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johnbrand · 2 days ago

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Joining the Flock

Trying something different, please enjoy

With @henrypreppy

JD flipped the meeting invitation back and forth between his hands, the thin paper material an illusion to the actual weight its writing held. He could not believe he had actually agreed to this, let alone thinking about following through with it. It was not like his parents would have ever known. JD could lie about the entire ordeal and get away with it. But now he was officially registered for the first meeting of the year, his name practically carved into stone.

“Hey there, sorry I don’t mean to interrupt.”

JD rotated his head to the door, eyeing down the black-haired freshman standing patiently at the door. Slim, lanky, and could use tweezers, but by his posture JD could already discern that he was a casual fellow.

“I’m assuming you're Michael Freedman?”

“Mike will do,” Mike grinned. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m assuming you’re my roommate?”

JD stood up and extended his hand. “You got it, I'm JD.”

The physical exchange allowed for their first day jitters to transmit like a frequency between them.

“JD huh, is that a nickname?”

JD did his best to hold back his embarrassment. “It’s short for Jeremiah Delgado.”

Mike’s eyebrows rose, “A little bit of a mouthful.”

“You should hear it with the middle names,” JD quipped. “It’s what you get when you combine a Hispanic father and Biblically-obsessed mother.”

“Then no wonder you stick to JD,” Mike replied.

Taking a seat back on his bed, JD decided to steer the conversation elsewhere. “When did you move in? I didn’t see you this morning when I’d hauled everything up those four flights of stairs.”

Mike chuckled, “Perks of the top floor right? I assume I moved in right after you left. You’re not a clean freak or anything, are you?”

“God no,” JD answered, the tone shift catching him off guard. “I don’t have time to care about stuff like that.” JD had already picked up on Mike’s disorganization when he had arrived back at the dorm. It was a bit of a shock to see the place had already become a lived-in pigsty, even though they had just moved in. But JD truly did not mind the clutter, he was a bit on the uncleanly side too. Speaking of which, he realized he had forgotten to get a haircut before he left. The dullish chestnut mop was reaching shoulder-length now; JD was a bit curious to see what would happen if he let it grow even longer.

“Sorry if that was a bit blunt,” Mike plopped onto his own bed. “I just saw the invitation and I was curious.”

“The…?” JD paused, before picking up on what Mike was referring to. “Oh this? No sorry, it was pushed onto me at the club fair.”

The event had been just short of organized chaos. Practically a hundred booths had filled the auditorium, each of them advertising different clubs that the freshman could get involved with. Student Council, the Events Commission, even the CIA (which JD learned stood for “Chemists In Action”). He had been casually browsing, the only thing minorly interesting to him being the Pride organization, but somehow had accidentally strolled in front of the wrong stall.

“Looking to join the Campus Ministry?”

The man calling out to JD was rather put-together, probably the only person in the entire event showcasing a three-piece suit. As JD approached cautiously–hoping the man would not grab any more attention then he already had–he was able to inspect the stranger a little further. Late thirties, athletic, a ring on his finger and of average flair. He was not JD’s type, but he could still appreciate that the man held some appealing characteristics.

The man introduced himself as soon as JD drew close enough. “My name’s Peter, I’m the Campus Minister.”

JD replied accordingly, loathing his luck. He had chosen a college as far away from his parents and their strict lifestyle as possible, and yet now here he was, conversing with the very people who abided by their same morals and guidelines.

“Well Jeremiah, are you inclined to learn more about the mission of the Baptist Church?”

Wincing at the use of his full name, JD replied, “I actually grew up Baptist, but I’ve grown away from the faith since.” As soon as the words left his mouth, JD realized his mistake.

“Well you have come to the right place!” Peter exclaimed, a bit too over joyous. “The Campus Ministry is welcome to all, especially those returning to God’s graces.”

Before JD could protest, Peter had already handed him the formal invitation and written his name on the sign-up form. “The meeting is tonight, you won’t miss it!”

“I can’t believe you got sucked into that crap!” Mike was laughing after JD had finished replaying the scene for him. “Are you really planning on going?”

“I mean I have to, right? They’ve got me signed up.”

Mike shrugged, “It’s up to you man, but you don’t have a lot of time to decide.”

JD quickly eyed the invitation and then his phone and realized Mike was right. If he was going to make this meeting, he would have to leave now.

“Crap!”

———

By the time he got to the chapel, he had worked up quite the sweat. JD was not an active person, and as he entered the building, he realized he was also not properly dressed. Everyone else adorned their Sunday bests, some even more formal. The button-ups and slacks were a complete contrast to his own indie band tee and distressed jeans. JD shamefully placed himself in the back pew, hoping no one would notice the black sheep.

“Mind if I sit here, brother?”

JD obliged without acknowledging the stranger, cursing to himself as Peter ascended to the podium at the front of the chapel.

“Brothers and Sisters, I want to welcome you all to our first meeting of the year. As the Campus Minister, it is an honor to be able to guide you in our journey together, and with your trust lead you on the path towards God.”

All the members of the group came together to a round of applause.

“Let me make one thing clear right away, brothers and sisters,” Peter began assuredly. “At the heart of the Campus Ministry is community. God did not create us to live alone in isolation. He specifically designed us to live together as like-minded beings. To thrive in Biblical communities where people who love Jesus Christ can enjoy fellowship with one another. To help each other grow in the faith, to become more alike. To learn from each other, incorporate a need for each other. God uses others to help us grow individually, and God uses us to grow other people.”

“I am reminded of a verse from Matthew 18:20: ‘For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.’ It is here that Jesus calls us to be sheep, His sheep, flocking under His name in likeness and in aspiration to fulfill His teachings. As a Biblical community, we find ourselves in Jesus. He is our center point, what draws us together, the common bond that we share. And as Baptists, we find ourselves following our shepherd, assimilating as one when we name ourselves a member of His church.”

“So why is community at the heart of the Campus Ministry? Whether you are eighteen-, nineteen-, twenty- or more-years-old, you came here searching for guidance. Guidance to tell you where to go, what to do, who to follow. Guidance found through relationships, through our collective relationship with God and His church. The Campus Ministry offers that guidance and more. Our community of brothers and sisters will help you navigate classes, properly study, and make wise decisions. They will eat with you, spend time with you, bring you into the fold, our flock, no matter what former walk of life. They will help you embody the classic look of a Christian.”

“Now, I would like to invite you to embrace that first step towards community. Take a moment and turn to your neighbor, introduce yourself to your new brother or sister.”

Finding himself slightly absorbed by Peter’s sermon, JD broke out of his haze to finally acknowledge the stranger he had allowed to sit beside him. However, JD found himself rendered speechless by the beautiful man before him. With coppery hair, a diamond-cut jaw, and inviting green eyes, JD gawked a second too long at his traditional counterpart. Pairing pleated trousers with a crimson sweater vest over a simple white button-up, the stranger exuded refinement. From his Ivy League haircut to his natural woodsy smell and even by the way the stranger sat, JD could feel heat rising from his own cheeks.

“Jackson Sanderson,” the stranger offered, and after a uncharacteristic stutter JD replied with his own.

JD was then introduced to other members of the club as they came around to introduce themselves. There was a Colton, a Bryce, a Jared, a Stanley. Eventually the names and faces began to blur together, each of them almost identical to each other. Attractive by traditional standards, reeking of arrogance and privilege. JD found himself almost unable to hide his large erection, loathing his existence. It was times like these he wished not to be “blessed” as his father had once grotesquely put it.

After everyone had returned to their seats, Peter finished his monologue. “Before you realize it, each and every one of you will become bonded through our Campus Ministry. It may not happen right away, but once you begin to know each other, you will begin to shape each other too. Now, let us end in prayer.”

———

JD’s first day of classes flashed by in an instant. Undecided, his schedule was mostly filled with the required objectives. A standard biology course, base level statistics, even a communications class–all of which had no actual assignments for the day besides reading the syllabus. But by the late afternoon after his final seminar, JD found himself ready for a lazy evening. He drafted plans involving picking up fast food, watching an episode or ten of some raunchy sitcom, and then drifting off to bed.

“Jeremiah!”

The minister’s assertive baritone cut through JD’s headphones, which were slowly lowered to passive-aggressively demonstrate his annoyance.

“I wanted to thank you for coming to the first Campus Ministry meeting last night,” Peter explained as he approached. Today, he was dressed in a brown suit with a pattern meant for a man twice his age. “I was hoping to discuss some other things as well. Have a moment?”

Reluctantly, JD obliged, and soon he was following Peter to his office. Once inside, JD was able to discern a bit more about this man who had strangely taken an interest in him. Basic wooden cross on the wall, pile of materials on theology beside the desk, a picture of a woman around the minister’s age holding three children. JD accepted the seat in front of the desk, hoping this would not take long.

“Seeing the instantaneous bond that we have created over the past 24 hours,” JD restrained his eyebrow from visually questioning this statement. “I took it upon myself to become your academic counselor. As your minister, it’s my role to offer you structure and guidance during these impressionable years.”

JD was a bit startled by this statement, but said nothing.

Peter continued, “I’ve already taken a gander at your schedule and noticed all gen-eds. As you are undecided, I was curious if you had any majors you had in mind.”

“Not particularly,” JD answered, finding himself a little more relaxed. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to think about it until a bit later, honestly.”

Peter’s direct eye contact intensified slightly. “Maybe it would be best to spread out your electives and place you in some courses designed to determine a major. Considering your passion for the faith, you could look into some classes in the Religion Department.”

JD found the minister’s wording a bit odd, almost belittling in a way. His response came out a bit muddled, “I never said that I had a passion for the faith?”

“Well, Jeremiah, I think it could do you a lot of good. As the Campus Minister, I’d be happy to offer you some additional resources as well.”

“‘Resources’?”

“Of course,” Peter’s face broke out into a big grin. “I’ll connect you with one of our students in the department. I have one in mind already, a sophomore: Jackson Sanderson.”

A blush broke out onto JD’s face. He could not perceive if the minister had noticed it or not.

“Jackson is one of our finest men,” Peter resumed. “You will immediately find him as a brother, perhaps one of your closest. After a while, you will feel the desire to emulate him, as he has the classic look of a Christian.”

Again, JD noted the strange diction, and a repeat of a phrase he had heard last night. But JD also noticed that he felt a certain calm when he listened to Peter. His voice just had a quality that kept one at ease. That was probably why he had become a minister.

“I’ll notify Jackson to get in contact with you shortly.” Peter then took a stand, prompting JD to do the same. “Until then, let’s begin thinking about your major and where we’d like to see you next semester. And further along, when you graduate.”

———

Jackson reached out to JD hours later, and after a bit of texting JD found himself roped into a study session the following day. He did not know what to expect, but he decided to put his best foot forward. Sure, he had no desire to engage with the church after his high school graduation, but JD rationalized that he could still be there to make friends.

“Jeremiah!” Jackson called out from one of the pews. He was surrounded by a swarm of men, all wearing outfits appropriate for more conservative times. JD had prepared for this, although his khakis and short-sleeved button-up still did not fit the bill.

“It’s JD,” JD corrected politely. “Thank you for letting me crash your guys’ study group.”

“Of course!” one of the men replied. JD should have known his name, but the person’s features were almost unrecognizable from the next. “Any brother is welcome to join.”

“Especially once Peter told us you were enrolling in the Religion Department,” Jackson added.

“I’m not enrolling in the Religion Department.”

“We get it, you’re ‘just interested’,” a second man insisted, to which everyone else began to chuckle as if he were referring to some inside joke.

“Anyway, don’t worry about it.” Jackson replied. The smooth quality of Jackson’s tenor settled JD’s nerves. “Let’s get to studying, shall we?”

The group agreed and promptly found themselves absorbed in their literature. While JD stuck to his reading and recording notes, the other men held a shallow conversation: one that any person could easily flow in and out of without paying too much attention. It began with simple topics at first; professors, extracurriculars, sports. None of these would typically entice JD, but he found himself occasionally tuning into the group’s monotonous channel. Eventually however, the topics converged into a singular subject: the Bible.

“I just think John’s interpretation is by far superior to the synoptic gospels,” Colton countered. JD could not believe he had remembered his name. “His use of monological writing is what makes Jesus more engaging to the interpreter.”

Jackson shook his head, “That may be true, but the synoptic gospels offer parables, short stories that people can relate too.” Jackson’s presence was different now then when they had first met. Before, frankly, JD had taken eroticism from Jackson’s standardized beauty. But now, he sensed something else. Rather than affection, JD recognized admiration.

“Enlighten us, Jackson, what parables can you relate to,” Bryce teased. “If we looked under your bed, would we find oil? As we already know you are a virgin.”

All of the men, including Jackson and JD, took joy in that remark.

“Perhaps you will, perhaps you won’t,” Jackson finally replied. “But take our group for example, are we not fulfilling a parable right now? I would situate ourselves in the story of the Prodigal Son.” Jackson motioned to his peers, “Are we not the father?” And then to just JD, “And is Jeremiah not the Prodigal Son?”

The group pondered this thought, turning expectantly towards JD for an answer.

“Um…” JD stumbled, not expecting to be put on the spot. “I mean, that’s one way to look at it.”

Once again, the group exploded into laughter, their volume ascending to the roof of the chapel. JD chuckled along too, his nervousness fading as he became more comfortable with the group. By the end of the night, he found himself pleasantly surprised as he accepted the invitation to the next study session.

———

“Hey dude, are you interested in going clubbing?” Mike asked, having just exited the shower.

“When are you thinking of going?” JD was reorganizing his desk. For some reason, its cluttered nature had begun to bother him.

“In a few minutes here, hopefully.” Mike dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed some clothes off his bed. He gave a strong sniff to each item inspected, those too dirty were then tossed onto the floor. JD observed this but said nothing.

“Man, sorry but I can’t. I got a study group tonight.”

“On a Friday night?” Mike questioned. “This is like the fourth Friday in a row.”

“I know, but I already said I was going to be there.”

Mike frowned, scratching at his lower regions a bit. JD swiftly averted his eyes. “But don’t you study with these guys three times a week, and have lunch with them everyday too?”

“Yeah, but they purposely choose Friday nights to not be tempted,” JD finally answered.

The partially-answering statement held in the air for an awkward moment. Eventually, Mike responded. “Right…”

JD turned back to his task at hand, throwing out trash that should have been discarded earlier.

“Well,” Mike grabbed a jacket and his keys. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

“Uh huh,” JD’s response was dull. Once Mike shut the door, he released the long breath that he had subconsciously been holding. He wondered when Mike’s presence had become so taxing. Perhaps he compared his roommate to the study group’s austere quality. JD found those straight-laced men ironically soothing.

This theory was proven once JD arrived into the chapel, the smiling faces of his peers sending a warm tingle across his body. The study session went similar to the rest, beginning with actual work before simply devolving into lighthearted, yet engaging discussions. If these conversations were not surrounding the Bible, then they focused on a topic JD was even less familiar with.

“I think I’m going to propose to Hannah,” Jared suddenly said, to which everyone in the group audibly gasped.

“Are you ready, brother?” Jackson inquired, to which JD nodded along.

“He’s already got the ring,” Stanley answered. Weeks ago, this development would have shocked JD. Two twenty-year-olds marrying in this day and age? But now, the thought was not that unfathomable to him. He was becoming more accustomed to the men's ideology.

“I booked reservations for her favorite restaurant,” Jared announced, his typical stale manner of speaking almost giddy. Almost. “I’ll pop the question before dessert of course, it’s all arranged.”

To that, the men applauded Jared, shaking his hand vigorously and giving brotherly pats on the back. JD high-fived him, embracing the honest excitement for Jared. Once they cooled down, Colton continued the conversation.

“Now you’ve got me inspired, thinking I should finally pop the question to Mary.”

“You’ve been thinking about doing that since you first met her in private school,” Bryce retorted.

“And have you not pondered the same with Julia, brother?” Jackson smirked, to which the other men piggy-backed off of. “Speaking of women, have you set your sights on any yet, Jeremiah?”

JD blinked, unbothered by the use of his full name, “Uh…not exactly. I just haven’t been looking for anyone I guess.”

JD was telling the truth. Before college, he had planned on finally finding a male partner to love and hold. And to lose his virginity to. But since the first day of classes, JD had not felt a connection to any male in particular on campus–or in general. JD assumed his sex drive had been lowered, that he was just growing out of some awkward teenage phase.

“Perhaps we’ll have to set you up then,” Jared’s grin held an impish edge. “I believe Jessica is still looking for a potential husband.”

Jackson shot Jared a glare, to which all the other men hollered at. “Jessica is only a freshman.”

“And so is Jeremiah,” Stanley pointed out. JD tried his best to stay quiet, although he had to admit that he was having fun too.

“We’ll see if Jeremiah proves to be everything the minister has promised,” Jackson offered. “After all, Jessica will only take a man who has that classic look of a Christian.”

———

“Jeremiah! Thank you for meeting with me again. Please, take a seat.”

JD followed the instruction, placing himself on the other side of the minister’s desk.

“Already halfway through your first semester, isn’t that unbelievable?” Peter started.

“It certainly is,” JD’s response was friendly. “Can’t believe two months have already flown by.”

“I can’t believe it either, but I can see it,” Peter noted. “I’m assuming you’ve been having meals with your other brothers?”

“They’ve got me going to the gym now too,” JD sighed. “An hour every morning before class since last week.”

JD had been dining regularly with his study group, at lunch and dinner and even the occasional breakfast. And since this habit had begun, JD found himself eating like his peers too. No more ramen and late night fast food deliveries. Fruits, vegetables, and lean proteins were now the major facets of his diet, leading to his cleaner skin and an overall healthier glow. It was strange at first to recognize how much of a difference this better diet–and as of recently the exercise–had improved his body. JD found himself a bit more muscular, a bit more jovial, and overall more energized.

“That’s not surprising, our men do like to stay in proper form, physically and spiritually,” Peter chuckled. “Speaking of which, last we talked, you had discussed that you were contemplating committing to a major in the Religion Department. Have you thought more on that topic?”

JD considered this for a moment, not remembering if that was what he had actually said or not. But something about the minister’s confident tone assured him that Peter was correct. That was why he had come to this college after all, as his parents had approved of the strong Baptist connection. At least, to appease their wishes.

“A little bit I guess,” JD replied, causing Peter to grin. JD at first thought of it as smug, but then corrected the thought to Peter simply being excited for him. “I mean I’ve attended all four of the Campus Ministry events so far, and being around the guys has certainly been an influence.”

“A positive influence,” Peter amended.

“Yeah…a positive influence,” JD slowly repeated back, before coming back to speed. “As of right now though, I’m still undecided on it all.” Peter carefully leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs out a bit to accommodate. It was almost like the minister was trying to size him up, assert a bit more control.

“You are apprehensive because you still identify yourself as an outsider to our community.” Peter’s response was measured, continuous yet firm with every word laid out. “One thing that can be addressed is your attire. At the material level, you will follow the direction of your peers.”

JD tried to process this, although his brain felt a little hazy. “That might help, yeah.”

“That is something that can be addressed too, your intonation.” There was a particular glint in Peter’s eye, but JD found it easier to focus on the minister’s voice. “Just like your brothers, your inflection will remain in control and moderated. Your pitch will remain even and your vocabulary will become more refined.”

“Certainly.” While just one word, each syllable had required additional effort to come forth from JD’s mouth. The colorless articulation however obscured this exertion.

“It’s good that you’re taking my advice, Jeremiah,” Peter affirmed. “You have placed your trust in me to lead you on the path towards God.”

JD did not know if this was true before, but after Peter had said it, it felt as such.

“You will want nothing more than to become a part of our community,” Peter finalized. “I’ll inform Jackson of such, and he’ll help you along.”

———

JD stepped out of the bathroom, steam pouring out from behind him. He had never taken such a long and luxurious shower but it had felt so right. Jackson had recommended it, saying it was the best way to get rid of any excess hair that may have stuck to his skin after visiting the barber. He could not see it now, but JD already loved the shortened cut on his head. Once it was dried, the sides would naturally fall into a tight bowl-like shape. Then, JD would have the pleasure of applying the product–prescribed by Jackson–to fluff his bangs up into a traditional, conservative quiff. A proper style for a gentleman like himself.

In nothing but a towel, JD peered cautiously around the room. All alone, he allowed himself to freely disdain his roommate’s messy style. He had remained civil around the topic with Mike, but had secretly grown to loathe it. JD knew better than to say anything however, as that would have been pompous. Carefully placing his feet into open spots on the floor, JD tip-toed his way to his dresser, surprised to find a small note taped to the drawer.

A final gift, the classic look of a Christian -JS

Not thinking twice about the phrase, JD was surprised to find his boxers had been replaced with starchy, high-waisted white briefs. But his confusion quickly dissolved into recognition before fading into a simple, charming smile. The cotton fabric went up and over each of his legs in a matter of moments, the traditional cut making JD feel grounded somehow. Controlled.

Turning to face the mirror, it was almost shocking for JD to see the new reflection of himself. Only weeks away from the end of his first semester and the man before him was much different than the boy who had come to campus. Tanner, more muscular, an image of young masculinity. But those were explainable thanks to his improved diet and exercise. Other factors, like his wider jaw, broader shoulders, and inched-back hairline, were not as identifiable. JD questioned if it was incoming maturity, or perhaps something else.

Before he could reflect on the thought further, his body mechanically moved along to his wardrobe. A rack once filled with tees and crewnecks was now stuffed by dress shirts, vests, and blazers of assorted varieties. Tamer colors and patterns, only distinguishable to the distinguished eye. The rest of JD’s dresser now contained a variety of slacks, along with many different types of dress socks and ties. Loafers, oxfords, brogues among others sat in alphabetical order at the bottom. It was practical, and practically perfect.

When his peers had first offered to makeover his closet, JD had been apprehensive. Something in the back of his mind rang an alarm, whispering that he would also be sacrificing a part of his individuality. But JD’s body had decided for him in that moment, his head nodding in approval and with an amiable grin. And now after the swap, which JD later learned was in part financed by the Campus Ministry, he realized there was nothing he should have been afraid of.

After all, all of the brothers were remarkably different. Colton rocked a business cut with his blond hair, a style no one else had. Bryce had the most suits of the five, almost as many as their minister. Jared was the only one officially engaged (although JD predicted that fact would not last much longer. Stanley had his thick, time-honored black horned rims. And Jackson held his affinity for sweater vests, a Bonafede professional at styling them. They were truly all unique.

Quickly assembling his hair and a tasteful outfit–a white button-up, French navy-hued trousers, a currant colored tie and chocolatey derbies for his feet–JD assembled his school bag and made haste for the chapel. When he arrived, it was only Jackson awaiting him in the pews. The others had gone out to grab a quick meal.

“Jeremiah! I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it,” Jackson nudged as JD took a seat beside him in the pew.

“You know I would not miss our study sessions for the world, brother!” JD’s rebuttal was chipper and authentic. Since Mike’s first proposal of clubbing, the offer has never been made again. But JD had received other invitations for outings with his fellow peers. However, none of them were ever accepted. To JD, it always felt more appropriate to stick to his group. Their presence felt familiar, grounded. Right.

“‘They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship’,” Jackson started. “‘to the breaking of bread and to prayer.’”

“‘And all the believers were together and had everything in common.’” JD finished.

“The Book of Acts, I’m impressed,” Jackson smirked. “I now understand why Peter was so serious about you.”

JD should have questioned what Jackson was referring to, but instead sunk into the warm glow of his brother’s approval.

“But there’s still one thing you have to do,” Jackson noted.

JD’s heartbeat hastened rapidly, something he had not expected.

“You have got to come to church with us!”

JD felt a glimmer of hesitancy. He had not gone to church since he had come to college. He tried to remember why, but a subtle pain clouded his thoughts. Was it because of his parents? No, they just wanted what was best for him. Then was it because JD did not feel accepted by the church? JD tried to follow that thread, but the deeper he ventured, the stronger the ache in his head became.

“Come on, what have you got to lose?” Jackson gave JD a playful shove. “Plus, the minister will be giving a blessing to all students before finals.”

Something was telling JD to reconsider. Something urged him to do otherwise. But JD could not figure out what was so wrong about attending a simple service.

“Alright, I’ll go.”

Jackson’s perfect smile was wider than JD had ever seen it. “That’s it, brother! Then you’ll be just like us.”

That statement triggered something in JD. As if following out a code downloaded into his vital operating systems, he made a note to schedule an appointment with his academic counselor.

———

“What can I help you with today, Jeremiah?”

Unlike the composed minister sitting before him, JD was irritable, prickly. Words were begging to escape his mouth, although he could not figure out what they were. He tried to express them as best he could.

“I want to become a part of the Campus Ministry, a part of your Biblical community.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I want to be another sheep in the flock.”

A small smile tugged at one corner of Peter’s lip. “In other words, you are saying…”

The words flew out JD’s mouth: “I want to embody the classic look of a Christian. I want to fit in.”

That heavy, revealing truth tumbled before the two men, its release absolving JD of a burden unaware to him had been accumulating for months. Ever since his first meeting with the minister.

“It’s much easier to be just another piece of the puzzle, Jeremiah,” Peter began. “Never having to worry about anything else when you have a place to belong.”

The minister reached into his desk and pulled open a drawer, removing a small folder with JD’s name on it. Opening it, Peter pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it in front of him. JD’s eyes scanned the page before focusing back on Peter’s own.

“Your schedule that I have already drafted up for the next semester,” Peter replied, grabbing a pen. “You will join the Religion Department as a Theology major with a minor in Baptist Ministries. After graduation, you will continue your studies to receive a Masters of Divinity. By then, my proselytization will no longer be necessary as you will have become a permanent traditionalist.”

JD knew better than to say anything. Instead, he let his actions speak for him, his hand accepting the pen from Peter and with a delicate cursive, signing his name.

“Welcome to the flock, Jeremiah.”

———

“A healthy Christian learns and grows through community. A healthy Christian experiences spiritual and relational growth when surrounded by an affirming group of like-minded believers. Jesus spent a significant amount of time with his small group, the apostles, molding them and teaching them how to love and support one another and how to function as a healthy small group. Today, we do the same for our brothers and our sisters.”

Jeremiah sat in the front row next to Jackson, Colton, Bryce, Jared, and Stanley. The group was expertly dressed. Jeremiah’s baby blue button-up was paired with a matching tie underneath his charcoal suit. The tie, with cornflower polka dots on top of a banana cream yellow, was particularly chosen for its “vibrant and exciting pattern,” as Jeremiah had thought of it. Along with caramel wing tips that coupled nicely with his soft yet stiff quiff, Jeremiah felt dignified by his outfit.

“It’s great to be part of a healthy, well-functioning group,” the preacher, an older, handsomely well-off man by the name of Dr. Ernest Holloway, continued. “However, our individual wishes can sometimes interfere with the overarching needs of the congregation. For our Christian community to remain intact, we need to come before God with an earnest desire to help others, and therefore maintain the needs of the group to truly experience the richness and glory of His intentions.”

“Being in a group is committing to one another by saying, ‘I want to laugh with you, share with you, study with you, and pray with you’.” Taking a deep breath, the doctor made his closing statement. “Being in a group is saying, 'All I want is to be like you’. Amen.”

“Amen,” Jeremiah and the congregation replied. The rest of the service went by quickly, and before Jeremiah knew it, he had finished singing the final verse of the closing hymn. Soon, the church was bursting with lively energy. Joyful conversations broke out between the Baptist brothers and sisters, nobody in a hurry towards the exit. Jeremiah found himself in a similar manner, following behind his peers as they sauntered their way towards the door.

As Jeremiah followed Jackson outside of the church, a young female voice rang out from behind them. “Well look at these fine, upstanding, proper young men!”

The pair turned around, now outside, to see who had beckoned them. Jeremiah caught the eye of the young lady, her coppery hair and conservative sense of style somehow familiar to him.

“Both of you are so dandy and traditional,” she remarked. “A classic look for a Christian.”

“Jeremiah,” Jackson sighed. “This is my younger sister, Jessica.”

It took Jeremiah a moment to compose himself, a bit of scarlet peppering his cheeks. His hand nervously shot forward. “J…Jeremiah Joshua Manuel Delgado…nice to make your a...acquaintance.”

Jessica accepted his greeting. “I’ve never had quite this effect on one of your friends before,” she smiled to Jackson. “I think he fancies me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself so, Jessica,” Jackson denied. But all three of them knew Jessica was telling the truth. Jeremiah had gone nonverbal, the blood from his brain redirected to another destination. There was a tingling sensation around Jeremiah's genitals, his member slowly inflating. It was times like these that he was thankful to have “not been blessed” as his father once put it. If his package had been larger, there surely would have been an indecent scene.

Jeremiah knew what he had to do. With all the strength he could muster, he drew the only words he could think of to his mouth. His perfect jaw shifted, heavy brow furrowed, and he forced the sole sentence out of his mouth.

“Jessica Sanderson, will you marry me?”

———

“JD…Jeremiah, is that you?”

Jeremiah had finally grabbed the remainder of his items, the last bags of his belongings ready to go. Mike was standing at the door, blocking his path.

“Where are you going?”

Jeremiah scoffed, disapproving of Mike's irregular radicalism. “Somewhere that is cleaner, fresher, prim and proper. Somewhere where I can remain a dignified man dedicated to preserving tradition and culture in this world. If I am to embody the classic look of a Christian, then I ought to do so with like-minded brothers.”

Confused, not only by the fancified words but by his roommate’s overall preppification during their first semester, Mike asked a simple question. “Why?”

With a pleasant smile, Jeremiah handed over a small sheet of paper. He then exited the dorm, leaving Mike to flip the Campus Ministry’s invitation back and forth between his own hands and consider the harm of attending just one meeting.

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #preppification #jock tf #cock shrink #unintended results

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sherewrytes · 11 hours ago

Text

Plug Choso

Plug Choso: Who always cleans and pre-rolls your blunts and joints for free every time you buy from him, just to see the smile you give him when he hands them over.

Plug Choso: Always gives you his latest strains to try before anyone else, leaning in close as he says, "I saved this one just for you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who openly flirts with you during drop-offs, running his tongue over his bottom lip and smirking when you catch him staring a little too long.

Plug Choso: Always keeps your favorite munchies stocked in the passenger seat of his Hellcat, handing them over with a wink like he’s been thinking about you all day.

Plug Choso: Who insists on sparking the blunt with you every now and then, just so he can "make sure it’s hitting right," but really, it’s just an excuse to chill with you a little longer.

Plug Choso: Who texts you late at night with "You good? Need anything?" even when you haven’t hit him up, making sure you know he’s just a call away.

Plug Choso: Who swears he doesn’t do this for anyone else, and the way he looks at you? Yeah, you’re starting to believe it.

Plug Choso: Who always shows up smelling good, like some expensive cologne and a hint of weed, knowing you’ll notice when he leans in just a little too close to pass you your bag.

Plug Choso: Who always tells you to hit him up, "Even if you don’t need anything. I don’t mind pulling up just to see you, ma."

Plug Choso: Who makes sure to call you “his favorite customer” but says it with that look that tells you he doesn’t mean it like that.

Plug Choso: Who parks outside your spot blasting your favorite songs, knowing it’ll have you cheesing before you even open the door.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t let you carry your own stuff when he drops off, walking it all the way to your living room while teasing you about how you always over-order.

Plug Choso: Who lingers at the door like he’s waiting for an invite, running his fingers through his messy hair and giving you that boyish grin that always makes you weak.

Plug Choso: Who tells you, "Let me know when you’re smoking, I’ll slide through," but really just wants a reason to chill with you again.

Plug Choso: Who always notices when you switch up your hair, complimenting it with a "Damn, that’s fire. You just tryna distract me now, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who casually brushes his fingers against yours when handing you something, watching your reaction like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Plug Choso: Who’s lowkey protective, side-eying any guy he sees you talking to and asking, "Who’s that? He treating you right?"

Plug Choso: Who keeps your favorite rolling papers on deck because he knows you’re picky and doesn’t want you going anywhere else.

Plug Choso: Who always makes it feel like you’re the only one on his list, even though you know damn well he stays busy.

Plug Choso: Who always lingers a little too long when handing over your bag, his fingers brushing yours as his dark eyes flicker to your lips. "You sure you don’t need me to stay a while, ma?"

Plug Choso: Who offers to roll up with you at your place, sitting so close on your couch that his thigh presses against yours, his voice dropping lower every time he leans in to light the blunt.

Plug Choso: Who teases you relentlessly, asking, "Why you always smelling so damn good? You trying to distract me while I work?" as he trails his gaze over you slowly, taking in every detail.

Plug Choso: Who pulls up in his Hellcat late at night, texting you, "Come outside, I got something for you," just to hand you a bag of snacks and a pre-rolled joint, his excuse being, "Thought you might need it after a long day."

Plug Choso: Who never rushes when he’s with you, leaning against your doorframe as he watches you sort through your stash, licking his lips as he says, "You really trust me to hook you up, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who shows up at the club unannounced one night, catching sight of you dancing with some random dude. His jaw tightens, and before you even notice, he’s cutting between you and the guy with a cold, "Yo, I think she’s good."

Plug Choso: Who leans in close after the guy walks away, his hand resting low on your back. "What you doing out here letting dudes like that in your space, huh? You know you could’ve just called me if you wanted attention."

Plug Choso: Who stays by your side the rest of the night, his touch lingering on your waist and hips as he “helps” guide you through the crowd, making it real clear you’re with him now.

Plug Choso: Who pulls you into his car after the club, his voice low and possessive as he says, "You don’t need them when you got me, ma. I’ve been making that obvious, haven’t I?"

Plug Choso: Who kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever, his hands gripping your thighs as he whispers against your lips, "I’ve been holding back for you, but you keep testing me."

Plug Choso: Who texts you later that night, "Made it home yet? Let me know. Don’t make me come back and check on you."

Plug Choso: Who stays on your mind long after the weed is gone, making you wonder if this is more than just business for him.

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t just drop off your stash—he stays to light up with you, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against yours. His deep, raspy voice always carries a teasing edge. "You gon’ share, or you just like showing off in front of me?"

Plug Choso: Who runs his fingers along your thigh while you’re mid-hit, smirking when your breath catches. "Relax, ma, it’s just me. You trust me, don’t you?"

Plug Choso: Who, after the club incident, corners you in your kitchen later that week, his broad frame boxing you in against the counter. "You really had me twisted the other night," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Watching you move like that with him? That wasn’t it."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t even wait for your response before his hand slides to your waist, pulling you flush against him. His voice is gravelly now, his tone all possession. "You know damn well you should’ve been on me like that. What were you trying to prove, huh?"

Plug Choso: Who has your back pressed against the fridge, his lips ghosting over your neck, heat radiating from his body as his tattooed fingers trace your bare skin. "I’ve been real patient with you, Y/N. But you keep making me want to break my own rules."

Plug Choso: Who finally snaps when you whisper his name, his lips crashing against yours, rough and hungry, his hands gripping your hips like he’s staking a claim.

Plug Choso: Who backs you onto the counter, his hands firm as he lifts you up with ease. "You wanna play games, ma? Let’s see how long you keep that same energy when it’s just me and you."

Plug Choso: Who takes his time, teasing you with whispered promises between heated kisses. "I’ve been thinking about this, you know. Every time I see you, you make it harder to keep my head straight."

Plug Choso: Who pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "You like making me crazy, don’t you?" he says, his voice dark and full of heat. "But now it’s my turn."

Plug Choso: Who doesn’t stop until he’s left you breathless, your body trembling from the intensity of it all. He pulls you close after, his lips pressing softly against your forehead as he murmurs, "Now you get it. No one else gets you like I do, ma."

Plug Choso: Who’s got you sitting on his lap later, still catching your breath, his hand tracing lazy circles on your thigh as he lights the blunt for you. "Don’t forget who’s really got you," he says, holding the joint to your lips.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #choso x reader #jjk smut #black reader #plug choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #reader insert #jjk imagines #jjk x black reader #plug!au #sherewrytes #choso x black!reader

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thisismeracing · 1 day ago

Note

Hey, can I pleade request Mick dating a journalism major!reader in uni, (and she has to write a paper about something like 'a thing you find beautiful in everday life' or something like that and she writes about Mick, he reads it and realises she has feelings for him)? Please

P.S.: feel free ignore the part in the brackets

Beautiful things | MS47

⸺ the one where it's no secret you're in love with him, but he finally realizes it. ✓ mentions of food; friends to lovers; not proofread; fem!reader (she/her). 0.8k words

▸ my masterlist | my taglist | patreon guide ▸ support my writing by reblogging, leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece), or buying me a coffee

Mick had a rushed routine as a driver and a famous one. You also had a rushed routine, though you were neither famous nor a driver. Quite the opposite and your friendship surprised a few people because you were a journalism major who just like in the cliches spilled your coffee on him on your first day at the paddock.

One of your college friends who happened to have a rich mom invited you to a weekend in the paddock, and though every catastrophic scenario went through your head you said yes. As it turned out, you did make a fool of yourself, but it earned you a new friend, and just like everyone once told you, nobody is paying that much attention to the point of remembering the comic situation you got pulled into.

You and Mick clicked and had been friends for around two years now. You made it work even with the hectic schedule and the traveling. He would take you with him whenever it was near enough for a quick plane ride and you didn't have classes. That's how it became a thing for him to know about your assignments and help you with them. He would tell you that it was relaxing to read your writing, and then proceed to do it every small free second he got (there were shots of him in the garage with a sandwich in one hand and your laptop in the other).

Coming to think about it, you suppose that maybe that's how you fell for him. Mick was always there for you even when he was on the other side of the world. He would call, and text, and get you small souvenirs. He would help proofread your assignments, and ask about your day. And don't get things wrong, you have tons of friends, but none of them felt like what you had with Mick. None of them slept with their phone by their pillow waiting for you to sleep and waking you up if they heard you having a nightmare. You kept telling yourself that he was just extra friendly. That he was the golden retriever guy everyone talked about, but that didn't mean he loved you. That, though, wasn't enough to convince your heart and you saw yourself slowly and surely fall for him.

That's how you ended up writing about him in your last assignment. One he wasn't supposed to read, but you forgot you shared the online folder with him and that he opened it every weekend to check for new stuff.

There are many beautiful things in everyday life, but some don't seem captivating to us every day. I love the sky, love the way the blue can turn into orange, and somehow get mixed into a light purple. How at night you get to see different glimmers of stars, and travel imagining cloud forms just like when it's daylight. But I don't see the sky as lovely when it's winter and there's no sun or white clouds, just a dark shade of grey. [...] I also find the rush of people in the city captivating, each going on about their lives, taking the subway, strolling with friends, walking the dogs, and buying groceries. Still, there are days when I hate the rush, and I hate how the dogs will stand in the way on the sidewalk, how the subway is full, and how loud a group of strangers can be. [...] But then there are the people. A person. He drives just as effortlessly as he walks. And the days when he walks with me, the dark sky is beautiful, the dogs barking in the way are music to my ears, and the packed subway is full of bursting dreams and hopeful people. I'm one of them. I'm hopeful he'll notice me one day. I'm hopeful he'll love me the way I love him. I'm hopeful he'll see me just as beautiful as I see him. To me, he's the everyday beauty, not because of his sparkly blue eyes, or soft blond hair, but because of who he is. I never get tired of him. I never will because he's this kind of beauty to me.

"Wow," he breathed after finishing your paper just as you were walking into his driver's room.

His big ocean orbs found your frame by the door, and by the way he was looking at you, surprise etched on his face, you knew he read the piece and connected the dots.

"Mick...I-...I'm so sorry- I-" Truth be told, you were on the verge of tears, what was supposed to be a beautiful day started to feel like a nightmare. You thought so many things, thought he would hate you, thought he wouldn't wanna be friends anymore, that he would laugh at you, but he smiled.

He gave you that overwhelmingly gorgeous smile.

Your heart skipped a beat, and suddenly, he was in front of you, still smiling, he reached for your cheekbones and connected your foreheads, taking a deep breath - something you weren't able to do because of your nerves.

"Schatzi, you're the most beautiful thing in the world," he whispered, and that small sentence was everything you needed to hear.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: This was so fun to write hihihi I hope you guys like it! - don't forget to reblog and comment if you do *mwah*

If you liked this piece and want early access to new ones and exclusive access to others, subscribe to my patreon!💘 ▸ check my main masterlist | patreon guide and my taglist.

©thisismeracing ― do not copy, steal, or translate my work; do not repost on a different media platform.

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x you #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #ms47 #millie writes #op: blurbs #f1 imagines #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 2024 #requests #anon #wec #formula 1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 x you #f1 fluff

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ducktoo · 3 days ago

Text

First love…till not?

Aespa’s Giselle x M!Reader

Note: uhhh this is gonna be some angst stuff

You knew it was coming.

It was inevitable, really. The moment you felt the coldness settle between you like a frigid barrier, a silent warning that all was not well.

This wasn’t what you imagined when you thought of love as a kid, all those times you ran across the playground with her, climbing trees and scrabbling through dirt together, shoulders bumping and laughter rising. Those were the days when the world felt simple, like it was just you and her against everything else. But somewhere along the way, things changed.

She changed.

Each day felt like a new level of hell with her, a twisted game of push and pull that you never signed up for. The little comments that once felt like playful teasing morphed into daggers aimed right at your heart.

“Are you really going to wear that?” she'd scoff, eyeing your outfit with disdain. “You know I can’t be seen with someone who dresses like they’ve just rolled out of bed.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sting lingered.

And then there were the late-night texts, the ones that should have been sweet but instead came wrapped in barbs.

“You’re still at home? Wow, I figured you’d have outgrown that loser phase by now.” She’d dismiss your attempts at conversation with an eye-roll emoji, as if your thoughts were nothing more than noise.

But it didn’t stop there. Every time you shared an accomplishment, her reaction felt like a punch to the gut.

“Nice job, I guess. But did you really think you’d be the best? Get real.” The first time it happened, you’d been so proud of yourself. Now? It just made you feel small, insignificant.

And it wasn’t just the words. Her actions stung too.

When you invited her to your family’s gatherings, she’d show up late, tossing off excuses with a smirk, leaving you to face your relatives alone while they questioned your choices.

“You’re not going to let them set you up with anyone, right? I mean, look at you,” she’d say, and you’d feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

When you confronted her about it, you’d been hopeful, thinking maybe she just didn’t realize how her words affected you.

“Aeri, it hurts when you talk to me like that,” you’d say, voice trembling slightly. But instead of a comforting response, she’d laugh, brushing you off.

“It’s just how I am. If you can’t take a little heat, then maybe you shouldn’t be so sensitive.”

Every insult chipped away at your self-esteem, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. You found yourself hesitating to share anything with her, fearing her reaction would cut you deeper. Wasn’t love supposed to lift you up? Instead, she made you feel like you were constantly on the edge of a cliff, teetering between despair and defeat.

The breaking point arrived like a thief in the night. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when Giselle plopped down next to you, scrolling through her own feed. “Why do you spend so much time staring at that? It’s embarrassing to watch,” she said, her tone dismissive, like she was talking to a child.

“Just catching up on things,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but she rolled her eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside you.

“Just admit it—you’re wasting your life on this junk. You should be out doing something worthwhile instead of living in your phone.”

And that was it. That was the moment everything fell into place—the endless string of insults, the constant belittling, the nagging voice in your head that told you you were never good enough. You were exhausted, drained from the battle of trying to please her while she tore you down.

“Why do you talk to me like this?” you finally asked, voice soft but strained. “You… you didn’t used to. We didn’t used to be like this.”

For a moment, a flash of something crossed her face—surprise, maybe. But it was gone before you could even grasp it. She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Maybe you’ve just stopped living up to expectations. People change, you know. Or did you think you'd be the same forever?"

And there it was, her words hanging in the air like poison. You could feel your grip slipping, whatever shred of patience you’d been holding onto breaking apart. It felt like all those memories—the good ones—were slipping out of reach, fading like distant dreams.

With a deep breath, you gently pried her hand off your wrist, letting it drop. "I loved you, Aeri. So much. But… this isn’t love anymore. It can’t be."

For a moment, the silence was unbearable. She just looked at you, her gaze flickering between a hundred emotions that she was probably fighting to hold back.

But you couldn’t stay. Not this time. Without another word, you turned, letting the pain settle in your chest as you walked away. You didn’t look back—couldn’t look back—because if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to keep going.

And as you stepped out into the open air, the weight of it all came crashing down, the memories, the love, the heartbreak.

It was over.

The days after the breakup passed in a blur. It was like walking through a fog where time lost meaning, and every step felt heavier than the last. You’d try to distract yourself, burying your head in anything that didn’t remind you of her—work, friends, even old hobbies you’d forgotten about.

But she was everywhere, haunting your thoughts like a ghost you couldn’t shake.

Every morning felt like waking up with a hollow ache, like something vital had been ripped away and left behind a void. You’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, and the thought of her would drift in, unbidden. You’d remember the warmth of her laugh, the way her eyes used to light up, the small things you’d loved about her before everything went cold. But then, as always, the memories of her words would resurface—the cutting remarks, the icy looks, the way she seemed to take joy in tearing you down. It was a twisted mix of love and hurt, a scar too deep to simply fade.

Yet, every time you felt the familiar ache start to ease, you’d see something that reminded you she’d moved on faster than you could even breathe. A passing rumour, a social media post, or friends mentioning her out at parties, laughing and smiling like she hadn’t lost a thing. It felt like a punch to the gut every time, like she’d left you struggling while she skipped off, unbothered.

One night, as you were out with friends, someone casually mentioned seeing her with someone else, some guy you vaguely remembered from school. “They looked close,” your friend said offhandedly, not knowing the silent chaos those words set off inside you. You forced a smile, tried to shrug it off, but inside, it felt like reopening an old wound. She had already moved on, it seemed. To her, whatever you’d had was just another chapter easily closed.

But for you, it wasn’t that simple.

You’d thought you’d hate her for it, for how quick she seemed to erase you from her life. But all you felt was numbness—a hollow ache that refused to fade. You wanted to forget her, to move on as easily as she had, but that scar ran too deep. It was the kind of hurt that sat heavy in your chest, that kept you awake at night, wondering if you’d meant anything to her at all.

For Giselle, it was different.

She had always been good at compartmentalizing, at locking away her emotions somewhere they couldn’t hurt her. To her, breaking up felt like ripping off a bandage—quick, clean, and necessary. She had convinced herself that it was better this way, that maybe her words hadn’t been that harsh, that maybe you just weren’t strong enough to handle her. It was easier that way, to justify it as your fault.

The first few weeks were easy enough. She threw herself into her life, meeting new people, going out more, laughing louder, living harder. To anyone watching, she seemed fine—more than fine, even. But every so often, in the quiet moments, she’d feel the echo of your absence, a strange emptiness that crept in like a shadow she couldn’t shake.

She would scroll through her phone, accidentally stumbling upon old photos of you and her, looking so carefree, so close. Her thumb would hover over the screen for a second, maybe two, before she would snap out of it, closing it out and shoving the memories back down. Those images, those memories—they belonged to a time that was over, she reminded herself.

You were just someone she’d grown out of, that was all.

But as the months went on, that hollow feeling gnawed at her more than she wanted to admit. She’d be at a party, surrounded by people, laughing and smiling, but somehow, she’d feel like something was missing. She’d catch herself looking for you in the crowd, expecting to see your familiar face, only to be met with strangers. She’d brush it off, remind herself that she’d made the right choice, that she’d only been honest with you, even if the truth hurt.

But every so often, in the quiet of her room, she’d find herself staring at her reflection, wondering if she’d been too harsh, if she’d let go of something too quickly. She hated admitting it, even to herself, but there was a part of her that felt like she’d lost more than she wanted to.

As for you, time passed, but the scar remained. You’d tried moving on, had even gone out on a few dates here and there. But no one quite fit, no one felt like home the way she had. You were left with memories that haunted you, moments that hurt to remember but felt impossible to forget. You knew, deep down, that she wasn’t the same girl you’d grown up with, that the person you’d loved was long gone.

And yet, the weight of it sat heavy, like an invisible chain holding you back.

You stopped going to the places you used to frequent together, stopped listening to the songs you both loved. You thought distance would help, that if you could just put enough space between you and her memory, you’d finally be free. But the scar she left was too deep. The memories didn’t fade; they stayed with you, a constant reminder of a love that had turned bitter.

The worst part was, you realized, that you still loved her in some twisted way. The memories of her, of the good times before everything fell apart, were a part of you that you couldn’t let go. She was a scar you couldn’t heal, a ghost you couldn’t escape.

And maybe, just maybe, a part of you was afraid that you’d never be able to let her go entirely.

Giselle wasn’t sure what went wrong.

One moment, she was heading home after yet another bad date, heels clicking against the pavement as she clutched her phone, scrolling through a string of half-hearted messages from the guy who’d seemed like a good match on paper but ended up as anything but. He’d been polite, decent-looking, even funny at times. But the entire night had felt… hollow. Forced. Empty in a way she couldn’t quite put into words.

She barely noticed her own steps changing direction, her feet carrying her somewhere familiar, somewhere she hadn’t been in ages. And before she knew it, she was standing at the edge of the old playground where you and she had spent countless afternoons together, racing down slides and swinging as high as you could go, daring each other to jump off at the last second.

The place hadn’t changed. The swings still creaked in that comforting, rusty way, and the worn-out slide was the same as ever. A wave of nostalgia hit her, stirring something deep inside. She almost smiled, but the ache in her chest was too sharp.

What had she even been thinking, she wondered, letting you go like that? She’d told herself it was your fault, that you’d been too sensitive, too weak. She’d built up a wall, convinced herself she’d done the right thing. But standing here, she felt the cracks in that wall spreading, threatening to bring everything down with it.

Her hand brushed over the chipped paint of the slide, a strange sadness bubbling up. She could almost see you there, hear your laughter, the way you’d tease her for being afraid to jump off the swing while you soared through the air without a second thought. Those moments had felt so simple, so… real.

She realized, with a sinking feeling, that maybe she’d lost the one person who had ever truly understood her.

She glanced around the empty playground, a hollow sense of regret settling in. She had dated since then, had gone out with people who showered her with compliments and treated her well enough. But none of them had ever made her feel the way you did. None of them had seen her the way you had. She tried to shake the thought away, but it clung to her, a stubborn ghost that refused to let go.

Meanwhile, you were… okay. Better than okay, actually.

It hadn’t been easy, getting over her. For months, the weight of her memory had felt like an anchor, dragging you down, keeping you tethered to a past that hurt to remember. But somewhere along the way, you’d managed to shake it off, bit by bit. You’d thrown yourself into new things, surrounded yourself with friends who brought out the best in you. Life was lighter now, free of the constant ache that used to sit heavy in your chest.

You’d learned to enjoy your own company again, to go out without the shadow of her looming over you. You went to new places, met new people, tried things you’d never thought to try before. There were days you didn’t think of her at all, days when you felt like yourself again, like a weight had lifted and you were free to be whoever you wanted to be.

One night, while out with friends, you found yourself laughing so hard your stomach hurt, genuinely, for the first time in a long time.

It was strange, realizing you didn’t miss her anymore.

The ache had faded, replaced by a sense of peace, a quiet acceptance of what was and what could never be again. You were okay with it. You were happy, even.

You hadn’t looked back at the old playground in months, hadn’t let yourself go back to the places that reminded you of her. You’d finally put that chapter behind you.

And it felt…liberating.

Back at the playground, Giselle sat down on one of the swings, her hands loosely gripping the chains as she rocked back and forth, letting the memories wash over her. She could almost hear your voice, the way you’d laugh as you tried to push her higher, always challenging her to go beyond what she thought she could. Back then, she’d loved that about you. Now, she felt the loss of it, sharp and unrelenting.

She was supposed to have moved on. That’s what she’d told herself, what she’d wanted to believe.

But in the quiet of the night, alone in a place filled with ghosts of what used to be, she felt the sting of regret settle in her chest like a wound that wouldn’t heal. It was different from her other breakups, the kind that left her with nothing more than a faint memory, forgotten after a few weeks. This one hurt in a way she hadn’t expected, a scar too deep to ignore.

Maybe the both of you were childhood friends? Maybe the both of you were each other's first love? Maybe this was you two's first break up?

It hit her, suddenly, how much she missed you. How much she missed *everything*—the quiet talks, the shared laughs, the way you’d been there for her, even when she pushed you away. She’d tried to bury it, to pretend it hadn’t mattered, but now, sitting alone in the darkness, she couldn’t escape it.

And maybe, she realized with a bitter smile, this was the cost of letting someone who truly cared about you slip away. The echoes of what could have been lingered, haunting her with every swing of the chains, every quiet creak.

She wondered if you’d forgiven her, if you’d moved on the way she was supposed to. The thought hurt more than she wanted to admit, but she knew she’d never get an answer. You were out there somewhere, living a life she wasn’t part of anymore. And she had no one to blame but herself.

The playground was empty and silent as she rose from the swing, feeling the weight of her own choices settle in, unshakeable.

The tunes whistled from your mouth were light and airy.

You decided to take a break from your routine one evening, heading out to grab some groceries. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the streets as you walked down familiar paths, feeling at ease in the skin you were slowly rediscovering. Life felt good, lighter without the weight of your past relationship clinging to you. The grocery store was just around the corner, and as you pushed through the automatic doors, the familiar sounds of carts and chatter surrounded you.

You grabbed a basket and began making your way through the aisles, casually tossing in essentials—bread, eggs, some snacks for your late-night snacks. The mundane act of grocery shopping was comforting, a small, simple pleasure. But as you rounded the corner into the liquor section, you froze.

Giselle.

Arms full of booze, like she was gearing up for a rough night. She wore the same careless look she’d always worn, lips slightly pursed, eyes focused on the labels with a calculated indifference. And then, without thinking, you let out a small, involuntary laugh.

It was almost comical, really.

After everything, after the breakup and the haunting memories, here she was, acting like nothing had changed. Like she could just keep moving on in that easy, self-assured way of hers. But something about the way she clutched that last bottle, fingers trembling just slightly, caught you off guard.

“Hey,” you found yourself saying, before you could think better of it.

She looked up, eyes widening slightly, then narrowed into something unreadable. “What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharp, almost mocking. Same old Giselle. She gave a short, cold laugh, tossing her hair back as if to brush you off like you were nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

“Just… groceries.” You shrugged, feeling the awkwardness settle between you. But something kept you there, rooted to the spot. Despite everything, you couldn’t walk away.

She watched you for a moment, her mouth twisting into something almost like a smirk, but there was a crack in her facade that you could see now—a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. She tried to hide it, tried to carry herself with that same arrogant pride, but it was different. Her eyes looked hollow, a little desperate.

Without another word, you took some of the bottles from her, your hands brushing for a second. She didn’t resist, didn’t argue. She just looked away, almost embarrassed, and it was the most real she’d been in a long time.

“Let me at least walk you back,” you said, more of a statement than a question. "You don't want to just sleep on the street now, right?"

“Suit yourself,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Not like I need your help, though.” Her voice was cold, dismissive, but the flicker of pain in her eyes betrayed her. She’d always been too proud to show any weakness, to admit when she was struggling.

The walk was quiet, filled with that uncomfortable silence that you both knew too well. She stumbled once, catching herself on your arm. You didn’t say anything, just steadied her, feeling the weight of everything left unspoken between you. Her grip tightened, and you could feel her fingers digging into your arm, like she was holding on to something more than just her balance.

After a while, you realized where you were headed—a nondescript hotel on the edge of town, the kind that began to run down after a few years, the kind with rooms that can be comparable to a prison cell. She let go of your arm, a bit too quickly, her face flushing as she fumbled with her keys.

“Staying here?” You couldn’t keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Just for now,” she replied, jaw clenched, defiance in her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Why not just… I don’t know, go home? Or crash at a friend’s place?” You tried to keep the curiosity out of your tone, but the question hung heavy in the air.

She scoffed, but it sounded hollow, forced. “Why would I? I can take care of myself. Don’t need anyone.” But her voice wavered, just slightly, and for a second, she looked like she might break. She didn’t want to admit it, but you could see it in her eyes—she was struggling.

You sighed, a mix of frustration and pity welling up inside you. “Aeri… what are you doing?” You shook your head, feeling the weight of everything come rushing back, all the hurt, the pain she’d put you through. “This is just… horrible. Why are you even putting yourself through this?”

Her eyes flashed, that old arrogance flaring up. “What, you think I need you to tell me what to do?” She crossed her arms, glaring at you, but you could see the hint of desperation beneath the bravado.

“Actually, yeah,” you shot back, feeling your anger rise. “Because this? This isn’t strength, Aeri. This is you hiding, pretending like you don’t need anyone. Like you didn’t just ruin everything because you couldn’t handle being honest.”

She laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “Oh, and you’re the expert now?” Her voice was mocking, but her eyes betrayed her. “You don’t get it. I did it for us. I thought… I thought if I made you think I was all you had, that you’d never leave.”

You felt your chest tighten, anger flaring up like a wildfire. “All you had to do was be real with me! All you had to do was let me see the real you, not this… mask you wore every day. You broke me down, Aeri. And for what? Some twisted idea that I’d stay because I had no choice?”

She looked away, her hands clenched at her sides, her mouth a thin, stubborn line. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d actually go.” Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with a raw vulnerability you’d never seen before.

“Well, I did. Because you left me with no choice.” You felt the weight of those words, felt the pain they carried. “And now… it’s too late. I can’t go back to who I was with you. You broke that part of me, Aeri.”

She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, she just stood there, staring at you, her pride shattered, her arrogance stripped away. And for the first time, you saw her—really saw her—raw, broken, and alone.

You stepped back, letting out a shaky breath. “Goodbye, Aeri. Our love was great…until it wasn't. ”

As you turned to leave, you heard it—a faint, choked sound, like the start of a sob. You didn’t turn around, didn’t let yourself look back. But in that moment, you knew. She was crying, silently, the first real tears for everything you’d both lost.

And you walked away, leaving her with the fragments of a love that could never be whole again.

#aespa #aespa x reader #kpop #aespa giselle #giselle #aespa x you #aespa giselle x reader #aespa x male reader #aeri uchinaga #giselle x reader #x reader

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tavolgisvist · 2 days ago

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Paul about the breakup of The Beatles in The Lyrics, 2021

The four of us just knew how to fall in with each other and play, and that was our real strength. That made it all the more sorrowful to think that our breaking up was almost inevitable. So there’s a wistful aspect to ‘Get Back’. The idea that you should get back to your roots, that The Beatles should get back to how we were in Liverpool. And the roots are embodied in the style of the song, which is straight-up rock and roll. Because that was definitely what I thought we should do when we broke up – that we should ‘get back to where we once belonged’ and become a little band again. We should just play and do the occasional little gig. The others laughed at that – quite understandably – because by then it was not really a practical solution. John had just met Yoko, and he clearly needed to escape to a new place, whereas I was saying we should escape to an old place. Reviving the old Beatles just wasn’t on the cards. It was too late to be recommending that we not forget who we were and where we once were from. If my dream at the time really was to get back to where we once belonged, John’s dream was to go beyond where we once belonged, to go somewhere we didn’t yet belong. I’ve already mentioned how in September 1969 we were in a meeting and talking about future plans, and John said, ‘Well, I’m not doing it. I’m leaving. Bye.’ In the ensuing moments, he was giggling and saying how this felt really thrilling, like telling someone you’re going to divorce them and then laughing. At the time, obviously, that was wildly hurtful. Talk about a knockout blow. You’re lying on the canvas, and he’s giggling and telling you how good it feels to have just knocked you out. It took a while, but I suppose I eventually got with the programme. This was my best mate from my youth, the collaborator with whom I’d done some of the best work of the twentieth century (he said, modestly). If he fell in love with this woman, what did that have to do with me? Not only did I have to let him do it, but I had to admire him for doing it. That was the position I eventually reached. There was nothing else I could do but be cool with it.

(Paul McCartney about Get Back (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

That was coupled with the business problems at Apple Records, which really were horrible. The business meetings were just soul-destroying. We’d sit around in an office, and it was a place you just didn’t want to be, with people you didn’t want to be with. There’s a great picture that Linda took of Allen Klein, in which he’s got a hammer like Maxwell’s silver hammer. It’s very symbolic. And that’s why we have the little nod and a wink in the middle section to ‘You Never Give Me Your Money’, in the lines ‘I never give you my pillow / I only send you my invitations’. That whole period weighed on me to such an extent that I even began to think it was all tied in with the idea of original sin. Even though my mum had christened me as a Catholic, we weren’t brought up Catholic, so I didn’t buy into the concept of original sin on a day-to-day basis. It’s really very depressing to think that you were born a loser.

(Paul McCartney about Carry That Weight (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

The Beatles stuff all got too heavy, and 'heavy' at that time had a very particular meaning for me. It meant more than oppressive. It meant having to go into meetings and sit in the boardroom with all the other Beatles and with the accountants and with this guy Allen Klein. He was a New York spiv who had come over to London and talked to The Rolling Stones and persuaded them he was the man for them. Prior to that, he had persuaded Sam Cooke he was the man for him. I smelled a rat but the other chaps didn’t, so we had a fight over it and I got voted down. I was trying to be Mr Rational and Mr Sensible, and it all went haywire. It was early 1969, and The Beatles were already beginning to break up. John had said he was leaving, and Allen Klein told us not to tell anyone, as he was in the middle of doing deals with Capitol Records. So, for a few months we had to keep mum. We were living a lie, knowing that John had left the group. Allen Klein and Dick James, who sold our publishing in Northern Songs without giving us a chance to buy the company, were both hanging around in the background of this song. All the people who had screwed us or were still trying to screw us. It’s fascinating how directly we acknowledged this in the song. We’d cottoned on to them, and they must have cottoned on to the fact that we’d cottoned on. We couldn’t have been more direct about it. ...

Contracts were written on funny paper. Lying behind the song is the idea of the contract as a relationship between two people. The negotiations are at once business negotiations and romantic negotiations; I’m thinking of the lines ‘And in the middle of negotiations / You break down’. The breakdown in negotiations is also a kind of nervous breakdown. The problem was that, by this stage, everything was up for negotiation, and miscommunication was the order of the day. We weren’t really writing together anymore. Each person was bringing in little bits of this and little bits of that. And we all knew that phase of our lives, of being The Beatles, was coming to an end. We were working towards an album, knowing it was probably going to be our final fling. Though Let It Be was released later, Abbey Road was indeed the last album we recorded in the studio. There was an upside, however. I’d got married to Linda, and our relationship offered some respite from the dreary infighting and the financial stuff. The lines ‘One sweet dream / Pick up the bags and get in the limousine’ were a reference to how Linda and I were still able to disappear for a weekend in the country. That saved me.

(Paul McCartney about You Never Give Me Your Money (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This was just after The Beatles broke up, and I was trying to establish myself as a solo artist with a new repertoire. If it was going to work like the Beatles repertoire had worked, I had to have a hit. One in two songs had to be a hit. So, this was a conscious effort to write a hit, and Phil was very helpful. We knew that if we had a hit, it would cement our relationship and we would keep working together, which we did with the RAM album. It would prove that we were both good – he as a producer and I as a singer songwriter. Releasing my first solo song after the breakup felt like a big moment. Thrilling, though tinged with sadness. It also felt like I had something to prove, and that kind of challenge is always exciting. The song went to number two in the UK singles chart and number five in the US Billboard Hot 100, so it did pretty well. Of course, this was still a time when there was a bit of tension between John and me, and this sometimes filtered into our songwriting. John made fun of this song in one of his own, ‘How Do You Sleep?’The only thing you done was yesterday And since you’ve gone you’re just another day One of his little piss takes.

(Paul McCartney about Another Day (1969/1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song was written a year or so after The Beatles breakup, at a time when John was firing missiles at me with his songs, and one or two of them were quite cruel. I don’t know what he hoped to gain, other than punching me in the face. The whole thing really annoyed me. I decided to turn my missiles on him too, but I’m not really that kind of a writer, so it was quite veiled. It was the 1970s equivalent of what we might today call a ‘diss track’. Songs like this, where you’re calling someone out on their behaviour, are quite commonplace now, but back then it was a fairly new ‘genre’. The idea of too many people ‘preaching practices’ was definitely aimed at John telling everyone what they ought to do – telling me, for instance, that I ought to go into business with Allen Klein. I just got fed up with being told what to do, so I wrote this song. ‘You took your lucky break and broke it in two’ was me saying basically, ‘You’ve made this break, so good luck with it.’ But it was pretty mild. I didn’t really come out with any savagery, and it’s actually a fairly upbeat song; it doesn’t really sound that vitriolic. If you didn’t know the story, I don’t know that you’d be able to guess at the anger behind its writing. It was all a bit weird and a bit nasty, and I was basically saying, ‘Let’s be sensible. We had a lot going for us in The Beatles, and what actually split us up is the business stuff, and that’s pretty pathetic really, so let’s try and be peaceful. Let’s maybe give peace a chance.’ The first verse and the chorus have pretty much all the anger I could muster, and when I did the vocal on the second line, ‘Too many reaching for a piece of cake’, I remember singing it as ‘Piss off cake’, which you can hear if you really listen to it. Again, I was getting back at John, but my heart wasn’t really in it. This is me saying, ‘Too many people are sharing the party line. Too many people are grabbing for a slice of the cake, a piece of the pie.’ The ‘sleep in late’ thing – whether that was accurate, whether John and Yoko actually slept in late or not, I’m not sure (although John often was a late riser when I would drive out to Weybridge so that we could write together). They were all references to people thinking that their own truth was the only truth, which was certainly what was coming from John. The thing is, so much of what they held to be truth was crap. War is over? Well no, it isn’t. But I get what you’re saying: war is over if you want it to be. So, if enough people want war to be over, it’ll be over. I’m not sure that’s entirely true, but it’s a great sentiment; it’s a nice thing to think and to say.

I’d been able to accept Yoko in the studio, sitting on a blanket in front of my amp. I’d worked hard to come to terms with that. But then when we broke up and everyone was now flailing around, John turned nasty. I don’t really understand why. Maybe because we grew up in Liverpool, where it was always good to get in the first punch of a fight. The whole story in a nutshell is that we were having a meeting in 1969, and John showed up and said he’d met this guy Allen Klein, who had promised Yoko an exhibition in Syracuse, and then matter-of-factly John told us he was leaving the band. That’s basically how it happened. It was three to one because the other two went with John, so it was looking like Allen Klein was going to own our entire Beatles empire. I was not too keen on that idea. John actually had Allen Klein and Yoko in the room, suggesting lyrics during writing sessions. In his song ‘How Do You Sleep?’ the line ‘The only thing you done was yesterday’ was apparently Allen Klein’s suggestion, and John said, ‘Hey, great. Put that in.’ I can see the laughs they had doing it, and I had to work very hard not to take it too seriously, but at the back of my mind I was thinking, ‘Wait a minute, All I ever did was “Yesterday”? I suppose that’s a funny pun, but all I ever did was “Yesterday”, “Let It Be”, “The Long and Winding Road”, “Eleanor Rigby”, “Lady Madonna”, . . . – fuck you, John.’ I had to fight them for my bit of The Beatles and, in fact, for their bit of The Beatles, which many years later they realised and almost thanked me for. Nowadays people get it, but at the time I think the others felt they were the ones who were victims, who were being hurt by my actions. Allen Klein already had a history with The Rolling Stones. I just thought, ‘Oy oy oy, no, this guy’s got such a bad reputation.’ And good old John says, ‘Oh, if he’s that badly talked about, he can’t be all bad.’ John had this kind of distorted thinking, which was amusing sometimes. But not when someone was going to take everything that John and George and Ringo and I owned and had worked really hard to get.

So, I stood up as the sensible one and said, ‘This is not good.’ Klein wanted twenty per cent, and I said, ‘Tell him he can have ten, if you have to go with him.’ ‘Oh no, no, no,’ they came back. ‘No, he wants twenty.’ It seemed to me they were just fucking out of it and making no attempt to do anything sensible. A lot of hurt went down during that period in the early 1970s – them feeling hurt, me feeling hurt – but John being John, he was the one who would write a hurtful song. That was his bag.

(Paul McCartney about Too Many People (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

Towards the end of 1969, John had quite gleefully told us it was over. There were a few of us in the Apple boardroom at the time. I think George was away visiting family, but Ringo and I were at the meeting, and John was saying no to every suggestion. I thought we should go back to playing smaller gigs again, but the answer came back: ‘No’. Eventually John said, ‘Oh, I’ve been wanting to tell you this, but I’m leaving The Beatles.’ We were all shocked. Relations had been strained, but we sat there saying, ‘What? Why? Why? Why?’ It was like a divorce, and he had just had a divorce from Cynthia the year before. I can remember him saying, ‘Oh, this is quite exciting.’ That was very John, and I had admired this kind of contrarian behaviour about him since we were kids, when I first met him.

He really was a bit loony, in the nicest possible way. But whilst all of us could see what he meant, it was not quite so exciting for those left on the other side.

(Paul McCartney about Dear Friend (1971), The Lyrics, 2021)

This is one of my favourite songs. It's a ballad with a brass section, but it’s always felt Victorian in style to me. It’s very heartfelt. ‘A love so warm and beautiful / Stands when time itself is falling’. I like that idea, instead of just saying, ‘It will go on forever.’ I got a good feeling writing this song, and listening to it now, I still do. ‘Love, faith and hope are beautiful’. The brass solo is lovely for me because it harks back to the brass bands that were so common when I was a kid; there would often be brass bands in the park or in the streets. My dad played trumpet, as I never fail to mention, and he had his own little band – Jim Mac’s Jazz Band. The first instrument he bought me was a trumpet, and he taught me the scale of C which, when you go on the piano, becomes B-flat. It’s all very complicated. That’s why we didn’t even bother learning music. I realised that I wanted to swap the trumpet for a guitar, so I asked his permission, and he said, ‘Yes, okay.’ ‘Warm and Beautiful’ was written well after the demise of The Beatles, and at this time we knew sadness. I knew about delving into your mind to look for help and looking for some sort of solace in a song. I liked the idea of writing a song in a universal way that dispels the sadness. You write about the wonderful things you know in the world, and you try to write so that it will sing well and be well received by people dealing with grief something that inevitably surrounds all of us at one time or another. On a more personal level, the main inspiration for the song was Linda…

(Paul McCartney about Warm and Beautiful (1976), The Lyrics, 2021)

After The Beatles thing became so depressing, Linda and I decided we’d get out of London and start living full-time on our small holding in Scotland. It was quite a difficult period because of the band’s breakup but it allowed me to see another side of myself. First and foremost, we did everything for ourselves, and at this point it was Linda, Heather, Mary – who was still a baby – and me. If we needed something to eat, we’d go into town in the little Land Rover, come back up, and cook it. We didn’t have anyone helping us, except for one guy, the shepherd, because it was a little sheep farm. It was an experience that allowed me to be a man. <…> I’d grown up in Liverpool and gone on the road with The Beatles around the world and then around again, and now here I was on a farm in the middle of nowhere, and it was sensational. <…> This was the kind of thing I’d never done, ever, in my life, and it was amazingly liberating. I got to do all the things I think a lot of young people still dream about today – the famous ‘gap year’. I sense a lot of people want that freedom, escaping the rat race…

(Paul McCartney about When Winter Comes (1992), The Lyrics, 2021)

After the breakup of The Beatles, I wouldoften just sit around a lot. Sometimes I sat in the kitchen while the kids were playing. Maybe they were drawing. Maybe they were doing bits and pieces of homework. In this case, I came across the chords and I just felt optimistic, and I liked the idea of a song saying that help is coming and there’s a bright light on the horizon. I’ve got absolutely no evidence for this, but I like to believe it. It helps to lift my spirits, to move me forward, and hopefully it might help other people move forward too.

(Paul McCartney about Great Day (1972/1997), The Lyrics, 2021)

Wings, which we began in 1971, was in many ways an experiment to see whether there was life after The Beatles, to see whether that success could be followed. It was the result of asking myself, ‘Am I going to stop now?’ The Beatles were so wonderful and all-encompassing, so successful. Now, should I stop and look for something else to do? But I thought, ‘No. I like music too much, so whatever the something else is, it will be music.’ <…> But it wouldn’t be The Wings, like The Beatles. Just Wings. My problem after The Beatles was, who’s going to be as good as them? I thought, ‘We can’t be as good as The Beatles, but we can be something else.’ I knew that if I were to go ahead with this project I’d have to tough it out, but I had reserves of courage from being part of The Beatles when pennies were thrown at us at the village hall in Stroud, when we were still starting out. <…> Starting off a new band is always a lot of fun, but it’s a lot of hard work too; you have to establish yourself. Following The Beatles was one of the most difficult things for me, just trying to live up to those expectations. It was even more difficult for her [Linda]. I started to write songs for Wings from 1971 onwards, when we got started, and I tried to keep them away from The Beatles’ style. There were avenues I could go down that I wouldn’t have gone down with The Beatles, like bringing in the influence of reggae, which Linda and I got into in Jamaica. I fancied doing something crazy, and Wings allowed me a little bit more freedom. So, this is a love song in which Cupid’s arrow is referenced, but it’s a malevolent arrow. It’s possible I’d seen an illustration of Cupid and thought, ‘Cupid fires a bow, but I’ll switch it. It won’t be love; it will be the opposite.’ The character in the song has been wounded. He’s been cheated on. And it could’ve been a great relationship, could’ve been fantastic. As things stand, you couldn’t ‘have found a more down hero’, because there was nobody more down than me at that moment. So, get it together and bring your love. I have always had a soft spot for this song. There’s a nice horn riff in it, and it’s funky. Sometimes you write to get a sort of feeling rather than a perfectly ‘correct’ lyric. Sometimes the lyric can be secondary to the feeling. This one has as much, or more, to do with the feel of the song, the groove.

(Paul McCartney about Arrow Through Me (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

John described ‘Coming Up’ somewhere as ‘a good piece of work’. He’d been lying around not doing much, and it sort of shocked him out of inertia. So it was nice to hear that it had struck a chord with him. At first, after the breakup of The Beatles, we had no contact, but there were various things we needed to talk about. Our relationship was a bit fraught sometimes because we were discussing business, and we would sometimes insult each other on the phone. But gradually we got past that, and if I was in New York I would ring up and say, ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea?’

(Paul McCartney about Coming Up (1979), The Lyrics, 2021)

It’s very possible that I’d been feeling down in London. I was back in the solace of family and Liverpool, and what with the Beatles troubles down south, I was likely thinking, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to get home and have that comfortable feeling again?’ So, there may have been some of that in the background. I wouldn’t rule it out. When I wrote the song, I hadn’t been back home to Liverpool for a long time. But now I was at my dad’s house, which wasn’t quite home because it was a house I’d bought him when I got some money – a five-bedroomed mock Tudor place in Heswall near the River Dee. But it was still Liverpool, and it was ‘homeward’. So I added, ‘Once there was a way to get back homeward / Once there was a way to get back home’. The song turned out to be quite soulful, and I think that’s what attracted me to those lyrics in the first place – that notion of consoling a baby or reading kids a bedtime story. ‘Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry / And I will sing a lullaby’. Those are lines – or something with a similar sentiment – that most parents probably say to their children to soothe them when they’re growing up.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Slumbers (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

It became a refuge of sorts, and it was nice to get away from London and everything – both the good and bad – that comes with the city. I would drive a Massey Ferguson 315 tractor and mow the hay, and I loved that because I’d been a nature fiend as a kid, and this freedom just gave me time to think – ‘Down to Junior's Farm where I want to lay low’. It was such a relief to get out of those business meetings with people in suits, who were so serious all the time, and to go off to Scotland and be able just to sit around in a T-shirt and corduroys. I was very much in that mindset when I wrote this song. The basic message is, let’s get out of here. You might say it’s my post-Beatles getting-out-of-town song.

(Paul McCartney about Junior's Farm (1974), The Lyrics, 2021)

The context in which the song was written was one of stress. It was a difficult time because we were heading towards the breakup of The Beatles. It was a period of change partly because John and Yoko had got together, and that had an effect on the dynamics of the group. Yoko was literally in the middle of the recording session, and that was challenging. But it was also something we had to deal with. Unless there was a really serious problem – unless one of us said, ‘I can’t sing with her there’ – we just had to let it be. We weren’t very confrontational, so we just bottled it up and got on with it. We were northern lads, and that was part of our culture. Grin and bear it. One interesting thing about ‘Let It Be’ that I was reminded of only recently is that, while I was studying English literature at the Liverpool Institute High School for Boys with my favourite teacher, Alan Durband, I read Hamlet. In those days you had to learn speeches by heart because you had to be able to carry them into the exam and quote them. There are a couple of lines from late in the play: O, I could tell you But let it be. – Horatio, I am dead I suspect those lines had subconsciously planted themselves in my memory. When I was writing ‘Let It Be’, I’d been doing too much of everything, was run ragged, and this was all taking its toll. The band, me we were all going through times of trouble, as the song goes, and there didn’t seem to be any way out of the mess. <…> Around the time we recorded ‘Let It Be’, I’d been pushing the band to go back out and play some club dates – to get back to basics and just bond again as a band, end the decade like we’d begun it, just playing for the love of it. We didn’t get to do that as The Beatles, but that idea did inform the direction of the Let It Be album. We didn’t want any studio trickery. It was supposed to be an honest, no-overdubbing album. It didn’t exactly end up that way, but that had been the plan.

(Paul McCartney about Let It Be (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

This song is also an analogy for when something goes wrong out of the blue, as I was beginning to find happening around this time in our business dealings. Recording sessions were always good because no matter what our personal troubles were, no matter what was happening on the business front, the minute we sat down to make a song we were in good shape. Right until the end there was always a great joy in working together in the studio. So there we were, recording a song like ‘Maxwell’s Silver Hammer’ and knowing we would never have the opportunity to perform it. That possibility was over. It had been knocked on the head like one of Maxwell’s victims. Bang bang.

(Paul McCartney about Maxwell's Silver Hammer (1969), The Lyrics, 2021)

In much the way that Linda wanted to flee from New York society– the constrictions of Park Avenue and Scarsdale – I wanted to flee from what The Beatles had become. I was hoping to escape, she was hoping to escape. So we had this feeling that we had each pulled the other ‘out of time’. Though the song was written immediately after The Beatles’ breakup, it was somehow included under the Lennon-McCartney rubric, where it doesn’t belong. It was one of my first solo songs, but because of the deal, it got caught in the publishing net. That was very annoying. <…> …the central idea being that there’s so often a split between the inner and outer. <…> The elements of fear and loneliness are very much to the fore. ‘Maybe I’m afraid of the way I love you’ is itself a troubling idea. While it’s true that Linda is the person I’m addressing, it’s also true that I’m dealing in fiction. Starting with myself, the characters who appear in my songs are imagined. <…> In any event, this song isn’t the conventional way of presenting a relationship, or of some of the contradictions that can arise from being in love. <…> It shows the fragility of love.

(Paul McCartney about Maybe I’m Amazed (1970), The Lyrics, 2021)

John went to the exhibition, and I think that was when he and Yoko met, towards the end of 1966. He climbed up a ladder to see what she’d written on the ceiling, and got close enough to it to read it, and it said, ‘Yes.’ So he thought, ‘That’s a sign; this is it,’ and they fell madly in love. Once they were an item, there was the whole Beatles recording thing, where she would be there too. I think this started at the beginning of the ‘White Album’ sessions – so, around the end of spring in 1968. And at first we all – all of us except John – found it pretty intrusive, but we went along with it and worked around her. And eventually I came to the realisation that, look, if John loves her, we’ve just got to let it be, and we’ve got to support this relationship. That was basically my feeling. Then, a year or two later, The Beatles broke up, and it was a bad period, a real low point, where everyone was taking potshots at everyone. And I felt that John and Yoko were particularly good in the potshot department, saying things in interviews, or comments that would make their way to you. They would say not always very pleasant things, and looking back on it, I sort of think, ‘Why? You’re annoyed, so say something unpleasant?’ Over time, the situation eased off and my relationship with John got better, and I used to see him in New York or speak to him on the phone.

(Paul McCartney about Golden Earth Girl (1993), The Lyrics, 2021)

I’m not sure I thought of it at the time, even though this was well after The Beatles disbanded, but I can’t help connecting the oppressiveness associated with that phrase to the oppressiveness that coincided with the end of The Beatles. Not that The Beatles are over exactly. It’s not like we were some little band that never had another record; even though half of us have died, the phenomenon continues stronger than ever. Everything I do seems to be painted with ‘Beatle’…

(Paul McCartney about Put It There (1988), The Lyrics, 2021)

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igglemouse · 1 day ago

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Hey look who's here to kick off my day, Niklas, the man of destiny himself. I'm not surprised but he is sporting a big smile on his face which I love to see! It's supposed to be Summerday, by the way, but as you can tell the weather here doesn't really think so.

"I was thinking," Niklas says after I invite him inside, his cheerful mood radiating off of him and bringing a smile to my face too. "It's summer, maybe we can go out and do some summery stuff?"

"Oh?" I glance at one of the windows and peer beyond the glass to see the dreary gray morning that is common here oft times in Windenburg. "It sure doesn't feel like summer."

"That's Windenburg for you!" he agrees with a laugh and yeah, can't argue there but what kind of summery things can we do with a day like this?

"What did you have in mind?" I ask.

"Just something simple, maybe, head out to the public pool?"

I can't help but smirk and tease him a little, it is a good idea buuuut I have a feeling I know why he's thinking about a little date out to the pool. "Ah, wanting to see me in a swimsuit then?"

So we head to the Bathe De Rill and thankfully we're a little early so the pool is pretty much empty. It's also raining which probably explains the lack of people but honestly why would rain stop a trip to the pool? You're going to get wet any ways, so what's the difference? Ah well, public pools are no fun if there's too much of a crowd.

After a few casual laps, nothing competitive, but we both use enough energy so that we had to pause and catch our breaths giving us a perfect time to start a conversation. "So, any water tricks you can show me?"

"Hmm? No," he gives his head a little shake, wading restlessly in the water. "It's always hard to manipulate the elements. Fire, water, air, those forces take a lot of skill and power to get a handle of."

"I can imagine but you're telling me you have no tricks at all!?" He's so lame sometimes! "Not even a bubble or a little sprout of water or-"

"Oh, I know a trick I can do with water?" He says but his tone is a little too playful now and it makes me suspicious of what he might say next and yet I can't help but ask.

"Yesss?" my eyes narrow, knowing the set up suddenly, it's going to be a lewd joke isn't it?

"I can show you later tonight."

Ugh, I knew it! Let me guess, something something make me wet something something? Yeah, that's He's also snickering like a child too as if he's told the most clever of jokes! All I can do is groan, roll my eyes, and float over to the edge of pool to make my exit.

He follows me outside of the pool and we both decide to hang out a little longer here. For a while we just walk, letting ourselves dry with the help of a very mild sun and a slight breeze but eventually we find somewhere to stop. Away from the trickle of people who have waited out the rain to visit the famous Bathe de Rill. I am mostly focused though on his watch, there is something about it that draws the eyes, it looks ordinary and yet clearly it isn't.

"So is that thing waterproof?" I ask, my eyes glaring at it as if it had asked me a question instead.

"Yea, fireproof too. It can withstand a lot, it's...well, it's very old. My great grandmother had her house burned down in a fire, attempted arson we think, but she later retrieved it in the ashes as if it were brand new."

"That...that thing seems pretty powerful?" Fire usually is all powerful, after all, it's like pure energy. Fire kills everything, doesn't it? Except for his watch I guess.

He shrugs as if it the answer was obvious. "Yeah, it is, but honestly it's a passive kind of power. Not an active kind of power."

"So you say it points you to where you need to be but for what purpose like...is it trying to help you succeed or..."

Another shrug. "Simply where I need to be, whatever that means. It's not always serving me, at least that's what I've been told but honestly I don't think my father even knows what it does."

"What do you mean?" I ask, because the more I hear about it the more confusing it gets. He used it to claim that that we were meant to be but what if it dragged him my way for another reason?

"It's...hard to explain," he rubs the back of his neck for lack of a better answer. "It's not trying to make me rich or anything, it's just simply...where I need to be."

"Ugh, I'm starting to understand why you avoid magic!"

I head back home with Niklas because by the time we left the pool night had fallen and you know he insisted on walking me home. He warned of vampires and werewolves and the mothman and bigfoot too...okay, he only warned me about vampires because he seriously has a hatred for them.

Either way, I mentioned to him that he couldn't stay long because I had some cleaning to do and once again he deployed his magic to help me out. Cleaning the tub with a few swirls of his arms and some sparkly sparkles on top of it and voila, a clean tub! Yeah so, that's a neat trick! I'd be fine with just learning that honestly.

Also, yes, he never did change out of his swimshorts? Yeah so, that was my day, I guess I made the most of it.

Episode List - Next Episode 3.3

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #ts4 #Sims #Sims 4 #sims legacy #my sims #generation 1 #soot #sims of our time #niklas krausser #gracelyn matlock

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darkfalcone · 2 days ago

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Puppy

Pairing: Dark!Sofia Falcone x Reader

Warnings: Noncon, Non-Consensual Stress Reliever (???), Manipulation, Dissociation, Crying, Mommy Kink, Face Slapping, Pussy Spanking, Spanking, Mocking, Mean!Sofia, Pet Names, Fingering, Spit Kink, Degradation, Branding, Begging.

Summary: Sofia’s stressed and she wants to hurt you, but knows she needs to keep you semi-calm.

A/N: ohhh this is fucked up, but I couldn’t help it | based on this ask

You had known Sofia for a few months before she had asked you on a date. Of course, you said yes and since then, the two of you had been dating. That was ten years ago and although she was in Arkham, you stuck by her side. You made sure to visit her once a week and when you could, you sometimes went twice a week. Despite everything, you thought your relationship was going great. That was until she got out of Arkham and she had found out that her brother was dead.

Sofia took over her family business and invited you to live with her. As soon as you said yes, she had her men drive her to your shitty apartment to pick up you and your stuff. You were a little taken aback by how fast she wanted you to move in, not giving you a chance to allow you to get things ready for your move. You didn’t think anything of it, instead, pushing your concerns away to be as excited as she was. You sat in the backseat of the last car that had pulled up that Sofia was in, even though you tried to tell her that you’ll help them move things into the cars, she wouldn’t allow you to. When you finally dropped the argument, Sofia placed her hand on your thigh before getting closer so she could kiss on your neck. You flinched as one of her men walked by, ultimately pushing Sofia off you.

“What?” She frowned. “Do you not want me to touch you?”

You shook your head, “N-No! I do, it’s just… not… here…”

Sofia took her hand off your thigh, turning to look out the window. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what to do or even say. By the time her men finished getting all of your stuff out of your apartment, it was dark out and she still hadn’t said a word to you since you denied her. The feeling of her pretending that you weren’t there was beginning to make you antsy and you hated it.

The drive to her mansion was going to be a long and awkward one and it took everything in you to not reach out and touch her. This was all so much for you - she had just gotten out of Arkham, found out her brother died, and invited you to live with her. All in a span of a day and the more you thought about it, the more you felt bad with the way you reacted to her. You hadn’t been intimate with her in ten years and she just missed physically touching you. You couldn’t blame her though, you missed touching her too.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I just get really shy.”

Sofia huffed and you wished you could see her face. “I understand, but things are different now. If I want to touch you in front of my men I will, it’s been ten long years and we have so much to catch up on. Understood?” She questioned.

”I-“ you swallowed.

The words got stuck in your throat as she placed her hand back on your thigh.

“You?” She pushed, moving her hand up your thigh slowly. “It’s an hour ride, are you going to give me what I want or is our first night together in ten years going to be me fucking someone else in the other rooom while you sit in our bedroom?”

Your eyes widen at her words, surprised at this sudden attitude of hers. You’re hurt and you weren’t sure of what to say to it, but without a word, you pull your pants down as well as your underwear. You feel your face heat up at the thought of her driver knowing what Sofia was about to do to you.

Sofia got closer to you and instantly her mouth was back on your neck, sucking gently on the skin. “That’s a good girl, already knowing your place.” She whispered, slipping her hand into your underwear.

You squeezed your eyes shut - biting your lip as her cold fingers rubbed your clit. Sofia bit your neck again, but this time sucking on the skin harder than before, she rubbed you harder.

“I don’t want you holding back the noises you’re making for me just because others can hear you.” she snapped, pinching your clit hard.

”Ow!” you cried out. “Please Sofia, it hurts!”

Sofia finally stopped pinching you, chuckling as the both of you heard her driver groan. You tried to close your legs but Sofia bit down on your neck, a warning for you to stop that. When she pulled away, she spat on your face before pulling her fingers out just as her phone began to ring. She let out a sigh before picking up the phone and answering it.

Even in the dark and with her not saying anything, you could tell whoever was talking was annoying her. You wiped her spit off your face just before she placed her hand on your thigh. You stayed quiet as she began to talk, unsure of what she was saying as all you could focus on was your heart pounding.

“Well,” Sofia groaned. “I’ll be having a meeting with Oz in the morning.”

“What time?” her driver asked.

Sofia dug her nails into your thigh as hard as she could, causing you to cry out. You tried to pull her hand off your thigh, but she was stronger than you.

“Ten in the mornin’.” Sofia said. “That means our first night together will just be us sleeping because you need to be up as well.”

“Wait- why do I have to be up if this is your meeting?” you complained.

Sofia hummed quietly, taking her hand off your thigh. Although she was frustrated and annoyed, she couldn’t help but smile at the attitude she had come to love. It’s a shame, really. Sofia was going to break you and you were clueless, but that’s what was going to be the best part about it.

The rest of the ride, Sofia held your hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb gently. Her men took your stuff in and she led you into the mansion and up the stairs to her bedroom. You gave her a kiss, thankful that the loving girlfriend you’ve had for years was out and with you in her home.

“I have some towels in the bathroom if you’d like to take a shower tonight, I have a lot of shower gels and things you would like.” Sofia informed you. You nodded, making your way towards the bathroom - stopping yourself when you realized you had no clean clothes upstairs with you.

“I uh… my clothes are in boxes…” you began, earning a small smile from Sofia.

”Ah, yes.” Sofia got up from her spot on the edge of the bed. “Let me go get you some of your stuff, you can shower now and they’ll be out on our bed when you get down.”

Our.

You smiled at that, rushing to give her a kiss before heading into the bathroom. Although she had been gone for ten years for a crime she didn’t commit, it felt as if the two of you had never been apart.

You took a rather long shower, enjoying the hot water without having to change the settings every few minutes. You were definitely going to get used to it. After you were done, you turned off the shower and got out. You were quick to dry yourself off and to your surprise, Sofia was putting all your clothes in drawers you had assumed to be ones she cleaned out just for you.

“Th- Thank you, you didn’t have to do that for me.” You said, grabbing the clothes off the bed. You got dressed, sitting down on the bed as you watched Sofia put more of your stuff away.

”Oh but I do,” Sofia said, focusing on putting your stuff away. “You stuck by my side this whole time when you could have easily left.”

You bit your lip, feeling a little guilty. You hated having her spend so much on you, especially when this was only her second day out of Arkham. You loved her so much and all you really wanted was to spend time with her to make up for the times she couldn’t hold you or just be around you.

”After my meeting with Oz, I think it would be fun if I take you to the store and you can get whatever you want.” Sofia suggested, changing the subject.

“I- you don’t have to do that, I promise.” You said, but she glared at you.

”Will you stop doing that? You and I haven’t been able to do anything together since we started dating and if I want to spoil you, I will.” She snapped.

”I’m sorry,” you began. “I don’t… I just feel bad, plus, I’ve got work at ten in the morning…”

“At that grocery store that you hate so much? Absolutely not, you’re going to call and quit before my meeting. You won’t be needing a job, not when I’m out and able to take care of you.” Sofia stated, but you sighed.

She was right - you hated your job so much, but it paid your bills and it gave you something to do. Sofia could take care of you but you wanted to still work, having been there for a full five years now, you got used to how shitty the job was. You sat in silence as you watched her put more of your stuff away, yawning as you started to get tired.

“You can lay down if you’d like, I’m almost finished with most of your clothes and I can finish the rest of it tomorrow.” She stated.

You nodded, moving off the edge of the bed and you got under the covers. You whimpered, her bed was softer than yours was.

“I love you,” you sighed as you allowed sleep to take over.

You woke up to an empty bed, stretching before you slowly got out of the bed. You were surprised to find a box on the end of the bed with a note that read: Wear this today, I had it ordered for you a while ago.

You took a long shower, not wanting to have to quit your job so you decided to buy yourself some time. Finally, you got out and dressed in the outfit she had wanted you to wear. A skirt so short if you bent down, everything would be on display.

You made your way down the stairs slowly, shifting uncomfortably as you held your skirt down. You were greeted by Sofia in the kitchen, where she was cooking food. She smiled at you, signaling for you to come sit down. You sat down, squeezing your legs shut as the skirt rose up too high for your liking.

“I see you saw the gift I left you upstairs,” she smiled. “You look so good in it and honestly if I didn’t have this meeting, I would take you right here.”

You whimper, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Sofia noticed quickly, biting her lip as she continued to cook the breakfast she was making.

“But I want to respect your wishes, so our first time in a long time will be in our bed.” Sofia hummed, taking a sip of her wine. You were confused, remembering that she had been touching you in the car the night before - but you excused it, thinking that she just wanted to play with you a bit. You weren’t going to question her, not after last night - the last thing you needed was for her to ignore you for hours again.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Wine this early in the morning?”

“If you were having to deal with Oz this early in the morning, you’d drink too.” she smiled, putting food onto your plate. “Now eat up, we have a long day ahead of us.”

You ate the food quickly, not realizing that you were hungry until the food had been in front of you. You drank some of the orange juice she had put out for you - Sofia was an excellent cook and you knew you could get used to this.

“You ready, love?” Sofia asked.

You nodded, wiping your face before the two of you headed to her car. Her driver was already waiting and as soon as you got in and buckled up, he pulled away. The ride was quiet, but Sofia continued to move her hand up your thigh. You stopped yourself from pulling away, remembering how she acted when you did it the night before.

When they stopped at the restaurant, Sofia got out and told you to stay with her driver. You sighed, pulling out your phone to call your job. You quickly told them that you were sick and you wouldn’t be able to come in today - thankful that you barely called off to begin with so they never gave you shit for it. Her driver looked at you through the mirror and you began to panic.

“Please don't tell her,” you begged. “I really enjoy my job at the end of the day.”

Her driver stayed quiet as the two of you sat there and waited for her to get done. You were growing impatient, wishing that you could have gone to work with how long this was taking. Scrolling through your phone was beginning to get boring and all you wanted to do was keep yourself busy. You closed your eyes, deciding to take a nap to kill time.

You woke up as a door was slammed shut, causing you to jump up. Sofia was silent and you could tell things didn’t go as planned. You placed your hand on top of the one that was closer to you, causing her to flinch.

“Take us to the store, I need to get a few things.” Sofia stated and her driver nodded.

You looked out the window, watching as the buildings and people passed by. You were too busy to notice Sofia was staring at you, refusing to take her eyes off you. The store was bigger than the grocery store you worked at and the two of you made your way into the store.

“Ya know how you talked about how much you like to collect stuffed animals?” Sofia pointed out, letting you grab a cart and push it.

“Yeah?”

Sofia smiled, looking down at your ass as she walked behind you. “I’m gonna buy you one today, you can pick it out and if you want anything else you can get it. Food, electronics, anything you want I’ll get it for you.”

You led the way to find the toy section, finding the stuffed animals quickly. You had told her about your stuffed animal collection a month into dating her, and it made you happy with how she remembered it all these years ago. You looked over your options, wanting to pick one that you planned on cuddling with every night with Sofia.

“There’s so many options to choose from,” you smiled. “But this puppy, the black one, is the cutest.”

“Yeah? Is that the one you want, baby?” Sofia questioned, “Are you sure you want the puppy?”

“Yes I’m sure, Sof,” you nodded. You were a little confused as to why she was questioning you so much about it. But you placed him in the cart, pushing it towards the electronics. “Is it okay if I get a laptop? I… nevermind, it’s too much to ask for.”

Sofia stopped you, pulling the waistband of your skirt, causing you to cry out. She let go of it, smirking at the way it snapped against your skin. “You can get whatever you want, nothing is off limits. You want a laptop? We’ll get you the best one. What were you about to say after that?” she asked.

“A… a gaming system. I know it’s silly, but-“ you began, but she cut you off.

“It’s not silly, whatever system you want we’ll get you and as many games as you want.” Sofia said, her tone voice was tight and you could tell she was getting frustrated with you.

“Okay… and snacks and that’s all for now.” You said.

Sofia nodded and the rest of the trip went in a blur and when you heard the total of how much everything was, you felt nauseous. She just handed the person her card and as soon as she got it back, the two of you left the store just as her driver pulled up. You got in with her as he put the bags in the trunk.

Once the two of you were back at her mansion and her driver brought all the bags to her room, she watched you set up your new gaming system to her TV. You were excited to play, never having enough money to even buy a game console after all your bills. You turned to Sofia, watching as she poured herself a glass of wine.

“Thank- Thank you so much, Sof, I really appreciate all of this.” you said, moving away from the TV to sit next to her.

Sofia sat her glass down and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it before she placed her hand on your thigh.

“Go get your stuffed animal, let’s pick out a name for it.” Sofia smiled, and you got up to grab it.

You brought it over to her, sitting back down and placing it on your lap. You smiled down at it and in that moment, Sofia wanted to ruin you but she had to hold off just a bit longer.

“I like the name George.” you commented.

Sofia took the cigarette out of her mouth and blew smoke in your face. “That’s a cute name, I like it.”

Sofia put her cigarette out, and put it on the ashtray before leaning in to kiss your neck. You whimpered, setting the stuffed animal down on the floor as she pulled your shirt off you. Sofia threw it across the room, laughing at the shy look on your face.

“I… wait-“ you began, but Sofia continued.

She unclasped your bra, slowly pulling it off you. Sofia frowned as you covered yourself up and without a word, she stood up and walked into her closet. You sat there, wondering what she was doing until she came out. She hadn’t changed, but before you could ask what she was doing, she pulled out one of the guns you knew she owned.

“I’m so sick of you acting so repulsed by me,” Sofia snapped. “All I’ve wanted to do since being back from Arkham is fuck you and you can’t even fucking let me.”

“Wait- Wait, Sof… I haven’t been acting like that. Honest!” you began. “I- I just want to spend some time with you before we… you know…”

“Fuck?” Sofia finished your sentence for you.

“Sofia,” you began, holding yourself. “You can’t… Please just put the gun down.”

Sofia shook her head - getting closer towards you. “Take the rest of your clothes off. Now.”

You were left with no choice - standing up off the bed and as you began to pull the skirt down. You kept your eyes on her as you kicked it off, but before you could pull your underwear off, Sofia got closer to you. She forcibly turned you around and bent you over the edge of the bed.

Sofia put the tip of the gun to the back of your head as you were trying to wiggle out of her grip. You began to shake uncontrollably as you felt her take the safety off. “Why shouldn’t I just get it over with and kill you right now?” she asked, rubbing your ass through your underwear.

“B- Because you love me, please don’t, Sof. Please don’t kill me.” you begged as Sofia moved so she had a knee on your lower back to hold you down. She dug her knee into you hard, causing you to cry out.

Sofia brought her free hand down against your ass not once, but twice before she spoke up again. She was frustrated, huffing at how much you were shaking. “Can you stop fucking shaking for a few fucking minutes? Fuckin’ hell.”

“Please stop,” you cried out, but she pushed the gun against you harder. “Please… I- I- why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I want to hurt you, baby, you’re so fucking pretty and it makes me want to hurt you.” Sofia admitted. “Ever since I got out yesterday and seeing you in person to where I can reach out and touch you, I’ve had this need to ruin you.”

Sofia grabbed your underwear by the waistband and ripped them completely off you. You whimpered, trying to wiggle out of her grip once more.

“Stop fucking moving, now.” she snapped, getting off you. “You’re making it so much harder for me to not hurt you.”

Sofia kept the gun focused on you as she walked around the bed to grab your stuffed animal. She licked her lips at the sight of your ass, making a mental note to fuck you there eventually.

“Lay on your back and spread your legs.” Sofia commanded.

You knew that she still had the gun pointed at you, so you had no choice but to do as you were told. You turned to lay on your back, slowly opening your legs. You felt your face heat up as you watched her gaze go from your face down to your pussy. Sofia licked her lips before shoving the stuffed animal at you.

“Hold him, baby.” Sofia said, voice laced with fake sympathy. “Hold George while I hurt you.”

You grabbed the stuffed animal out of her hands, holding it hard against your chest as you watched her pull her shirt off with one hand. She was still pointing her gun at you, but thankfully she placed it down on the bed next to you. Sofia pulled her pants down, revealing a strapon that you weren’t sure how long she had been wearing it.

“Spread your legs further for me.” she instructed, grabbing her pack of cigarettes. She took one out of the package and brought it to her lips. Sofia lit it, but before you knew it, she pushed it onto your stomach, causing you to scream out. “That’s my good girl.”

You cried harder, squeezing George as hard as you could. Sofia lit the same cigarette once more, this time putting it out on your pubic bone. You screamed louder and if you weren’t in so much pain, you would think she just came with the way she was out of breath.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty while you scream.” Sofia moaned. “Can you give me one more?”

“Please no, Mommy,” you begged, but your voice was weak. You bit down on George’s ear, preparing yourself as she lit the cigarette again.

Sofia leaned in, bringing the cigarette down onto the part of your chest that George wasn’t covering. She smiled down at you as you screamed, the noises muffled by your new stuffed animal.

Sofia sat up, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. She spat on your pussy, rubbing it in with the tip of the strapon before slamming all the way into you. You cried out, squeezing George as hard as you could as she started to fuck you at a brutal pace.

She grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look at her while her other hand pushed your leg up. She spat in your face, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut. Releasing your face, she grabbed George out of your grip.

“Please, please give him back, Mommy,” you begged, causing Sofia to laugh.

“Then you better keep your eyes open while I rape you then.” she said, allowing you to grab George from her hand.

You held him even tighter, not wanting her to try and take him away as you fought to keep your eyes open. You watched as she looked down at your pussy as she continued to fuck you. You tried to think of anything other than her taking what she wanted and it was beginning to work. You stared at her, but all you could think about was you on a vacation, far away from Gotham. The sand felt good on your skin as you sat down to watch the waves of the ocean. Before you could think about it any more, Sofia slapped you across the face as hard as she could.

“Oh Puppy,” she hummed, causing your eyes to widen at the nickname. “You don’t get to leave while I’m fucking you.”

“Please just stop,” you begged, but your words were weak. “I’ll do anything just l stop it.”

”Stop it.” Sofia mocked. “You don’t get to tell me to stop, Pup.”

You shook your head, “Stop- Stop calling me that.”

Sofia pouted, faux sympathy, “What? ‘Puppy’ is your name now, you picked it.”

Before you could say anything in response, Sofia pulled out of you quickly, forcing you on to your hands and knees. Sofia lined up with your entrance, this time taking her time pushing into you. Finally she pushed the full length of the strapon into - rubbing the small of your back before she grabbed George from the side of you. Handing you the stuffed animal without a word, Sofia began to fuck you at rough pace. With this angle, it was painful and you tried your best to hold yourself.

You pulled away a little and Sofia grabbed your hips roughly, not allowing you to run away.

“You don’t run away from my cock while I’m fucking you, Puppy.” she scolded you, reaching down and shoving your face into the bed. Sofia held you down in place, reaching down with one of her hands to rub at your clit. “Tell Mommy how much you love being used like this.”

When you didn’t answer, Sofia pinched your clit harder than she did the night before. You whimpered into your stuffed animal - unable to cry anymore with how much you had.

“I don’t like this.” you stated.

To your surprise, Sofia let go of your clit. She pulled out of you, and you turned around and sat up. You took a few deep breaths, wiping your face as you held onto George. Sofia stood in front of you, awkwardly standing in place as she kept her eyes trained on you.

“You don’t like when I rape you?” Sofia questioned with a frown. “If you don’t, then why are you so wet? Spread your legs, now.”

You bit your lip, slowly opening your legs knowing that Sofia wasn’t giving you an option - you also didn’t want her to pick her gun back up.

“That’s a good pup,” she praised, making your stomach turn. You looked down at George, biting your lip before you looked at Sofia. “Such a naive thing…”

Sofia got closer, bringing her hand to your pussy. She rubbed your clit with the palm of her hand, humming at how wet you were. You whined as she took her hand off your pussy, but she brought it down hard against you. You instinctively tried to close your legs but Sofia held them open. She continued to spank your pussy, over and over, causing you to cry out.

“Am I hurting you, Puppy?” Sofia asked, closing her fist and hitting you as hard as she could. “Answer me.”

You nodded, “Y-Yes, Mommy. Please stop-“

Sofia shook her head, “No, you didn’t like me fucking you even though you’re so fucking wet. So I’m going to really hurt you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as she raked her nails against your thigh hard. You stayed still, too exhausted to really fight back. You sniffled, “Please… I’ll- I’ll let you…”

“You’ll let me what?” Sofia asked, reaching up to slap you across the face. “You’ll let me what, Puppy?”

When you didn’t answer right away, Sofia wrapped her hand around your throat, squeezing as hard as she could. She only let up just as you started seeing stars, smiling as you gasped for breath. Her eyes went wild as she watched you, taking in the sight of you gasping for air.

“Tell me what you’ll let me do.” Sofia repeated, pinching your nipple before bringing her hand down to your pussy. She rubbed at your sore clit, her movements softer than what you expected her to do.

“R- Rape me,” you whispered. “Please… just please stop hitting me, Mommy. I can’t take any more of it.”

“Oh baby, “ Sofia sighed, gripping the base of the toy. She pushed in all the way. “Then that’s not rape, Puppy... This isn’t rape, you’re so wet that I slid in so easily and you just asked me to do it.”

Sofia decided that she had dragged this all out, she began to fuck you harder. She held your legs open, watching the toy go in and out of you. You knew that you were going to have bruises tomorrow from how hard she was holding them down. Your body began to betray you, getting closer to the edge as she continued the pace. She let go of one of your thighs to rub your clit roughly, bringing her attention to your face. Sofia smirked - normally she would stop when you had your eyes closed, but you looked too good for her to stop.

“You want to cum while Mommy’s raping this pretty little pussy?” Sofia questioned, bringing her free hand up to your neck. She just held you in place, not putting any pressure on you. “Ask nicely and Mommy’ll let you cum.”

You held onto George harder, realizing that you couldn’t hold out for much longer. You whimpered, “Please can I cum? Please, please! M’can’t hold it anymore, Mommy.”

Sofia chuckled, placing her hands on either side of you as she fucked you harder. “Go on, cum on Mommy’s cock like a good fuckin’ girl.”

You came silently, squeezing your eyes shut as you brought George up to your face. Sofia watched you do it as she fucked you through your orgasm.

“Such a good little Puppy for your Mommy.” Sofia praised, stilling her movements once you came down from your high. She leaned down, kissing your neck before placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. “Mommy only wants to make you feel so good… Will you behave next time and let me make you feel good?”

You nodded, whimpering as she pulled out of you.

“Good girl.” Sofia hummed. “I think for the next time I fuck you, I’m going to get you such a pretty collar. Would you like that, Puppy? Would you like Mommy to spoil you again?”

You were too exhausted to speak up, humming as she got off the bed. You heard Sofia drop the strapon to the floor, making a comment about how she’ll clean it tomorrow. She helped you to your feet, leading you towards the bathroom.

“Going to get you all nice and cleaned up, Pup.” she commented, grabbing George out of your hand gently. “I’m gonna put him up on the dresser, okay? He’s only for our special occasions.”

You nodded, watching as she let go of you to put George on the dresser before she brought you into the bathroom. Sofia cleaned you up and before you could go and grab some clothes to sleep in, she stopped you.

“Silly Puppy,” she smiled. “Puppies don’t wear clothes.”

#dark sofia falcone #sofia falcone x reader #sofia falcone #sofia gigante x reader #sofia gigante #my writing #mine

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makomafu · 2 days ago

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Unpleasant Creeps headcanons because, um

(also? platonic reader mention?)

Laughing Jack

Doesn't really know social etiquette...

Has probably said jokes that don't quite hit right depending on the kind of person you are

He promises he just meant it as a joke, and believe him! He means it

But, on that same line, he's not the most trustworthy guy you know

He's been lying to William about... quite some stuff for... quite some time, what makes you think you'd be different?

He's not very good at coming up with justifications either

He wouldn't be the best father either, because you know, child killer

And also, have you seen Will? Even if he doesn't kill them something goes wrong!

Will Grossman

Looks like a very sweet guy but, he doesn't immediately show that

If you were his classmate in the institution you'd notice him working alone, eating alone, hanging out alone

It's a combination between people not wanting to come up to him and him not being very fond of people

And that includes you

Also sorry to be the bearer of bad news but if it wasn't Creepypastas what he obsessed over it would've been True Crime

He's pretty much a shut in so if you hope to see him around the underworld and try to hang out you'd be pretty disappointed

Also, has acne, and wears retainers. Otherwise he's described as having pretty features but even while being grown he has acne and has to wear retainers

Growing up with a killer clown that has no idea about hygiene affects you in some way or another...

But at least he showers

He sometimes reeks of weed so uh, careful

Frankie (The Undead)

Not really social either

If you're a coworker don't expect him to chit chat with you, or to talk deeper than just saying "Good" when you ask how's the weather

His breath smells bad, avid cigarette smoker bad

And if it's not smoker's breath, it's the whiskey

Doesn't go to parties, or hang outs, or social events, unless he's invited and it's for business

Personality wise, not very easy to read

He's still a caring sweet guy but you'd have to dig in deep to find that

And that's not something you can do in days, or weeks. It takes months, at least.

Sleeps a lot, so outside of work related stuff there is a 50% chance he'll be late

Even when you get his trust, you'll have to worry that some day he'll just start pushing you away. Just so he doesn't have to mourn someone a third time in his life.

#★. postz #creeps comic #will grossman #william grossman #frankie the undead #laughing jack #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon

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angelasscribbles · 2 days ago

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Changes: A ONiC One-Shot

Series: One Night in Cordonia, a @choicesprompts Round Robin Event.

Fandom: TRR mostly

CRACKSHIP ALERT: Drake x Bertrand

Word Count: 1,593

Rating: NSFW

Warnings: Lemons 🍋🍋🍋

A/N: This pairing was initiated by @harleybeaumont during the round robin event titled One Night in Cordonia. I cannot remember who requested it or if it's something @harleybeaumont and I thought up during one of our epic late night discussions. Either way, it somehow got brought up today and I went to send her the little bit of it that has been sitting in my WiP folder forever, but once I opened the Word doc, I decided to add a few quick details and then just kept going until it was finished. 🙃

This was not the writing project I had intended to work on today, but I don't get to choose where the inspiration strikes.

It's pure smut. Just so you know.

The rest of my stuff can be found here.

Bertrand stood in the Beaumont study, surveying the damage and contemplating the last several weeks.

The terrorist group responsible for the attack had been rounded up, and the authorities had finally left. He was happy to reclaim his study from Bastien. They had left the room in disarray, and he set about tidying it up.

He was kneeling on the floor, examining a discolored spot on the carpet and muttering about the King's Guard's complete lack of decorum with the door to the study opened. Whoever it was hadn't even bothered to knock.

Bertrand leapt to his feet with indignation, "This is a private room! Have you no manners?"

An amused voice answered him. "No need to get up on my account."

Bertrand paled and took a step back as Drake ambled into the room like he owned the place. Shutting the door behind him, he ignored Bertrand's outburst about manners and smirked at him. "I like the way you look on your knees."

"I…don't know what you're trying to imply—"

"What?" Amusement danced across his face as he took in the other man's discomfort. "Have you forgotten the last time you were on your knees in front of me?"

The lord of Ramsford flushed from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes. Burning with shame and, distressingly, desire, he stuttered out an answer. "I…. Of course not! I mean…. That's not what I—"

Drake took a step toward him with a smirk. "You were really good at it."

"I…that…." Bertrand took another step back, bumping into a bookshelf and sending a miniature statue of a horse crashing to the ground.

Drake continued his advance until he stood directly in front of the duke, blocking any chance of a dignified retreat. "Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not!" Bertrand gulped loudly, belying his statement.

"No?" The bigger man shifted his weight slightly as he rested a hand on either side of his intended target.

Bertrand's eyes widened as shock, fear, and undeniable excitement flooded through him. He didn't trust his voice, so he simply shook his head.

A soft scoff issued from Drake as his eyes traced his face, settling on the set of lips that had brought him so much pleasure just a few weeks before.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

It was true that they had both been under the influence of some type of chemical that removed sexual inhibitions, but the fact remained that those impulses had to exist in the first place in order to be inhibited.

His disdain for Max's older brother had always masked a deeper emotion. Sexual attraction to other men wasn't new to him, but the realization that he had always been drawn to this particular man was.

"Tell me you don't want this." Drake's hand caressed Bertrand's cheek. "If you don't want me to kiss you right now, tell me to stop." He paused, giving the other man plenty of time to protest.

For a heartbeat, they stood frozen in time, face to face, staring into each other's eyes. Then Bertrand went weak in the knees as his eyes fluttered shut and his head tipped slightly up, lips parted, inviting the kiss.

Drake's lips crashed into his and he was falling, tumbling into a vast unknown, terror and exhilaration colliding inside him.

Bertrand Beaumont had never been good with women. He didn't understand what they wanted, he didn't understand how to attract them. He had never felt much of a pull to them at all. But this. This was different.

He had kissed a handful of women in his time. Their lips had been soft and yielding and the entire experience had been somehow wrong and off putting. His previous experiences with kissing had been nothing like this. This kiss was rough and demanding, the stubble that scratched his face sent red hot flames licking through him. His hands reached out to grasp not soft flesh, but hard muscles. He whimpered helplessly as his body reacted. His rock hard erection was evident as Drake's body pushed into his.

He wanted to die of shame until he realized that Drake was having the exact same reaction. Their cocks pressed against each other through the fabric of their pants as their hips ground against each other.

Bertrand had never felt another man's cock pressed against his own before, much less while it was hard. The thought that Drake was hard because of him was almost more than he could bear. Desire burned all the embarrassment out of him as he begged for more. "Please… I need—"

Before he could finish the thought, strong hands spun him around and jerked him sidewise away from the bookshelf, and pressed him against the wall. His pants were yanked down his body, leaving his ass bare and his dick throbbing. A foot forced his legs apart as a finger found his puckered hole. His mind was so clouded with lust that he barely registered some sort of lube being applied before a finger probed inside him. Warm breath tickled his ear as a voice rough with desire whispered in his ear. "How does that feel?"

"So good…" he gasped out as an ecstasy he had never imagined washed over him.

A soft kiss landed on the back of his neck. "I'm going to fuck you now. Hold still."

Bertrand's eyes squeezed shut as his body vibrated with pleasure and anticipation. "Yes…. Please…."

A feral growl broke free from Drake's throat at the pleading tone of the man trembling under his touch. It was all he could do to keep himself from slamming into him. Instead, he inserted himself slowly and gently, sliding in an inch at a time, giving the other man a chance to adjust.

A cry of ecstasy was torn from him as Drake hit the prostate.

His name falling from Bertrand's lips was the end of his restraint. No longer gentle, he moved his body at a more desperate pace, pulling himself out and shoving back into the man who was now writhing frantically beneath him.

Bertrand's feet tried to come out from under him as all the strength left his body. Blackness clouded the edges of his vision as the pleasure became all encompassing. A hand closed around his cock and stars exploded across his field of vision as the orgasm overtook him.

Drake slammed into him one last time with a roar, pinning his body to the wall as he emptied himself into him. He kept his body pressed into him until his cock finished pulsing.

When he finally stepped away, Bertrand was left with his pants in an undignified tangle around his ankles, a pleasurable soreness and the proof of what had just transpired leaking out of him. He turned to face the man who had just taken his innocence and awakened desires in him that he had not known he possessed, tripping over his tangled pants as he did so.

"Whoa there!" Drake caught him and then stepped back with a satisfied smirk as he fastened his own pants.

Hyperaware of Drake's eyes on him, he scrambled to redress himself, ignoring the sticky mess on his backside. Not knowing what to say, his eyes dropped to the floor as both mortification and gratification pinged through him at what had just transpired.

"Hey." Drake's finger found his chin and lifted his head. With a smile more tender than he had ever seen on his face, he told him, "You did great."

The mortification drained out of him, pride and happiness taking its place. "Really?"

"Really." He looked closer at Bertrand's expression. "Wait. Was that your first time with a man?"

Bertrand's eyes fell once again to the floor. "My first time….with anyone." Kissing women had been bad enough, he had never been able to push himself further with any of them.

Drake's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"What?" Bertrand's head snapped up in alarm at the regret in Drake's voice. "Don't be sorry! That was…. It was… you were…. I mean…"

The smile returned to Drake's face as understanding dawned on him. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything else. I'm glad you liked it."

The alarm on Bertrand's phone went off, bringing him back to reality. "Apologies. I'm needed at a budgetary meeting soon."

"No problem. I have shit to do, too. See you around."

Panic sliced through him as he watched Drake make it to the door. "Wait!"

Drake paused and turned around. "Yeah?"

Bertrand fought against the tidal wave of insecurity and anxiety that threatened to silence him. For once in his life, he was going to ask for what he wanted. "Is there any chance we could… um…. " He faltered as embarrassment threatened to pull him under.

A grin pulled Drake's lips up as he watched Bertrand stumble over his words. He decided to put him out of his misery. "Are you asking if we can do this again?"

"Yeah." If he said no, Bertrand was going to drop right through the floor.

"You can count on it." Drake thumped the edge of the door frame on his way out, humming happily as he strolled down the hall.

Bertrand slumped against the wall as relief and disbelief surged through him.

He had no idea what this all meant. No idea what tomorrow would bring. There was only one thing that he knew for certain.

Everything was going to be different now.

#the royal romance #trr #the royal romance fanfic #drake walker #bertrand beaumont #angelasscribbles #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices #choices stories you play #Drake x Bertrand #I blame harleybeaumont for this

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davinawritings · 2 hours ago

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hii! not sure if your reqs are open but do you write stuff about piss? maybe werewolf bf marking his territory or a vamp bf doing it for degrading purposes

Hello! I hope you enjoy it! Unsurprisingly I went with a Werewolf boyfriend, lol.

The Claiming

Pairing: Male Werewolf Boyfriend X Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut, Creampie, Piss kink, Slight humiliation kink, possessive boyfriend

Enjoy <3

The night had started great with your amazing werewolf boyfriend inviting you to his friend’s party. You and Callum have been dating for just over 6 months now, and everything has been perfect. You got all dolled up for him, hoping for a fun night.

You just finished spraying your perfume when you hear a knock on your door. Callum gives you a wet kiss with promises of a fun night as he guides you to his car. He keeps you on his arm as you enter the party, happy to have his beautiful girl by his side for all to see.

Although he seems perfectly happy, your happiness doesn’t last long when he starts to ignore you to have fun with his buddies. You quickly grow bored of standing beside him and listening to them talk. The music is blaring, and you want to dance. You tug on his muscular arm to get his attention, but he barely spares you a glance.

Trying to be patient, you try again, and he finally looks at you with a raised brow. You give him a slight pout, saying you want to dance, but he just rolls his eyes and says he’s busy. You stare at him momentarily, not used to him flat-out refusing you.

You give a slight nod, more to yourself than him, and decide to make your way to the makeshift dancefloor. Just because he wants to stand around doing nothing doesn’t mean you have to.

As you dance to the music, you sway your hips sensually, running your hands along your body, and your dress leaves little to the imagination. A firm chest is pressed to your back in less than a minute. His hand grips your waist, and you know it’s not your boyfriend from that simple touch alone. You spin in his arms and come face to face with a werewolf. Although attractive, you can’t help but notice that he isn’t quite as attractive as your boyfriend.

You think about moving away from his arms, but then you remember how Callum is ignoring you for his friends and figure you might as well have some fun dancing with this guy. You know Callum won’t be happy, but you can’t seem to find it in you to care right now.

You dance for about thirty seconds before this wolf starts dropping his hands down to your ass. You are about to reach around and push them up, but you don’t get the chance as Callum pulls you away from the other werewolf.

The other man snarls and says, “What the hell. Can’t you see I was in the middle of dancing with her?”.

Your boyfriend growls a low warning: “This is my girl. Don’t ever put your hands on her again.”

The other wolf gives him a smug smirk before saying, “Are you sure she’s your girl? I don’t see a mating bite, and she doesn’t smell like you. She smells sweet, like a juicy fruit ripe for plucking.”

The taunting words push Callum over the edge, and with one brutal hit, he has the other wolf knocked out on the floor. He barely spares him a second glance as he tosses you over his shoulder and drags you to an upstairs bedroom, quickly locking the door behind him.

He tosses you on the bed, and you open your mouth to speak, but he quickly rips your panties off and shoves them in your mouth before you can even get a word out. He makes quick work of both your clothes, having you both naked in seconds.

“See what happens when you act like a little whore. Letting him put his hands on what’s mine. Letting him question my claim on you in front of everyone!”. His voice is harsh, and you know he is about to fuck you into tears, your pussy already preparing itself for his massive cock.

He quickly flips you onto your stomach and smacks your ass. You moan around the panties as he straddles your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to get a clear view of your dripping cunt. Without hesitation, he thrusts into the hilt, and you cry out his name as much as you can with the damp cloth in your mouth. His pace is hard and punishing; you can only grip the sheets.

“Such a fucking little brat. You couldn’t behave for a few fucking hours. This is what you needed, right? To be shown some fucking attention. To be under me and take my cock the way you are meant to. Fu-fuck. Made to take my cock and mine only. You are mine. This body is mine. This Fu-cking pussy is mine,” he growls out.

One of his large hands pushes down on your lower back, keeping you in place, unable to even meet his thrusts. The other holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail, tugging as he fucks into your dripping center.

You moan out as your cunt begins fluttering around his cock, his knot slamming into your swollen pussy lips with each thrust. You whimper and try to move backward against his strength, wanting nothing more for his knot to fill you up.

“I don’t think so, baby. I’m not knotting you here. You’re going to take my cum like a good fucking girl, and then we are going to walk back downstairs and out of this party while my cum drips down your fucking legs. Let everyone here know just who your fucking belong to”.

Callum’s possessive words push you over the edge, your cunt strangling his cock in pleasure and causing him to fill you up. He gives you a few short thrusts as you both calm down, pulling out and admiring the sticky mess between your thighs. He flips you back onto your back and fixes your dress, but leaves the panties in your mouth for now.

You give him your best puppy dog apology eyes, but he just shakes his head before saying, “Fuck baby. I know they will be able to smell my cum inside your pussy, but I’m not sure it’s enough. I can’t have them questioning my claim on my little brat, now can I?”

He kneels over your body and sits on your thighs, his dominant hand grabbing hold of his half-hard cock. You stare up in his eyes as you wait for him to start jerking his cock so he can cover you in more of his cum. He gives you a sly smirk, and you gasp as you begin to feel a hot stream of liquid hitting your stomach.

Your eyes immediately shoot down to his cock, watching as his piss flows from his flushed tip before soaking you beneath him. He aims higher, making sure to soak your tits as well, your dress seemingly eager to soak up the warm liquid. You whimper as he then aims for directly above your pussy, the warm piss quickly pooling and soaking the material before dripping through and adding to the sticky mess between your legs.

You surprise yourself as your clench and rub your thighs together at the sensation, feeling your clit pulse with desire. He gives his cock a shake watching as the last few drops fall onto your squirming body.

“Now I think you are ready to walk downstairs, baby. And don’t worry, as soon as we get you home, I’m going to knot your pussy, and we are going to go over how much my little whore seems to love getting covered in my piss. Don’t think I missed your needy body shifting around trying to get some friction for your slutty little cunt”.

You moan as you stand on shaky legs, Callum’s arm around your waist, the only thing keeping you from falling over and losing balance. He guides you through the house and past everyone else, your cunt clenching as they stare at you covered in his piss and with cum dripping down your legs with each step. Embarrassment heats your cheeks, but you can’t deny the arousal burning through you at their looks, nor the anticipation of what awaits you at home.

As you reach his car, you quickly get in your seat, only now realizing that you never even took your panties out of your mouth, another wave of embarrassment rushing over you and making your pussy clench, more cum dripping out and surely covering his seat. Callum gets in and starts the car, making quick work to get home as fast as possible.

His hand gives your thigh a squeeze, claws digging in lightly as he says, “Just think of how many more new things we can explore, baby. Now that I know my perfect little girl is a kinky whore, we just opened up a new world of fun baby”.

Maybe being a brat tonight was a good idea, after all.

I hope you all enjoyed <3 <3 <3 Let me know what you think!

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