some point).

[iskinnedmyknee]

This is soo true and supported so many times in the text. In cannon, everlark has numerous periods of separation followed by them coming back together. AND Katniss’s mental health almost instantly improves every time they reconnect, regardless of how bad the circumstances are at that time.

At the beginning of Catching Fire, we’re introduced to a Katniss that is struggling to reintegrate into D12 at the conclusion of her first games. She understands that she has angered the Capitol, but she doesn’t recognize the stakes until her talk with President Snow. She is so miserable in the first pages of CF, traumatized, struggling to process her grief; struggling to make sense of her feelings and all the changes. And this is before she even knows that the Districts are rebelling and her family’s existence is at risk. AND HER AND PEETA ARE NOT SPEAKING!!! Then, she receives this threat from Snow, kicks off the victory tour, and is stressed beyond belief, lashing out at Effie on the train. But Peeta follows her outside and extends an offer of pure friendship, no strings attached. And in spite of it all, in spite of the death threat hanging over her head, in spite of her situation being demonstrably WORSE than it was at the very beginning of the book, she feels some RELIEF. Because even though he doesn’t immediately know what’s going on, Peeta helps her regulate her emotions even in the most dire circumstances. I mean, she won’t tell him what’s wrong so the man asks what her favorite color is. Bringing it back to the basics, always.

Or how about her saying it feels “impossibly good” when Peeta finally offers her some emotional comfort after going full blown drill sergeant on her once the Quell was announced? Or her insane relief at Finnick reviving Peeta after the force field? Or her complete emotional collapse during the jabberjay section of the arena and her anger that Peeta didn’t immediately come to her aid before she knows that he physically can’t? Her, albeit temporary, elation when he’s rescued from the Capitol? Like at all these moments, she’s in these horrific conditions with almost no hope for escape or improvement, yet Peeta’s mere presence helps her regulate, brings her peace, and gives her hope as a consequence. No other character is doing that for her in cannon, not even Prim.

I’ve seen an alarming number of people call Peeta weak or insinuate that Katniss doesn’t love him or need him at all throughout the trilogy. The implication that she settled or he finally wore her down enough to get his way. And I’m sorry, but if you truly believe that, you either haven’t read the books with an announce of critical thought or you have willfully missed the point. Peeta is the only logical option. Katniss can muddle through just fine in her own, yes. But Peeta brings so much meaning and purpose and hope and stability to her life. Why should she want to be alone? When one of her options is literally her dandelion in the spring?

Ugh and this makes Mockingjay so hard for me to read because our poor girl is SUFFERING and deregulated and no one is helping her because NO ONE ELSE CAN HELP HER. How different would it have been for her if she had Peeta? MY HEART.

The intimacy that exists between Katniss and Peeta is so special to me. Like from day ONE on the train to the Capitol, they have this instant connection. Laughing with each other on their way to a death match. I can’t get overr themmm. They will never not be my Roman Empire.

peeta & dealing with katniss' disregulation

one thing i love about everlark is how they are such different people but peeta has a really good grasp of how to support katniss and calm her down in a way that nobody else does. i think this is more obvious and more common in catching fire, but in my reread i'm noticing it even in thg, when they don't know each other nearly as well.

katniss is really easily disregulated. a lot of this comes from the trauma of the games, of course, and the general pain and anxiety that comes with living on unstable income in the seam. but i think also she is the sort of person that feels so emotionally and physically distraught when things are outside of her comfort zone or overstimulating, and it's really hard for her to reel herself back in. peeta clocks that very fast and knows how to keep her calm and ground her.

"The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress, and sometimes, for just a moment, I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again." (THG, pg. 397)

this stuck out to me because one of the things that helps to keep katniss from panicking is always baby steps. she does this constantly in the arena. ("I give myself a series of simple commands to follow, like "Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you have to drink water, Katniss." I act on the orders with slow, robotic motions." [THG, pg. 280]). she regulates herself by picking up small tasks, noticing small things, one step at a time, so as not to get overwhelmed by the whole of it. she has difficulty functioning, so she inches her way to progress by distracting herself from her overwhelm. i don't think she's constantly thinking about this while she does it, i think it's just a coping mechanism she's developed after years and years of hardship.

peeta picks this up instantly. mind you, at this point in the book, he's literally bleeding out, dying on top of the cornucopia, but trying to stay conscious and calm for katniss' sake because he knows she's on the brink of full on, hyperventilating panic. they're listening to cato's screams while he's being ripped apart by the mutts for hours and so to distract her, he gently guides her with his words, helping her to notice the moon and the way it shifts and to focus on something else. he's not babying her, but he's keeping things as simple as possible because he knows that her nervous system is such a strong, intense jumble of emotional knots right now.

it's essentially that thing you're meant to do when you are having a meltdown or a panic attack where you try to pick out things you can see, touch, smell, etc. it's a grounding exercise. that's exactly what he's doing with her, and it does help. nobody else does this for her really at any point, not even gale, who is her best friend and in some sense knows her better than anybody, or even prim. because peeta really understands her in a way that nobody else does.

[vicolette]

Childhood Memories !

– A/N : ahhh look at himmm😖😖😖

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of y/n & pet names, translated words into Catalan, not proofread

"Uh, your mom just texted me?"

Pau looked away from his phone as the popcorns were held in his hand mid air, his gaze focused on you instead of the ongoing film. You two had planned to do a movie marathon together, since you both had the afternoon for yourselves, so the idea didn’t sound that bad.

Well, if it wasn’t for the fact that he found the series extremely boring - The Vampire's Diaries, or whatever it was called.

He raised an eyebrow in confusion, barely seeing what was displayed on your phone screen as he wondered why his mother would text you. It wasn’t necessarily that you both had a bad relationship (in fact, you might be the favorite one), but you two never really chatted much.

"Hm, what did she say?" His words were muffled as he spoke with food in his mouth, which earned a glare from you in response to his nastiness, whereas he rolled his eyes at your dramatic behavior.

Just then, while you were busy checking the messages, Pau quickly grabbed the tv remote and paused the movie. He searched for something that was more likable in his opinion, something that would actually get his attention.

All of a sudden, you let out the loudest gasp ever heard with a shriek, making him visibly flinch as he turned his head around. "Baby? Is everything alri-"

"Why did you never tell me you looked this adorable?!" Before Pau could even begin to give you a reaction, you shoved your phone to his face, causing you to accidentally hit his nose. You snickered before moving closer, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose while he whined about the pain.

"Merda, what is going on?" Your boyfriend asked in a sleepy tone, leaning closer as he stared into your eyes, which got you the slightest bit shy. When he saw how you giggled, then reached out for his cheek, he got curious by the notifications.

"At least you still have a baby face." You muttered in a low voice, making him furrow his eyebrows before the realization started to settle in.

No, she didn’t, did she? Would she do something like that? Oh, she totally would! No, no, no, no, no, no-

"What did my mom send you, meu amor?" As Pau sat up and took your phone out of your hold, you grinned at how his eyes flickered to see what it was, his jaw dropping as he saw the pictures.

His baby pictures.

"Oh my- delete these." Before he could tap on the pictures and click on 'delete', you stole your phone back and held it tightly to your chest, a scowl on your face as you shook your head. His frown only deepened at the sight, crossing his arms in an attempt to persuade you into deleting them.

But nothing worked. No kisses, no promises, no hugs. Nothing.

"Y/n… come on, it’s not funny…"

"Oh, but it is!" With his arms tightly wrapped around your waist and his face hidden behind your shoulder in embarrassment, Pau could only suffer while his ears had to endure the angelic sound of your giggles at his baby pictures.

His constant struggle with convincing you to get rid of them was quite hilarious, to be honest, earning a sympathetic laugh from you before you gasped at yet another absolutely adorable photo of him, this time with a giant dog by his side.

The photo must have been taken when little Pau was barely two years old, at most, with a Spider-Man shirt on and a sunflower in his hand. His grin was big as you saw how he had a flower on top of his head, matching with the smiling dog who also had one.

Just then, as Pau was considering to get up and go to sleep in your shared bedroom, he heard quiet sniffles. Once he had moved his head to see your face, only to see how you were tearing up, he immediately got worried.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Instead of replying like a normal person, you once again shoved your phone to his face, but he tilted his head at the perfect moment. Then, as he saw that his goddamn baby pictures were causing you to cry, he looked at you dumbfounded.

"Seriously?"

"But, Pau, look at him! Or, well, look at you!"

– A/N : my reminder to watch Vampire Diaries for a friend, also my last Pau fic was posted last month…🥀

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Joel Miller x Reader

Title: Fingers Crossed

Warning(s): None

Character(s): Joel Miller, F!x Reader, Ellie Williams, Tommy Miller, mention of Sarah’s mother.

Author’s Note: I do not know much about Sarah’s mother other than her not being there.

I didn’t proofread so my apologies. Prompts are in bold, and credit goes to @ seaside-writings Also the song italicized at the bottom is a Miranda Lambert song from the Marfa Tapes Album.

Relationships were something Joel was inexperienced at. When he and his ex had Sarah, they were young. He got married in a rush because he wanted to do what was right—marry Sarah’s mother. Then she decided that the marriage and having a baby was too much. So one day, she got up and left—said nothing. Not even a good-bye. Left him alone to figure out parenthood, and left him to constantly wonder: what did he do wrong?

Sure, he worked a lot. But diapers, formula, and a house? It cost money, and money only came in by him working constantly. Juggling young fatherhood and a job was tough.

Finding someone was a job all in itself; one he didn’t have time for. He could’ve found someone after Sarah had gotten older, but he could barely juggle his time between work and his own daughter, so why would he add more to his plate?

When the outbreak happened, he had no intention of continuing on with his life after Sarah tragically died in his arms. But the universe had other plans for Joel Miller— he was given Ellie.

A second chance at being a father figure and protecting her from the world. He didn’t know he was going to grow attached to the girl that was supposed to be nothing but cargo. But he did. He became attached and after being told what those surgeons were actually going to do, Joel couldn’t— wouldn’t allow it.

What were the odds of this cure actually working? The odds weren’t good enough for Joel to allow this to happen. So he saved her. He saved her. If Ellie found out, she wouldn’t see it that way. She wouldn’t forgive him for blatantly lying to her face. Maybe Joel was selfish in his decision, but he couldn’t have continued on without her. She was a handful, but Joel genuinely enjoyed her company.

When they had gotten back to Jackson, it was definitely a culture shock for the two of them. They no longer had to worry about struggling to survive winter, or where their next meal was coming from.

Everyone insisted on Joel and Ellie taking their time before taking up their chores or jobs. But Joel threw himself back into work; he’d patrol, watch the gate, and as Jackson grew more and more, he helped build houses. Fix things. He felt needed, and like his life had value now. But on top of that, he still had to raise Ellie. Sure she was a teenager, but she still needed guidance and direction.

Again, there was no time for him to mingle. But Maria had insisted that Joel meet someone that she thought was the perfect match. No matter how much he declined, Tommy came in and dragged his brother to The Tipsy Bison.

“Trust me, you’re gonna like her. She’s beautiful, and musically inclined.” Tommy said as he patted his older brothers back.

Joel kept his eyes on the ground the entire time. When the squeaky doors creaked open, voices chattering and a guitar strumming loudly filled Joel’s ears.

Tommy led Joel to a barstool and ordered two glasses of whiskey. Then he heard a voice singing some song about a smoking jacket, and the voice was sweet, but rugged in a way. He lifted his head and his eyes landed on you, sitting on a barstool singing and expertly strumming the strings of a black guitar. He felt his brother’s eyes on him; Tommy was smirking, “I told you. She’s beautiful. She’s a fucking pistol.”

Joel was entranced by you— your voice alone was dragging him into a deep state of wonder. Who were you? Why hasn’t he come across you before? From that moment, Joel knew you were one of Jackson Hole’s most precious jewels. No matter how hard he tried to tear his gaze from you, he couldn’t. It was like a moth drawn to a flame, you were igniting a fire within him— Joel was like a wick, one that refused to be lit, and when you locked in on him, something sparked.

His hand wrapped around the chilled glass, bringing it to his lips. Your stare was intense, and his eyes never left yours. Joel swiped the remaining whiskey from his lips, and you gave him a smirk. Tommy nudged Joel’s shoulder ripping his gaze from you, “Tommy. Fearless leader, and now matchmaker.” Joel turned on his barstool to face the counter, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Tommy laughed, “Yeah, sure. You weren’t just eye bangin’ her right now?” He mumbled as he took a sip from his own glass.

Joel didn’t hear the music stop, but he heard a voice to his left. “Who are we eye bangin’?” You asked and Joel froze.

Even when you weren’t singing, your voice was sweeter than honey. The bartender passed you a glass, and Tommy got up, pulling you into a hug. “How’s it goin’ sis?” He asked as you placed your guitar into its case.

“It’s going. Am I on the patrol list?” You asked and Tommy nodded. “Got you down for 8 in the morning. Don’t be late.” He said and you pulled what looked like a joint from your jean jacket. You lit it over one of the candles on the counter, and Joel glanced over at Tommy. “You’re not gonna be on time tomorrow are ya?” Tommy asked and you shrugged.

“It’s just one joint. I’ll get up.” You said as you brought it to your lips, taking a long drag from it. “By the way, I’m Y/N.” You said as you held your hand out to Joel.

He shook your hand, “Joel. It’s nice to meet ya.” He said and you smiled.

“I normally don’t offer to share, but you want a hit?” You asked as you held out the doobie towards Joel and he held his hand up, rejecting the offer.

You shrugged your shoulders and climbed up onto a stool right next to him. Joel’s nostrils were filled with the smell of pot, but there was a hint of lavender and vanilla wafting off of you. Even your scent was intoxicating, “Hey. Take that thing outside or put it out.” Seth, the town dickhead, said to you.

Before Joel could say anything, you were already talking. “Why don’t you go outside if you don’t like it, Seth.” You said nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass.

Seth’s shoulders tensed, “No. It’s cold outside.” He replied and you looked up at the man who was a good foot and a half taller than you. “Exactly.” You said as you stood up from your bar stool. Seth took a step back, and you opened Seth’s hand, placing the blunt between his fingers. “Looks like you need this more than I do.” You patted his shoulders, and then turned back to Joel.

“Wanna dance?” You asked him, and Joel nodded. He couldn’t help but to smile at your interaction with Seth.

Seth stood there dumbfounded and Tommy chuckled, gently taking what was left of the joint and putting it out. Your hand grabbed Joel’s hand, leading him to the dance floor as someone else took the stage to sing. Your hand fit perfectly in his, and when you turned to look back at him, he could’ve swore he felt the blush rise in his cheeks. Was he seriously getting flustered?

You must’ve noticed how nervous he was, because you stopped, and turned to look up at him. Joel looked down as you guided his hands to your waist, and then your hands trailed up his arms to his shoulders. “I haven’t danced in a very long time.” He mumbled and you closed the gap between the two of you. “It’s just a basic two-step— this song is easy to get the hang of it.” You replied as you guided him through the dance.

Joel’s heart was pounding in his chest, not from the quick dancing, but from you. The way your eyes remained on him, it was like you were trying to read him.

Were you able to see right through him? Did you know about the bad things he had done? Has word gotten around about how bad of a person he was? People were not very fond of Joel to begin with, so were you dancing with him out of respect and kindness for Maria and Tommy? Was this all just a huge favor to his brother? Because why would someone like you, have agreed to a blind date with him— or was he the only one who was left blind? Surely you knew about who you were meeting tonight.

Your hand rested on the nape of his neck, fingers gently toying with his hair. “Get out of your head, Joel.” You whispered. His eyes fell on you, his breath was caught in his chest, the anxiety of this moment was catching up to him. He pulled back from you, and quickly made a beeline to the front door. His breaths were quick and raspy, it felt like his heart was going too fast, and his brain was tricking him into believing his lungs weren’t getting enough air.

Joel held onto a wooden post, and his other hand clutched at his chest. “Joel?” Your voice called over his shoulder.

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, and then you were standing in front of him. “Hey..” you spoke softly. “Take a deep breath with me.” Now both of your hands were on his shoulders, and you took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Joel inhaled and exhaled with you, the cold, bitter air burning his nostrils. When his heart began to slow and it didn’t feel like there was a cinder block on his chest, he felt embarrassed.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know— that happens sometimes.” He said quietly as he looked anywhere but at you. You probably thought there was something wrong with him.

“Joel, that was a panic attack.” You said as you tried to get him to look at you. He was expecting you to leave him standing there, or for you to say there was something wrong with him. To his surprise, you picked up his hand, “Don’t ever apologize for that. It happens to a lot of people, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Once you learn how to identify your triggers, you can get through it. Even alone.”

He gave you a questioning look, “how did you—?”

“I use to get them. A lot.” You explained and the two of you started walking. Your arm was wrapped around his, “I started getting them after my parents died. My little sister was the one who managed to help me get them under control. And when she— when she died, I had no one to coach me through them. So I had to learn.”

“I’m sorry to hear ‘bout your family. Are you alright?” He asked and you gave him a small smile. “I’m okay. Your brother helped me. He saved me.” Joel nodded, but before he could ask anything else, the two of you came to a stop.

You knew where Joel lived, and he looked over at you, “How do you know where I live?” He asked with a small smile, and you nervously shifted on your feet. “I guess I have had my eye on you for a while now, Miller.” You said in a creepy voice, and Joel tensed.

But when you started laughing at his expression, he relaxed. “I live right across from you, dork.” You said as you pointed at the house across from his. “Just think, if you would’ve looked across sooner, you could’ve fallen in love with me sooner.”

You turned on your heel, and started walking across the street. Joel was stunned by your words, “Who said I was gonna fall in love with you?” He asked and you turned, now walking backwards. “No one. But I have a hunch you’re gonna fall deeply in love with me.” You shouted, and he smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna fall in love with you.” He replied and you stopped in your tracks.

“Promise?”

He looked around, making sure Ellie wasn’t eavesdropping again. “I promise. I ain’t gonna fall in love with you, doll.” He said and you smirked. “Good-night, Joel.”

“Night, Y/N.” He replied as he took the first few steps up his porch. Then he turned to watch you walk up the stairs of your own porch. You turned and he could see you smile, and you blew him a kiss. Tommy was right. You were going to be a damn pistol, but in a way Joel liked that. But he tried to shake that feeling, because he wasn’t going to fall in love with you. He couldn’t. There was no room for a relationship in his life… When he walked in and kicked his boots off by the door, he counted how many years had it been since he went on a date. But it was long enough for him not to remember.

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a full year. A full year of you making yourself a permanent fixture into the Miller household. You ate dinner with him and Ellie most nights, you went to work with Joel nearly every day, and then you became his permanent patrol partner. One morning, Joel had a realization as you sat across from him. The three of you sat at the breakfast table; you were drinking a cup of coffee, your hair was wavy and perfectly messy. It was then he realized he hasn’t had one panic attack since that night at the bar.

Ellie chattered on about what her and Dina had planned to do to Jesse when he wasn’t looking. Her voice sounded like it was a million miles away, and he watched you intently. You were laughing along with Ellie, encouraging her prank idea, and Joel found himself smiling. “I feel like Jesse needs to loosen up a bit. And I think this prank is going to do just that.” You brought your coffee cup to your lips, and your eyes had landed on Joel.

You smiled behind the dark brown coffee mug, and Joel smiled back. “Well, Ellie, good luck on your prank. Joel, will I see you tonight at the Bison?” You asked and he nodded. “If everything goes as planned at the job site.” He responded and you pushed in your chair. “Good. Because I’m going to sing your favorite song tonight.”

“I look forward to it.” He said trying to be nonchalant.

“See y’all later. Don’t get caught Ellie!” You shouted as you closed the door behind you.

“Wait— what do you plan on doin’ to Jesse?” Joel questioned and the teenager pushed her chair back.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Ellie said as she put her bowl into the sink and Joel turned in his chair. “Yes, I’d like to know.”

“Can’t tell ya, because it’ll jeopardize the plan.”

“You just told Y/N what you were doin’.” He said and Ellie smiled. “Maybe instead of giving her fuck me eyes, you should’ve listened.” She replied and Joel choked on his coffee. “I wasn’t— don’t say that!” He scolded and she quickly put on her coat. “Bye Joel!” She said before darting out of the front door.

Joel sighed, was he that obvious? You had become a really good friend of his, and he didn’t want to ruin that by a relationship. He wasn’t any good at them. The entire work day, he was thinking of you; what were you doing right now? Did you see him staring at you from across the breakfast table? He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to tonight. He couldn’t wait to see you all cleaned up, wearing one of those damned sundresses.

He thought about the color you were going to wear tonight. Would it be the yellow, the baby blue, or the pink one? When the work day was completed, he raced home to shower and clean up. When he combed back his hair neatly, that was when he realized he had fallen in love with you. Shit. He had just admitted it to himself. Joel had fallen in love with you. No matter how hard he tried not to, the love he felt for you was inevitable at this point. There was no use in trying to deny it.

After he was ready, he quickly made his way to the bar, and the moment he walked in through the door, he heard you up on stage singing.

“Well if you ever get time to two-step down to Texas, find yourself down ‘round Austin way.”

The bar room was buzzing with the sound of people singing, laughing, dancing, and clapping along as you sang.

Your eyes landed on Joel, just like they had the first night he met you. You tipped your imaginary cowboy hat towards him, “I’ll be waitin’ every time with my cowboy hat and wine—” He leaned up against the counter, and clapped alongside everyone else, “If you two-step down to Texas and go steppin’ out with me!” You finished strong, and Joel laughed.

You sat your guitar in its case on the stage and jumped from the stage, running over to Joel. Everyone clapped for you, and the bartender handed you a shot glass. It was like a tradition you had with the bar room of people; you would take a shot after every “show”.

After you finished your shot, everyone cheered, and you laughed. “Joel! I was singing your favorite song, and I looked for you in the crowd but didn’t see ya.”

Joel smiled, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t stop the song on my account.”

You smiled and gently punched his shoulder, “There would’ve been a damn riot if I did. People are wanting to dance tonight.” A man got up on stage and introduced himself, before bringing the microphone you were just using to his lips. “Speaking of dancing, join me.” You said as you pulled him away from the counter, dragging him to the dance floor.

Instead of your hands guiding his to your waist, he took the initiative of doing it for you. Your body went frigid as he pulled you into his body, you were wearing the baby blue sundress, and it was by far his favorite.

Your arms naturally wrapped around his neck, and you smiled up at him. “Look at you… you’re learning.” You said and the two of you began to sway to the slow song.

“Learned from the best.” He responded and he spun you around, earning a giggle from you. Joel pulled you close again and now your cheek was resting against his chest. He hoped you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was beating.

Your eyes were closed and a sigh of content escaped your lips. Joel smiled at this— maybe he wasn’t doing so bad after all. Just the mere idea of you melting against him, feeling safe in his arms, and you feeling the same way as he did, made him believe he was doing something right.

The song was at its end, and instead of getting lost with all of the questions that overloaded his mind, he chose to dip you down in his arms. He held you down, and you smiled up at him.

There it was— the smile he had fell in love with. He pulled you back up, spun you around, and your back was against his chest, your arms tangled with his.

You looked up at him and his cheek was pressed to your forehead. "You promised you wouldn't fall in love with me.” You whispered, and your eyes met his.

Joel breath was caught in his throat, he felt you shiver against his touch, “I had my fingers crossed.” He replied his lips inching closer to yours.

The two of you stared into each others eyes, looking for confirmation in one another’s face. Joel boldly closed the gap between you two, his lips ghosting over yours, testing the waters. But when he could no longer hold back, you turned in his arms, your hands going to his cheeks. His lips pressed gently into yours, and you tip toed, leaving no space or gap between you and him.

Joel’s hands held your waist, he could taste the shot of whiskey as his tongue gently pressed past your lips. Your lips were soft, and the sudden burst of love he felt for you was dizzying.

When you pulled away, you were smiling, and so was he. Breathlessly, you spoke, “Fingers crossed, huh?” Joel laughed.

He was given a lot of second chances in his life; but this will be the first, second chance he got at having a relationship. ‘This one was gonna be forever.’

But forever was cut short.

————-

Author’s Note: I hope y’all enjoyed this! Reblogs, comments, and likes are GREATLY appreciated. It really encourages us writers to put out more content 🩵

Xoxo

[starmaidengarden]

HIIIIII I love your writing so much I’ve only found out about your page recently but you really did impress me! And I specifically loved the cute headcanon and I discovered your page from them so can you please make cute headcanons with Scarabia? XD

𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚 !

note : thank you so much!! I'm so glad you that you liked them!!

contexts: just some adorable headcanons about the Scarabia boys

— Kalim : Jamil : x gn!reader. no cw/tw. cute headcanons. pt4! Pic: Leo08ph on twt, dividers: uzmacchiato

Kalim Al-Asim ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ He crafts exquisite, handmade invitations to various hangouts, even though you see each other every day. Each invitation is uniquely designed, often featuring detailed drawins or personal touches that reflect shared memories. It's as if he believes that every moment spent together, no matter how ordinary, deserves a special reason to celebrate, changing ordinary days into cherished ones.

⭑.ᐟ He has an endearing habit of wanting to hold your hand constantly—literally all the time. Whether you’re strolling down a street, enjoying the peace of a quiet park, or just lounging together on the couch watching a movie, his fingers are always intertwined with yours.

⭑.ᐟ He writes songs about you, pouring his heart into every lyric. Although his voice may be a little off-key, the joy that shines from him makes it impossible not to smile. Each offbeat note carries genuine affection that melts your heart.

⭑.ᐟ No event is too small for him to want you included. If there’s a festival happening nearby, he’s already grabbing your wrist, excitement glimmer in his eyes as he plans your matching outfits. His uncertainty makes even the most ordinary outings feel special.

⭑.ᐟ When it comes to hugs, his are truly something unique. Each embrace is warm and tight, enveloping you completely. You can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, and in those moments, the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you.

⭑.ᐟ He even surprises you with food deliveries, accompanied by handwritten notes that say things like, “I thought you might like this! Hope your day is as amazing as you are!” It’s these little gestures that showcase his thoughtfulness and make you feel incredibly special.

Jamil Viper ༉⋆｡˚

⭑.ᐟ When preparing your meals, Jamil always considers your favorites, selecting ingredients that reflect your taste. He packs your lunches with care, often adding little hearts drawn in the corners of the notes, each one a lovely reminder of his love that brightens your day.

⭑.ᐟ Jamil is extremely careful to your well-being. He gently nudges you towards healthier habits with soft-spoken advice—“You didn’t sleep enough again, did you?” His voice is laced with genuine concern, making it clear that he deeply cares about your health and happiness.

⭑.ᐟ when he cooks, he occasionally hums traditional melodies, lost in the rhythm of preparing a meal. It’s a sweet little quirk of his that he’s often unaware of, until you bring it to his attention. When you point it out, he smiles shyly, a hint of embarrassment sneaking into his behavior.

⭑.ᐟ Jamil has an impressive ability to mask his emotions, so much so that he sometimes seems to forget they exist. He carries a calm exterior, but beneath that surface lies a well of feelings that he struggles to express.

⭑.ᐟ However, once he allows you a glimpse into his inner world, it’s a profound experience. He becomes incredibly intense and protective, his demeanor shifting to reflect a deep emotional connection. Soft-spoken yet emotionally charged, he reveals a side of himself that is rich and complex.

⭑.ᐟ You comfort him after he burns out from taking care of everyone but himself? You find yourself comforting him after he’s exhausted from taking care of everyone else but himself, his vulnerability glistening in the moments of honesty.

⭑.ᐟ Cuddling in his room—a safe space filled with the remnants of his dreams and a few scattered fears—he finally opens up about pursuing those aspirations. You listen as he lays bare his thoughts, the weight of his ambitions mingling with his apprehensions, and in those intimate moments, you realize just how deeply he feels.

[sturnswiftie]

i wanna see dealer chris get into like a real bad situation, not like life threatening, but maybe a deal gone wrong and reader is like "oh 😃" bc it's easy to forget sometimes that that life is not all sunshine and rainbows y'know

"five minutes, promise," chris had said, leaning over to nudge your nose with his. "just chill. you can pick the music while you wait."

you nod eagerly, cheeks warm and your hands tucked into the sleeves of your oversized cardigan as you adjust the aux and pick something soft and dreamy. you like the fact that it doesn't match the sketchy street you're currently parked on or the way chris disappears into the alley with his hood up.

it doesn't even cross your mind to worry. you're thinking about what kind of treat you should bake for your boyfriend later, if he might prefer cookies over brownies, and what kind. you think he'd like chocolate chip, but you do remember the time you'd made snickerdoodles and he'd pretended not to like them but stole a couple off the plate later on.

ten minutes pass. then fifteen.

and then—

you flinch when the door yanks open. chris slides in, breathing hard, but not panicked. not quite. his hoodie is pulled low, your gaze sliding down to his hand, which is... bleeding.

"oh," you breathe softly, eyes a little wider than before. "chris... your hand."

he doesn't look at you right away. instead, he starts the car, twisting the key into the ignition. "s'nothin'."

you blink, your gaze dropping further to his lap where the torn roll of bills sits like it had been shoved there in a hurry. his sleeve is ripped at the seam, and there's a scratch on his cheek. the radio is still playing softly, the instruments humming low in your ears, only now it's not quite as comforting as before.

"...did someone hurt you?" you ask after a pause, genuinely confused.

chris scoffs under his breath, shifting gears. "nah, i'm fine. just a dumb kid tryin' to act tough."

your head tilts. "did you... get in a fight?"

a beat.

then, quietly, "yeah. kinda."

you blink again. your mouth opens, then closes. you look at him like you're trying to do a math problem but keep getting the answer wrong.

"oh..."

slowly, you sit back against the seat, staring at the windshield. you don't cry, and you're not angry. you're just... processing.

because in your head, being a dealer means chris is cool and mysterious and good with his hands. it means he buys you silly things and stays out late and kisses your neck when he makes his quiet returns. you don't think about fists or torn sleeves or blood on the steering wheel.

after a moment, you glance at his hands again. "did it hurt?" you ask, voice small and curious.

chris glances at you, and then down at his knuckles before shrugging. "not really. 'm used to it."

"oh," you say again.

the car is quiet again, your fingers twisting into the hem of your sweater. "i thought your job was like, just talking to people and... you know. like business stuff. not..." you struggle to find the right words, and chris raises an eyebrow.

"not getting punched in the face?"

you blink. "well, yeah."

your boyfriend huffs a dry laugh, but it isn't mean. one hand leaves the steering wheel in favor of reaching over to rest his hand on your thigh gently.

"y'forget sometimes, huh?"

you nod, eyes still a little wide though you find comfort in his touch. "i guess so," you admit a bit sheepishly.

to you, the reality of his job wasn't real—not until right now anyway. and even now, you're not sure you know how to be scared. you just know there's a little crack in the version of chris that you see. the one who's invincible and handles everything that goes wrong with ease.

you're not crying, but you almost wonder if you should be.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

This, is my Solemn Vow

Part 17 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: I don't want to spoil anything, but this part contains similar themes as most other parts of this series, including discussions that may be deemed as dark. Be warned.

It was looming over your head, twisting your insides into knots, and you were pretending that everything was okay.

When you wake up in the morning, he asks you to get dressed, taking you down to the marina, and guiding you onto a barge styled boat, with a restaurant inside.

You have breakfast beside him for the few hours it takes to sail around Sentosa island, wearing a loose yellow sundress, while he wears an olive green t-shirt tucked into black jeans.

You looked like a lemon-lime combo, and you can’t help saying this to him at some point throughout your journey, laughing with him as though everything was alright.

It wasn’t.

You were both pretending and you knew it. Clinging to the role of husband and wife because you had no idea what would happen after.

It was fucking weird.

You would hold his hand, and tuck yourself into the space beside him, but you resisted kissing him, because you were confused and this was confusing and you might tear your hair out if you didn’t clear the air soon. 

It was familiar to you… but also not. 

You could at least admit to yourself that there was an easy friendship here, if nothing else, you liked sitting with him, and listening to him speak, and engaging him in light conversation about tides and wind resistance.

Something twists sharply in your chest at the thought of being only friends with him.

When you get back to your hotel room, you curl your hands into fists, anxious and determined to have it out before you find yourselves stuck in this strange purgatory for much longer.

You strike a match, lighting one of the scented candles you’d gotten in your time here, letting the aroma of sage and Palo Santo wood calm you. 

He’s in your bedroom taking a call, you can hear the calm cadence of his voice as you find the stupid divorce papers, pulling them out of their hiding place in your luggage.

You feel like you’re ambushing him, when you drop it onto the nearby marble countertop, bracing your arms on the sturdy surface and willing yourself to have the strength to say what you have to say.

You hear him step out of the room, his muffled footsteps as he approaches, and then slows down when he notices you.

You gulp, looking up at him, his face is calm, but it’s his eyes that hold all of his heartbreak.

“It’s time for that talk.” You whisper ominously.

He sucks in a shaky breath, approaching, giving you a sharp nod.

“I’ll start simple- I remember that night we got married.”

You watch him nod in understanding.

“I had the rings with me… hoping for a chance to work them in. You stopping to look at the veil was my perfect opportunity.”

“If I hadn’t stopped, did you have a backup plan?”

He glances down, nodding.

“I would have made you sign the papers and fabricated the witnesses.”

You shake your head.

“If I had been a little bit more sober-”

“-but you weren’t. You were tipsy enough to go along with me, and sober enough to consent. I kept you right on that precipice the entire night. I was standing on that balcony, counting the shots you were taking, making sure that you didn’t have more than you could handle. I wanted you impressionable, not unconscious.” 

You can’t fight the horror that his words draw out of you.

“You know how that makes me feel, right? Like I’m just some pawn in your twisted web.”

He swallows, nodding, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know. I just don’t want to hide from you anymore.”

“Did you,” You struggle to ask the words, “Did you have any hand in Dominic breaking up with me?”

The corner of his mouth lifts, he shakes his head.

“I knew he would fuck up eventually. I wanted to kill him so many times, but I needed you to see him for the piece of shit he was.”

“Oh.”

You swallow, trying to get yourself together before you ask your next question.

“What if I didn’t go along with your trap? Would you have killed me?”

He glances up in shock at your question. You give him an apologetic smile, unable to phrase the question in a better way at the moment.

“I could never bear the thought of ever hurting you,” He whispers, approaching till he’s right in front of you. He raises a hand to cup your cheek, “However bad of a person you think I am, I need you to know that no matter what happens between us, I will always put your safety first. I’ve watched you from afar for years, I knew what kind of person you were before I’d ever slipped that ring onto your finger. I hoped that I could give you exactly what you needed if I had the chance.”

You swallow, eyelids fluttering at the soothing feeling of his hands on your face.

“If we got divorced. Would you keep stalking me?”

He holds your gaze, your heart hammering as he answers without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Well, that wasn’t terrifying at all.

“You-” You huff in exasperation, “Why didn’t you just ask me out on a date like a normal person?”

He chuckles.

“I keep trying to tell you- I’m not normal.”

You groan, laughing at his words in the next moment.

“Okay, I wish I had a clear answer, maybe I’m like a dog that isn’t socially adjusted so I do weird shit and hope I don’t get caught. I’ve never been like this before either, I’m usually more… subtle when I approach women. But there’s something about you, something that made me terrified of your rejection.”

His thumbs dance thoughtfully on your cheeks as he looks away, deep in his own head.

“And the more I got to know you, the more I saw you, the real you hiding under all those layers of anxiety and insecurity, I realised that we were more alike than expected.”

You gulp, your dark tryst in the castle coming to mind.

He looks back at you, those dark eyes of his trying to see into your mind.

“Can you honestly say, without a doubt, that you hated seeing how obsessed I was? Would you really rather watch me pretend to be less?”

“That’s not fair,” You argue, “You didn’t give me a choice.”

“I know,” He says firmly, “And don’t you love that?”

You gulp, raising your hands, you push him away, angry at the way he makes you feel with such a dangerous question.

“You’re so-” You were going to say ‘insane,’ but hadn’t he been admitting that the entire time?

You stop, your eyes drawing to the manilla envelope, the gears turning in your head at a too slow rate for you to comprehend.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” He begs.

It takes you a moment to get the words out.

“I’m… scared that I’ll regret my decision.”

Billy releases a slow breath, and when you turn your head to look at him, his eyebrows are drawn together, the faintest hint of a wrinkle in the space between. His eyes take on a glassy appearance as they fill with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry.” He finally whispers, and you can almost feel the defeat in the tone of his voice.

You glance away, unable to meet his eyes, there’s a strange feeling inside of you, a hurt you can feel coming but it’s not quite there yet.

“For what, exactly?”

“For… loving you the way I do.”

You try not to let your words choke you, though they beg for your decimation. You didn’t know heartache could come on so gradually.

“And what way is that?” You pry.

He’s quiet for a long time, and you glance up at him, seeing the way his words stick in his throat, the same way yours do, the way sweet words have the bitterest taste.

“Tell me.” You demand.

“Please.” You beg.

He still doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I’d let you ruin me, destroy every piece of me,” A slow breath, “If I could just stay with you a second more. A moth and a flame, Icarus and the sun. I don’t want to exist without you.”

Your mind reels with the implication that he thinks you’re going to be his destruction.

It’s a calm sort of anger, your hands shaking imperceptibly, your heart trembling in the very same way.

“Fuck you, Billy Russo.” 

His glassy eyes meet yours, dark pools of love and despair. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t shy from your anger, so ready to accept it, prepared for your rejection.

The way everyone in his life had abandoned him before.

“I didn’t choose this,” You hiss, stepping into his personal space, “I definitely didn’t ask for it. You took any agency I had and made it your own. You made me your own.”

He closes his eyes, it cracks your heart into pieces to watch tears stream down his face.

You reach up swiftly, locking your fingers behind his neck, bringing your face right up to his.

After a moment, you bring your thumbs up to wipe at the tears on the apple of his cheeks.

“You’re not Icarus, Billy, and I am not the sun.” You finally breathe to him.

He shakes his head, disagreeing with you silently.

“It’s true,” You urge, pressing your forehead to his, “You’re not falling.”

And with one final kiss to his lips, you reach over, grabbing the little pile of divorce papers, and letting the edge of it touch the flickering candle.

You hear his choked breath, and you smile, angling the papers so that the fire eats the material faster.

“Till death do us part.” You mumble to yourself, the finality of your decision sinking in, the immediate relief of it comes as fast as the fire does.

One moment he’s letting you hold him, and the next moment he reaches for the papers, pulling them from your hands and dropping them on the counter to continue burning. 

You open your mouth to protest, the papers are going to scorch the marble if they’re not moved, but Billy steals your focus, turning your face forcefully to pull you into a kiss.

You make a sound of surprise, eagerly responding to him, understanding how badly he needs to be reassured right now.

Your kisses are bruising, so forceful that they borderline on pain, you grip his shoulders, humming happily as he pulls you even closer together.  Your brain glitters like shattered glass, embracing sunlight.

“I love you,” He says into your mouth, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You can’t help your giggle.

“I love you too, Billy Russo.”

He groans, his hands roam your body, tugging your dress up on his way to squeeze your ass. His mouth is unrelenting, kissing over your neck, down to your clavicle. The pleasure you feel is alive under your skin, begging for more.

“My wife.” He hums in between kisses, “My perfect wife.”

You feel like you’re being mauled, and you can do nothing but take it, smoke fills your nose, and you turn your head to see the divorce papers almost halfway on fire.

You want to warn him about the fire alarm, but at the same time he turns you, pinning your front to the counter, tugging forcefully at the strap of your dress until you hear the seams rip. You only have a second to gasp before he bites down gently on your shoulder.

Pleasure explodes behind your eyes, you shudder as his hands find their way under your dress, palming over your panties, before he slips his warm hands under them.

“I need to feel you.” he breathes into your ear, the heat of his words setting your insides on fire and you nod, your body responding to every part of him.

His fingers find your clit easily, pressing down, he hums in approval when he finds you wet and swollen.

You make an embarrassing squeaking sound, his tongue gently tracing its way over your shoulder, and up your neck a little till his lips meet your ear.

“You're so wet, baby.” He praises easily, “Did hearing how obsessed I am for you get you like this?”

“Yes,” you groan, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

He chuckles, palming your breast over your dress, while his fingers swirl purposefully over your clit, making your hips move in an attempt to grind on his hand.

“There’s no going back now, you know that right? I’m not letting you leave again. You’re mine. Forever.”

You nod frantically, understanding the consequences of setting the divorce papers on fire, glancing at them, watching the flame consume your only chance at escaping him.

“You’re mine now too.” You breathe.

He swears, pulling his hands away and spinning you once more to face him. His mouth finds yours just as he grips your hips firmly and seats you on the countertop. 

The marble is fucking cold against the back of your thighs, but you can’t help sinking your fingers into his hair and rubbing your tongue against his messily as you hear the clink of his belt being undone.

You smile into the kiss, thinking that he’s so feverishly eager for you and of course, you feel the exact same, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his magnificent cock, his answering groan into your mouth as you stroke him firmly, sending ripples of delight through you.

He huffs, pulling you to the edge of the countertop before tugging your panties to the side. You want this so badly that you feel the ache between your thighs worsen, a thrumming in your center that begs for relief. 

His eyes meet yours when you align the head of his cock to your entrance, searching your eyes for reassurance as he presses in.

“Deep breaths baby.” He guides, watching as your eyes roll shut, nodding your head. He’s big, you almost forgot how big, now astutely obvious as his cock demands you yield for him.

You try to relax as best as possible, feeling him sink in further, making you feel so full.

You whine his name, and he leans in to press a kiss to your mouth, unintentionally sinking himself deeper into you.

Your thighs tremble, wrapping around his hips, you bring your arms over his shoulders so you can bury your face in his neck.

“Doing so good,” He praises, “My perfect little wife.”

You make a keening sound, struggling not to clench around him prematurely, gripping the back of his neck, breathing him in as he fully fits himself into you.

You’re so wet, but it’s been a month without him and it stings in the deepest parts of you, brings about an ache that hurts and feels so undeniably good all at the same time.

He takes a moment, you feel him kiss the top of your head, the gentleness of the act unintentionally making you clench around him.

His next groan has an unhinged manner to it, drawing back subtly to press into you again.

Fuck, it feels immeasurably good, you baffle at the willpower he has to take it slow for your sake.

You can tell he’s trying hard to rein himself in. The veins on his neck poking out from beneath his skin, his breaths are all shuddery against your hair.

You want him insane with desire, tipping your head back, you look up at him before you whisper in your sweetest voice.

“Please, husband, I need you so bad.”

His breath catches in his throat, and you watch as all the self-control bleeds from his eyes.

He makes a low sound, one hand tightening on your hips, the other reaching up to tangle in your hair.

“I was trying to be nice, wife. But you don’t want nice, do you?”

You shake your head rapidly.

He snaps his hips forward, your mouth dropping open at just how forceful his movements are.

He does it again, and you can’t help the little sound of pleasure that leaves you, his cock, stretching you open in a painfully perfect way.

His hand tightens in your hair, tugging so that your head is tipped back while he keeps snapping his hips.

“Do you want me?” He asks, his words warm against your lips.

“Mmm, I do.” You hum in the affirmative.

He grunts.

“Say it.”

“I- ah- I want you.”

His nose brushes yours, “Fuck. Fuck.” he swears.

There’s nothing you can focus on except how primal this feels, to be taken like this, to freely give yourself to him, to feel each movement he makes and have your body respond with bliss. And then his actions grow more forceful, faster, your thighs tremble around his hips, your body shaking as the pleasure overwhelms you, pushing you right up to that edge before you can even comprehend the feeling.

He knows, you watch him grin as he realises how quickly you’re on that brink, body shaking, head swimming in hazy desire with each thrust he makes.

“Do it, sweetheart. Come all over your husband’s cock.”

Your body tightens, and with one final push of his hips, you hit your breaking point. 

An unintentional sound leaves you, your inner walls flutter around his cock as the shockwaves grow more intense, finally gripping him tightly, your eyes rolling back in your head as you lose control of your body. It feels like lightning, the way it electrifies each of your nerve endings, making you feel like there’s energy coming right out of you as you hit that peak.

Your fingers claw into his shirt, gripping for dear life as you come so hard you stop thinking. You hear him groan loudly, his cock fitted deep inside you as you explode around him, giving him exactly what he asked for. You squeeze him so tightly that you swear his length is imprinted into you, dropping your head into the crook of his neck as you come down.

You still shake in the aftermath, looking up at him, you give him a weak smile, holding him closely as you continue to tremble.

“Perfect.” He hums, leaning down to kiss you, and then he withdraws subtly to press into you again.

His pretense of control is all gone, you can tell by the wild look in his eye, and the sharp, uncontrolled movement of his hips. 

He’s so alluring in this moment, taking what he needs from you without apology, his hair askew from your hands, his body hot beneath all his clothes, your orgasm being drawn out by your perfect husband.

“I love you.” Are his last words before he buries his face in your hair and groans- his orgasm taking control of his movements, filling you with his cum.

You even feel his cock throb inside of you, your body so hypersensitive that you feel every little move he makes inside of you..

He laughs deliriously into your hair, and you find yourself smiling in turn.

“Fuck. That- was so fucking good, little wife.”

He studies you, strokes your hair, cups your face to tilt your head up so that he can keep kissing you passionately, moaning into the kiss like he’s still hungry for you, as if his spent cock isn’t already softening inside of you.

He waits, till you’re calm, till your body has stopped shaking, to withdraw himself.

You hum when you feel a touch of soreness, clenching when you can feel his cum, slipping out of you in that uncomfortably messy way you’ve grown to love.

“Does anything hurt?” He asks softly, bringing his mouth back to yours when you look away- glancing at the smoking pile of divorce papers.

“No,” You answer into his mouth because he gives you no other choice. He hums in delight, before scooping you up, walking you down the hallway towards your bed.

“I need to hold you.” He murmurs, as if you don’t already know, seating you on the bed as he undresses himself, kicking his pants away, and pulling his shirt off.

You wait patiently for his help, as he kneels in front of you, clad in only his boxers as he leans in, reaching around to unzip your dress.

You study his tattoo, as he tugs the torn dress down your torso, and you tilt your hips up to let him get it totally off.

You watch his eyes roam over your body, a pleased smile on his face. It takes him a few seconds to locate the ink on your hip.

He blinks, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing, tilting his head, eyebrows draw together before he looks up at you in surprise.

“Is this real?” He questions, glancing down once more to trace his thumb along the edges.

It’s right at the front, over your hip joint, about the approximate size of your hand.

It’s the same snake that’s on his shoulder, except this time its fangs aren’t bared, its serpentine body is wrapped around the stem of a rose. 

You know what you wanted it to mean, that he owns you, in every dark possessive way he wanted. This was you, allowing yourself to be wrapped up in him, for better or for worse.

It was a sign, that you would always love him, no matter what.

“Snakes,” you whisper softly to him, too afraid to break the trance that he’s in, “shed their skins all the time. They are symbols of transformation and rebirth. Misunderstood, but deadly when underestimated.” You repeat the words he said to you as best as you could remember.

His eyes are filled with tears once more when he looks up at you, a shy smile graces your features as his dark eyes consume you.

His jaw tightens, as he rises, and goes from staring up to looking down.

Desire sparks once more in the deepest parts of you, his darkness is like an aphrodisiac, it makes you want to be very good for him.

“Get naked,” He hums, “Lie back on the bed.”

You tug the straps of your bra down frantically, and then your panties are tossed in his direction when you get them off.

When you settle, he presses his palms to the bed, crawling toward you, fingers gripping around your right ankle to bring it up to his face.

He kisses the inside of your ankle, beard scratching along your skin as he works his way up. His other hand finds your pussy, your mouth dropping open as he rubs his open palm messily over your cunt, his thumb swiping over your clit swiftly.

“Mine.” He finally whispers into your inner thigh, “You’re all mine.”

His words make you rut your hips into his messy palm.

He draws his palm away and you whine, breath stuttering when he brings his hand up to your face, hovering right above your nose.

“Taste us.” He says in a low tone that warns you not to question him. You huff, running your tongue along his palm, humming as you catch remnants of his cum and your arousal on his hand.

When you’re sure his palm is clean, you feel him drag his thumb over your lips, a deep concentration in his eyes, as though he’s trying to stop himself from doing something.

When his fingers go around your throat, cutting off your gasp with a squeeze, you finally begin to get a hint of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Tap me on the shoulder if it’s too much.” He murmurs with absolutely zero explanation, your eyes widening and he leans in, and you feel his hard cock pressing into you in the next moment.

You groan, the sound muffled by his hand on your throat, his cum from earlier making it so perfectly easy to slide right into you. 

You feel your body relaxing to accept him, the head of his cock touching your cervix in a way that makes you see stars, your breathing sharp and shallow while he grips your throat.

He begins with a rough pace, that only gets rougher as time goes on, grunting and moaning into your ear, whispering on shaky breaths every version of how good your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

You wish you could respond to him, or even articulate a thought, but you can actually feel any semblance of thinking leave your head with each move of his body on yours.

Chest to chest, he gives you a delirious smile when he sees the tears of bliss slipping from your eyes, the grip on your throat eases, but doesn't relent.

“Were you hoping to see me react like this, little wife?” He leans in, licking at your tears, “Is this what you fucking wanted?”

You gasp, nodding violently. 

His skin slaps loudly against yours with how forceful his thrusts are, and you begin sobbing, begging him to never stop.

“Stop? No, sweetheart,” He withdraws from you, for only long enough to flip you over, tucking a pillow under your hips, leaning over you till you can feel his front pressed to your back.

“I'm not fucking stopping.” He whispers sweetly right before he enters you again.

Your moan is almost a shout, the way he feels so much bigger, and even more unrelenting in this position.

It doesn't take long before you're mewling out a warning that you're close to orgasm.

“Take every inch of my cock.” He grunts, speeding up the force of his thrusts until you feel like your body is about to supernova.

“I'm gonna keep you like this, nice and full of my cock until you beg me to stop.” He chuckles breathlessly over you, “Forever, little wife.”

Your eyes roll back in your head, your body stiffening as you cry out, before your orgasm slams into you, making you tremble violently as you come.

“That's it- oh fuck you're squeezing me so tight-” He groans, and while you come apart around him, you feel his movements stutter as he releases inside you once more.

You're still trembling as he pulls out of you, collapsing into the sheets as your body aches in sweet bliss. Billy grabs the pillow, tossing it behind him so that he can pull you into him.

You curl against his body happily, resting your head on his bicep, barely able to keep your eyes open but wanting desperately to be reminded of the things you've been missing when he wasn't around.

“I love you.” You sigh, the emotion building too much in your chest to be left unsaid.

He pauses his act of pulling a thin sheet over your bodies to look at you. Tilting his head he smiles softly, before cupping your jaw.

His kiss is deliciously slow, your heart fluttering softly in your chest at the sensation of his slow passion.

He breathes out a sigh, rubbing the length of his nose against yours. 

“Fuck. There aren’t words.” He hums to himself for a second, “Hold on let me think of some.”

You smile, opening your eyes when he raises his head a little, deep in thought, your eyes find their way to the beautiful snake inked onto his perfect skin.

“You don’t have to,” You whisper, “...Find the words I mean.”

“I really do, I need you to understand how much you mean to me.”

“I know.” You protest softly, pressing your palm to his face, moving over his jaw, and down his neck.

He blinks, looking down at you.

“I want to feel your body crushed next to mine in the morning when I wake up. I want to memorise the colour of your eyes in the darkness before I fall asleep.”

He pauses, his eyebrows drawing together as he searches the deepest parts of his brain for the right words.

“I want you to reach out and touch me anytime you want, because when you do, you remind me that there’s a person out there that sees me- all of me- and you’re not scared of it.”

You take a slow breath, trying not to disrupt his thoughts, desperate, hanging on to his every word.

“I’ve spent my entire life trying to be worth something, to convince people that I belonged wherever I was, but I never really believed it… until I met you.”

He finally meets your gaze, tilting his head, giving you a small smile.

“I don’t just love you. It’s more than that. You’re my reason. You’re why I breathe.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, an ache in your chest as you look into his eyes. 

You say his name softly, fingers tangling in his hair as you coax his mouth down to yours.

He groans into it, cupping your jaw to tilt your chin higher.

“My wife.” He whispers into your mouth, before he kisses you again and again.

You grin.

“My husband.” You reply.

.

“What’s taking you so long?” You call from your spot in the warm bath, glancing at the open door, trying to catch any sight of Billy moving around.

“Patience, wife, I’m just getting something.” He calls back.

“Get it faster,” You whine, “I miss you.”

He steps into your line of sight, grinning at you as he raises one of those fancy water bottles in explanation.

You almost want to ask, but you assume he’s bringing water and not wine because of the copious amounts that ‘Dave’ has seen you drink in the last week.

He places the water on the ledge beside you, before kicking his boxers down his legs. You lean forward, allowing him to slide in right behind you, smiling when he grips your hips to pull you into his lap in the warm water.

“I remember our first bath.” He teases, bringing a hand up between your breasts just like the first time, to wrap his slender fingers around your throat.

“What was it I said? Nothing feels more right than this.”

You laugh, closing your eyes, settling against him.

“I have something for you.” He murmurs, and you open your eyes, turning your head to look up at him, thinking about all the possibilities and zeroing in on the most probable.

You can’t help your grin, raising your left hand out of the water expectantly.

Billy blinks in surprise, before he chuckles, reaching to pick up something on the ledge beside him, before he slides it onto your finger.

“You might know me a little too well.” He acknowledges, as you watch your wedding ring glint under all the suds clinging to your hand.

You link your left hand with his right, letting it settle under the water as you relax into him once more, a small kiss to your head.

“If there was anywhere else in the world you wanted to be right now… where would it be?” Billy asks after a few moments, his voice is low and calm, as at ease as you feel.

The corner of your mouth ticks up in mischief.

“I would be… hmm… in a cozy little cabin in the snowy woods.”

He hums, amused.

“All by yourself?”

“No, I have my bodyguard, Dave with me.”

It’s not an answer he was expecting.

“Dave?” Billy asks with an incredulous tone.

You giggle.

“Yeah, it’s cold, and I want to get cozy, and I sort of annoy my bodyguard Dave by making him do things for me because I’m not the best at keeping tabs of everything, so I boss him around a lot, the poor guy.”

“I’m sure Dave likes being bossed around by you.” Billy thinks aloud, playing along.

You nod.

“Yeah, but I’m especially bossy this time, and the snow gets worse, and I make the mistake of drinking a little too much alcohol because it makes me feel so warm.”

You can almost feel the air supercharge with electricity when Billy realises where this is going.

“Definitely, a poor choice, princess.” He murmurs, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You clench around nothing, trying to stay perfectly still.

Nodding, you continue talking as if nothing is wrong, “Dave would probably be so angry, having to take care of me, I doubt that’s even his job.”

“On the contrary,” Billy interjects, “His job is to protect you, even if that’s from yourself. If you push him enough, there’s no telling what he might do- or how he might go about teaching you discipline.”

A low moan of delight leaves your throat, you find your hips rolling in need, desperate for friction.

“He’d probably pull my clothes off, so he could touch every part of me, cuffing my hands behind my back-” You shudder when Billy’s fingers find your clit, rubbing generously at the aching spot under the warm water.

“He’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk, mark your pretty skin so that you knew, deep down, who’s really in charge.” Billy raises his other hand to pluck gently at your stiff nipples.

You grin, nodding.

“And then, when I’m nice and full and dripping with his cum, he takes a few pictures so that he can tease me about them later.”

“That’s quite a dream, little wife.”

You smile, turning your head to kiss the column of his neck.

“No rush, we’ll take our time working up to that.”

He kisses the top of your head.

“Of course.”

You shift your hips, feeling his stiff erection under you- telling you exactly how he felt about your pretend scenario. 

There were so many things you wanted to do with him, and you couldn’t wait, the prospect of a lifetime with Billy Russo made you happier than you could imagine. Even better, the knowledge that he was just as content with you, as you were with him, made all of the hardships of the past, present and future seem absolutely worth it.

Because when it really came down to it, you were together now, and it didn’t matter how it started, whether it was accidentally,

Or on purpose.

.

.

.

[nirikeehan]

Unpopular opinion: Illario

Never ever ever should have been made a villain in Veilguard. Nothing in The Wigmaker Job sets this up in any way and I also argue neither does the Wake.

In The Wigmaker Job he RISKS HIS LIFE to help out Lucanis SEVERAL TIMES inCLUDING FREEING SOME FUCKING SLAVES??? like i guess you could claim he doesn't bother with this and is only lying to Lucanis at the end but then apparently veilguard never mentions the slave plotline AT ALL (too controversial, I guess, to mention slavery!!) which just gives the uncomfortable squirrelly implication that they didn't want to have to address Illario's clear begrudging nature to do the right thing even if it's just a favor to his cousin but i digress

And of course there's the fact that the timelines don't match up AT ALL. They are pHYSICALLY LEAVING TEVINTER ALREADY when Zara Renata learns Lucanis is responsible for the massacre in Vyrantium, so when exactly did she have time to meet, seduce and then plot betrayal with Illario???

(To say nothing of how Lucanis says TO ILLARIO'S FACE HE DOESN'T WANT IT and is essentially saying he'll either find a way to convince Caterina or just wait until she dies and will hand First Talon over to Illario ANYWAY)

the point is it is creating conflict where there isn't any, retconning in such an obvious clumsy and ham-fisted way AND sidesteps entirely what could have been a super interesting development of their complicated but very clearly loving brotherly relationship??? Thanks, I hate it

I have seen claims that the line in The Wake about Illario, THIS ONE:

is a hint that he was actually faking his grief about Lucanis's "death," but this ignores that a) the POV is Viago who is 100% done with Illario's sloppy drunk behavior b) the "downstairs" is ON THE CASINO HOUSE FLOOR WHERE HE WAS c) INTERACTING WITH MOURNERS AND GETTING STEADILY DRUNKER. The line connotes that Illario had his shit sort of together at the beginning, but drank more and more and told the story again and again until he reached his present state, which is completely broken down and drowning in GRIEF. "It should have been me?" I read the story AFTER what I knew happened in VG and STILL thought, "Oh, he's saying he should have DIED IN LUCANIS'S PLACE, AND THAT'S WHY HE'S SO FULL OF GUILT."

So no one can tell me his stupid ass betrayal was planned from the beginning and you absolutely cannot convince me a plot where he genuinely thought Lucanis was dead and was struggling with the survivor's guilt wouldn't have been the more compelling story.

Also, the manbun is stupid. It's clearly a female hair repurposed and slapped on his character model. Just awful and sloppy, lazy design.