#who the fuck do you think benefits from that

[mynqzo]

reposting this information to it's own post because asker was a racist.

What's going on right now in the Republic of Georgia / Sakartvelo? A new legislation just passed that official bans - human rights essentially, gay-marriage, gender-firming care and surgery, any 'promotion' of queer identity. Soon after this legislation passed, trans model Kesaria Abramidze was murdered as a direct consequence of this.

Why is this super extra bad? Besides the several many lives at stake, the safety of queer families and the lethality of hate crimes, Georgia's wish to enter the EU is falling to a complete simmer due to this, soon to be extinguished completely. Here is an article about the international reaction to this legislation:

What can you do to help? The biggest thing we currently rely on is international push back especially from the EU members and the possible overturn of this in the upcoming election. It does not help that this law is implemented due to greedy fucks and Russian puppets in Georgia who benefit from this. source:

You might hear many refer to this as 'Russian law' which is due to the fact that Georgia, under this puppet-leadership mimics Russian laws like the 'Foreign Agents Law' that was put into work only a few months prior the law assumes 'only receiving foreign funds makes an organization a foreign agent.' and I don't think I have to explain how horrendous that is.

We also rely on our president to veto the legislation before it goes into 'full effect' (though the consequences and effect have already begun) but even with this the political party which instated this legislation argue to over-ride her veto in parliament. source:

The most important thing right now is vocal pushback, and public support of the queer community. with what happened to Kesaria (may she rest in peace) a lot of trans people are fearing for their lives, and queer families no longer can remain in their own country if they want to continue to be themselves in any way.

Spread love, a lot of it like as much as you can offer to queer Georgians everywhere.

[challenger-fan-club]

fwb Art who's absolutely in love with you and obsessed with you and who asked to be your boyfriend many times and taking you on many dates but you kept rejecting until one day he gets to know that you're going on a date with someone else so he tries to stop thay date from happening and showing you who you belong to by having the most passionate sex and finally convincing you to accept you as your boyfriend

you can say you don't want this to be Stanford Art but it is.

You've turned him down so many times. But you can't stay away from him. The way he kisses you, the way he touches you. You're needy for him but you know that you can't be in a relationship with him. He's not good for you, not good for you to be distracted. You're not exactly the dating type and Art is almost ready to be a husband. All your friends think you're insane, you know that they're ready to settle down but we're too young and you want to be carefree for just a while. Art is also so very nice, and sweet and kind and you don't want to hurt him when you inevitable self destruct. You rationalise it to protect yourself, it would be like torturing a puppy. You don't want to waste his time and effort. You're doing this for him.

But you can't keep yourself away from Art. You always end up at his door at the end of the night, and he's so obsessed with you, he'll never tell you no. He just makes you cups of tea and cuddles you and keeps you warm. Giving you everything that you want, whenever you want it. "We're just friends with benefits." You tell him and repeat to yourself and Art nods his head as if to say "i know." He invites you to the bar with him, says Patrick and his new girlfriend will be there but they always seem to mysteriously cancel. Patrick was either the worst friend or just didn't exist. "This is not a date Art." He gets you both drinks. He gives you the "i know" nod, slightly hurt, given you a face, slightly like you've stood on a puppys paw. Art asks to be your boyfriend a lot. And you know that you should cut him off and let him go but you can't help yourself. It's like you and Art are magnets or somehow cosmetically intertwined.

Art walks up to you and your friends standing talking. It kills him because he wants to wrap his hands around you like he did in his bed last night. But because you're just fuck buddies, he can't kiss you. He's not even sure if your friends know that you've been seeing each other for the last while. You try to ignore him as you're continuing the conversation as one of your friends starts speaking to him. "Do you know where youre going? and more importantly, what are you wearing?"

Art's ears perk up at the conversation and you try and ignore him again. "I think we're just going for drinks, nothing special." You say softly. "and then back to his? I'm so jealous, he's so fucking hot. I can't believe he just asked you out." You tried to hold back a wince when she said it. You didn't mean for Art to find out about it, at all. Definitely didn't want him to find out like this. He didn't say anything. You didn't want to look at him and you didn't know when he was looking at you. "You should wear that black dress you wore a few weeks ago... and those boots, you'd look so hot!" Your friend continued but you had already withdrawn from the conversation. You knew that outfit worked because Art wanted to take you to the nearest empty room when he saw you wearing it. "I'll text you later, let you know how it goes." You left the conversation. Art stood, making small talk with your friends.

It was around half past 8 when you were getting ready. You were stupidly nervous. You didn't really go on dates, especially with people you didn't know. And you hadn't heard from Art all day long which made you nervous. You didn't want to hurt Art, you didn't know if Art was hurt. He was sensitive so you could only assume that he was sulking in his room. There was a knock at your door as finished fixing your make up. You looked at yourself in the mirror before answering the door. "Hi Art, what are you doing here?" He looked at your face for a moment before letting your eyes gaze over your body. Your curvy hips and cleavage was on show, dress hitting just above your thighs. Art thought you looked perfect. "Are you not going to invite me in?" Art smiled at you. "uhh... actually I'm just getting ready to go out." You were confused. Had he not heard the conversation earlier? You watched him as he followed you into your room. "Yeah, I know... I just thought I could convince you to stay here." He was being very confident, somewhat dominant which he normally isn't it. "Art, cmon." He sat on the bed as he watched you putting your earring in. "Cmon what?" You stood in front of him as he ran his hands on the outside of your thigh. "tell me, you don't want to cancel on him and stay here with me." You were biting your lip as he touched your thighs. "Art..." His hands rubbed up your body to your hips as he pulled you closer, separating his legs, allowing you to stand in between them.

He starts by kissing your stomach. He looks up at you as he pulls your dress up your thighs slowly, his kiss moving slowly down your body. "You know he can't make you feel as good as I can..." he continued to kiss down your body before placing his kiss on your underwear. Your hands were in his hair, rubbing his head, encouragingly. He started to pull you down your underwear as he guided you to the bed. "Art, he's going to be here soon." He just smiled as he started kissing your neck and his hands started rubbing your clit, dipping his fingers into you as you moan against him. "Good, he can hear how good I make you feel." He started to bite at your collar bone, trying to leave a mark. "Artttt..." you almost moaned. "Thats it, say my name, say who you belong to." He moved his fingers faster until you were begging for him to fuck you. Art was really playing a very good game, making you moan, making you a mess underneath him. "You're so good." He swiftly moved his boxers down and allowed his cock to bounce free as he rubbed it against your wetness. He started to push himself inside of you, inch by inch as you moaned. He kissed your mouth, passionately before moving his kiss back to your neck, down to your chest where he pulled your dress down so your breasts were exposed. He started sucking, licking and biting on your nipples as he slammed into you. "Art, fuck I'm gonna cum." You moaned as he quickened his pace. "That's it, good girl, cum on my cock, cum for me, you're all mines." He moaned as he switched between kissing you and playing with your nipples. "you're so good, fuck, you feel so good." He couldn't stop as he started to fill you the second you let your orgasm go. He continued to kiss you and move the hair out of your face. "You're literally so gorgeous." He whispered in your ear as he held his cock inside of you. "when are you finally going to admit that you were made for me?" he kissed your neck. You sighed. "Art, you know..." Art kissed you again. "Don't do this, whatever your worries are about me, we can do it, together. I want you. All of you and you want me, very clearly." He kept your gaze as he held you. "It's all of me or none of me, I'm not playing seconds." The words hurt you and you got a brief moment to think about this being the last time, that the other option was no Art in your life. "I'm happy to wait." He pulled himself away and walked to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

You were alone for just a moment. You didn't want you and Art to be over. But you thought you knew how you felt, what you wanted but everything Art said and did, just made your heart hurt. You wanted him. You needed him. When you thought he was mad at you, you felt weak and now he's here. Saying it's him or nothing. You thought you had the power, always telling him no to a relationship but being faced without Art, you didn't want to do it. The thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Shit. Your date. This was your sink of swim moment.

Art popped his head out of the bathroom. "should i hide in the bathroom or tell him to go away?" Art was topless looking down at you with just his boxer shorts on. "Tell him to go away, then take your shorts back off?" His face almost lit up. "So you're finally gonna be my girl?" You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. "I'm all yours Donaldson."

[sluttywonwoo]

the roster | part one of three

pairing: christopher bahng + lee sangyeon + choi seuncheol x f!reader

summary: what happens when all the guys on your roster find out about each other?

warnings: see here (mdni!!!)

word count: 4.4k

series masterlist

You’d been set up. You should have known something was off when Sangyeon texted you to come over. He never texted you first. He was the most reserved of the three, always letting you be the one to reach out to him if you wanted to hook up. 

You shot him an accusatory glare but he pointedly avoided your gaze, choosing instead to stare at something on the ceiling that was apparently much more interesting.  

Seungcheol was the first to speak, of course. “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?” 

You figured there was no point in lying. They already had you cornered. “Yeah, kind of.” The three of them scoffed in unison, making you hold up your hands in defense. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other like that!”

In fact, you had chosen each of them precisely because you thought there wouldn’t be any conflicts of interest. They were all in different groups, all the leaders of said groups which you thought would mean that they were almost always busy with their members. You didn’t think they had time for friends. Let alone friends who were of different ages and also leaders. 

Chris was the biggest gamble. You knew that he knows almost everyone in the industry and has a lot of friends but you didn’t think he knew the other two guys you were fucking well enough to put together that you were actually sleeping with all of them. 

Everything had been going so well. You had perfected your system over the months, using the boys’ schedules to your advantage so there was never any overlap. Seungcheol got weekends, Sangyeon got Wednesdays and Fridays, and Chris got 3ams on Tuesdays, Thursdays, (and sometimes Fridays if you weren’t sleeping over at Sangyeon’s) because that’s just when he was free. You keep your Mondays and the last full week of every month free so that you have time for yourself. Otherwise you’d drive yourself crazy spending all your time with men. 

You had never agreed to be exclusive with any of them. You made it more than clear that wasn’t what you were looking for. Still, they must have thought you weren’t seeing anyone else because all three of them had shown up to this confrontation and all three of them looked pissed. 

“Is it just the three of us?” Chris chimes in. 

“How much time do you think I have?” you mutter. 

“Just answer the question.”

You look away from them. “Yeah, there’s no one else.”

“Lucky us,” Seungcheol sneers. 

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted something casual,” you remind him, your tone icy. “You wanted to sleep around with no strings attached and I agreed.”

You’ve known Seungcheol the longest. You were friends first, through your job, but it quickly turned into something more. You couldn’t keep your hands off each other, spending nights and mornings together. Going to sleep and waking up and stealing kisses in elevators. Talking on the phone for hours and planning dates in the different cities he was touring in. 

He shut you down before you could get too delusional about it, though, stating plainly that all he wanted was a strict friends-with-benefits sort of situation. You still remember the feeling of your throat burning as you fought back tears, telling him that was perfectly fine, that you felt the same way. 

You couldn’t let yourself get too attached to a man who didn’t want you in the same way you wanted him so you looked for a distraction and found one in Lee Sangyeon. You met him through Jacob, a younger member of his group. Sangyeon was the perfect distraction. He was charming and funny, never one to take himself too seriously. He was a real gentleman and it didn’t hurt that he had a huge dick. 

You were the one to broach the topic of nonexclusivity with him this time, wanting to beat him to it. You knew exactly what all of these idols wanted. Choi Seungcheol had taught you that lesson early on. Sangyeon took it well, at least, as well as you expected him to. He told you he was on the same page as you, that he was just looking for something casual and you believed him. Now, looking at the expression on his face as he listens to the two other men talk, you’re not sure. 

And then Chris just sort of fell into your lap. You weren’t looking for anything else. Juggling two men was enough work. You just so happened to run into him at some after party, stopping him to compliment his music. One thing led to another and you were shoving your tongue down his throat in a dark closet. Apparently he had a thing for praise. 

Neither of you had to be the one to friend(swithbenefits)zone the other. You brought it up one night as you laid in his bed together and he was quick to agree. 

“Yeah, I don’t have time for anything more than... this, right now,” he sighed. He sounded a little regretful about it, like he thought he was being an asshole despite you voicing the same sentiment. 

So you hadn’t been doing anything wrong- even if your brain liked to tell you otherwise sometimes. You defined the (non)relationships with each of them, used protection with all of them, you weren’t leading anyone on... it had just so happened to get a little bit... messy, for lack of a better word. 

-

“No strings attached doesn’t mean I want you to fuck my friends!” Seungcheol huffs, running a hand through his hair. 

“I didn’t know you were friends with them!” you cry, throwing your head back onto the back of the couch in frustration and accidentally banging your head against the wall in the process. 

“Are you okay?” Sangyeon asks, wincing. 

The other two side-eye him. 

“I’m fine. But why am I here? Did you bring me here just to yell at me?”

“Not exactly,” Chris says, smirking. 

You look to the other men for an explanation but neither of them offer any further explanation. 

“Then why?”

Chris slides his hands in his front pockets and shrugs. “Well, if you’re up for it, the three of us thought we might have a little fun with you.”

“What does that mean?”

Seungcheol steps forward and mirrors Chan’s stance, cocking his head to the side for good measure. You have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

To be fair, all the posturing would be a lot more annoying if they weren’t the hottest men you’d ever seen in your life. 

“I think you know what that means,” Cheol adds, supplying absolutely nothing helpful. 

“Obviously I don’t or I wouldn’t have asked,” you argue. 

Seungcheol whistles and then looks to his friends. “Is she this bratty with you guys?” Chris gives an ‘eh’ hand motion whilst Sangyeon nods outright. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Did you think you were getting special treatment?” you taunt, surprising even yourself. 

He scowls but doesn’t respond, probably in an effort to maintain some semblance of self-control in front of the other two. If it were just you and him, you’d have a hand around your throat already. And maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe your mouth was working faster than your brain in order to get a specific... reaction out of them like you normally would. Or maybe your mouth just liked to get you in trouble. 

From the way they were acting, they obviously hadn’t lured you here just to hang out. It had to be some sort of sex thing, right? You certainly weren’t opposed, you just needed to figure out what game they were playing so that you could be dealt in. 

“We were curious about which one of us you like the most,” Chris says finally. At least someone was interested in getting to the fucking point. 

You blink at him then turn to look at Seungcheol who just nods in confirmation. “You want me to... rank you? Why?”

“You’re the one who has us on a little roster,” Sangyeon points out, sounding a little mean for the first time tonight. “Surely you’ve thought about it before.”

You shake your head. “I haven’t. I mean, I like all of you guys! I wouldn’t hang out with you if I didn’t.”

“We don’t care about hanging out, we want to know who you think is the best in bed,” Seungcheol clarifies. 

“What?”

“You know, who’s the best fuck?”

“Why do you even care?” you ask. “Like what are you getting out of this?”

“Just a little competition between friends,” Chris assures you with a wink. 

“I... wouldn’t even know where to start,” you insist. 

“We thought you might say that,” Seungcheol hums as he steps closer to you. “Which is why we thought we could test it in real time.”

“In real time?”

“Yeah, let us fuck you, then you tell us who’s best.”

“Right now?” 

Seungcheol shrugs. “You asked why we brought you here.”

“And you just assumed I’d be down?”

“Yeah,” all three of them say at the same time. 

It’s your turn to scoff. So that’s what they think of you. You shouldn’t have expected anything different, to be fair. It wasn’t like you were a saint. You literally had your dick appointments with all of them penciled into your Google Calendar every week. 

“C’mon, baby, we know you by now,” Chris adds, plopping down on the sofa next to you. He stretches his arm across the back of it like guys like to do, opening himself up for you to lean into him if you wanted to. “Are you saying you don’t want us to take turns fucking your brains out?”

You stay silent. 

“Should we take that as a yes?” Sangyeon asks. 

“I’d say so,” Chris agrees.

Seungcheol claps his hands together decisively and then points to the man sitting next to you. “Chan, you’re up first then, yeah? That’s how you do it in your group, right? Youngest first?”

He’s mocking him but Chris doesn’t acknowledge it. If there’s one thing you know about Bang Chan, it’s that he’s not one to back down from a challenge, and while going first in this sort of competition must be daunting he doesn’t look the least bit shaken. 

“Are we doing this here?” he asks the older two. 

Sangyeon considers it and shrugs. “We should probably move to the bed, right?” 

“Dude, it’s your house.”

“There’s more room on the bed,” Sangyeon decides, offering you his hand. 

You take it and he helps you up from the couch. You step in front of the boys and lead them to Sangyeon’s bedroom, calling “it’s this way,” over your shoulder just to be a menace. You can’t see the faces they make behind you but you hear Sangyeon chuckle under his breath. 

You flick on one of his table lamps and make yourself comfortable on the bed, patting the spot next to you for Chris to join you. He does and puts a hand on your thigh, squeezing your thigh comfortingly. Seungcheol and Sangyeon lean against the dresser across from the bed in the most non-awkward way they can manage. 

Somehow, they both still look intimidating despite the fact that they’re essentially about to be cucked by one of their closest friends. 

“What now?” you ask. 

Chris brings one of his hands up to cup your cheek and leans in. “Now, we do this.”

He kisses you gently at first. Whether it’s to ease your nerves or his own, you aren’t sure, but he starts slow, building up to what you’re used to. His thumb strokes your cheek as if to reassure you as he deepens the kiss and slips his tongue into your mouth. His other hand that had been resting on your hip fumbles with your pants. 

“Just pretend they aren’t there,” he whispers. 

It’s impossible to do when you can feel the weight of their stares on you but you try to relax anyway, reminding yourself that something like this has been a fantasy of yours for a while now. You never thought it would actually happen and you definitely didn’t think it would be with them but with your luck you honestly shouldn’t be as surprised as you are. 

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t relax,” Chris continues, low enough for only you to hear. “I kind of have something to prove here.”

“You don’t have anything to prove,” you assure him. “You’re great in bed.”

“They don’t know that,” he hisses. 

“Sorry, sorry, I forgot this is just a competition to you guys,” you grumble. 

He chuckles. “What, you want me to make love to you in front of them? Because I will.”

“I think that’d be even more embarrassing, somehow.” 

“Exactly, now lay down and let me fuck you brainless so you can’t overthink anymore.”

He had such a way with words, that Bang Chan did. 

He shifts so you can lay down and take your pants off. Your shirt goes next, leaving you in just your underwear. It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt even though you’ve been completely naked in front of all three men before. 

Chris snaps the elastic waistband of your cotton panties against your hip and smirks. “Cute.”

You pout, ready to defend your granny panties but Sangyeon pipes up from the other side of the room before you can.

“She doesn’t care what she wears over to mine because she knows it won’t stay on long anyway.”

That was actually true. You dressed the most comfortably to hang out with Sangyeon because you knew he wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like Chris or Seungcheol cared more, and you didn’t really dress up for them either, but there was a notable difference between the amount of effort you put in for each man, something you hadn’t noticed until just now. 

“She wet yet?” Seungcheol asks, sounding bored. 

You know it’s just a front so his jealousy and impatience won’t shine through because it’s not a very good one. Seungcheol is not and never has been good at hiding his feelings. 

Chris shoots him a look. “I was getting to that.” 

Seungcheol holds his hands up in defense but thankfully keeps his mouth shut. 

Chris sucks in a breath of patience and brings his hand in between your legs, fingers tracing your slit. Your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment because you are, in fact, wet. You have been since they sat you down and stood in front of you like you were going to be scolded for doing something wrong. 

“Yeah, she’s fucking wet,” Chris rasps. “Jesus Christ, baby. I bet your joggers are ruined too.”

His teasing makes you try to close your thighs around his hand but his reflexes beat yours and he catches your knee to force your legs back open. 

“Nice try.”

“You’re the worst.”

His fingers start to wander beneath the fabric of your panties, feather light touches that already have you gasping for breath. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, I really do.”

“Want me to stop?” he threatens.

“What happened to having something to prove?” you mutter back. 

“Always such a fucking brat,” he muses, jaw tight. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love that about me.”

“You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

Chris leans down and kisses you again, presumably to get you to stop talking. It works, of course. He lets his tongue explore your mouth while his hands explore your body, still not giving you what you really want. 

Eventually, he slips a finger inside, taking you by surprise and making you gasp as you grab at him for something to squeeze. He offers you his arm and you take it, fingernails digging into his bicep. 

“It’s just one finger, baby,” Chris coos. 

“Feels.... good, though,” you squeak. 

He adds another right as you start to get used to the feeling of the first and you have to take a deep breath to keep yourself from making another embarrassing noise. 

“Don’t hold back. Let the boys know how good I’m making you feel.”

Seungcheol scoffs, tonguing his cheek. “You don’t have to fake it for him, babe.” 

“Are you sure you guys are friends?” you pant. 

They don’t answer, leaving you to draw the conclusions yourself. You’re sure they were friends... whether they would be after this was another story. 

Chris crooks his fingers up, knowing you won’t be able to stay quiet once he does. He’s right. You moan, albeit quietly, and arch into his touch. 

“So what are the parameters of this competition?” Chris asks the other two and turns his head towards them while he continues to work his fingers in and out of you. 

“What do you mean?” Sangyeon asks back. 

“Like, does foreplay count? Or is she judging solely based on our stroke game?”

Seungcheol considers it for a moment before looking to Sangyeon. “What do you think?”

“I think the judgment should include foreplay,” he says. “Foreplay is part of sex after all.”

“Good point,” Chris agrees. “Any other rules?” They shake their heads. “What about you, baby? Do you have any rules for us?”

You purse your lips as you think, trying not to lose focus with his fingers inside of you. “Just don’t go too hard. I do have to work on Monday.”

It’s only Friday night now, but knowing them, you’ll probably be sore for at least a couple of days afterward. 

Chris laughs. “We’ll do our best. Right, guys?”

They mumble what sounds like an agreement and Sangyeon even gives you a thumbs-up. 

“Can I keep going?” Chris asks you. 

“You didn’t really stop,” you point out.

He had still been fingering you lazily throughout the whole aside. It wasn’t enough to get you off but it was certainly distracting. You had to try very hard to concentrate on what they were saying. 

“C’mon, this is nothing,” he teases, bringing his thumb to your clit as he starts to kiss your neck. “How’s that?” he murmurs into your ear, 

“G-good...”

“Just good? Must be doing something wrong, then.”

Before you can deny it, he adds a third finger, earning a loud cry from you this time. You feel him grin against your throat, hiding his smug satisfaction from the other two. 

“Spread your legs wider for me, baby. Let them see.”

You do as you’re told even though it’s hard. It’s so much. You want to squeeze them around his hand again but you know you’ll only get told off if you do. 

“Good girl,” he praises, making you whimper. 

“That’s all it takes, doesn’t it?” Seungcheol mutters. “We just have to call you a good girl and you’re making a mess all over us, right?”

You squirm, arousal and embarrassment pooling in your belly. You can tell Chris wants to give Cheol shit for butting in when it’s supposed to be his turn, but he doesn’t because his words are technically helping him. You get even wetter around his fingers, a detail Chris elects not to share with the room. 

You’re sure they can see it, though, or at least hear it. The sounds are obscene. 

It’s mortifying. You want to die. But first you want to cum. 

Two of your favorite things about Chris are his hands. They’re huge, especially for a guy his height, and absolutely gorgeous. Thick veins run across the backs of them from his knuckles up through his forearms- he’s a nurse’s wet dream, and yours. You’ve spent an absurd amount of time tracing them with your own fingers when you’re laying in bed together after hooking up and more often than not, it’s enough to make you want to go again. 

He’s good with them too because of course he is. Bang Chan is annoyingly good at everything he does, including but not limited to: making you cum. 

“Already?” Chris muses under his breath. “Does having an audience turn you on that much?”

“Sh-shut up.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who can take their fingers away any time they want to.”

“No, please!” you protest.

“That’s what I thought. Do you want to cum on my fingers? Or should I make you wait for it?” He’s talking to himself at this point but you answer anyway. 

“I-I don’t know...”

“Probably should let you, huh? You’re still so tight.”

You don’t get another word out before it hits you, your body curling in on Chan’s hand as he finger fucks you through your first orgasm of the night. As soon as you come down, he���s taking his fingers out of you and sucking them into his mouth, kissing you right after so you can taste yourself on his lips. 

“Good job, baby,” he murmurs into your mouth as he adds his tongue back into the mix. “Ready for me now?”

“Mhm...”

“Condoms are in the nightstand,” Sangyeon says, nodding in the direction of the bedside table. 

Chris reaches over and pulls the drawer out, whistling at the other things he finds rolling around in the compartment. 

“This hers?” he asks, holding up a vibrator.

“Who else’s would it be?” Sangyeon mutters. 

“I don’t know what you do in your free time, man.”

He drops the toy back in its place and grabs a condom from the box tucked in the corner of the same drawer. The odds of one size fitting three different men were slim, but having slept with each of them you’re sure they’ll be able to make it work. 

Chris hands you the foil packet, allowing you to do the honors of tearing it open with your teeth while he works on getting naked. 

Seungcheol whistles jeeringly at Chan as he takes his cock out and pumps it a couple of times. You can see the back of Chan’s neck flush red but he remains steady as he rolls the latex on. You realize it must be difficult for him to have an audience too, though he has nothing to be self conscious about. Even if they aren’t showing it, you know the other two have to be impressed.

He’s the perfect balance of long and thick and just like his hands, defined veins run up the length of his shaft. You’ve spent what feels like hours tracing those veins with your tongue, watching him shiver under your touch. Most dicks aren’t pretty but Christopher Bahng’s certainly is.

“Ready?” Chris asks, rubbing your thigh with his palm.  

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Since he already made you cum, he’s able to slip in without much resistance- but he’s big enough that the stretch is still intense, making your eyes roll back in pleasure as you stifle a whimper. 

He gives you a moment to adjust once he’s fully inside you, teasing only a little bit with slight movements of his hips. 

“God, that feels good,” you moan.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs sweetly, “you’re taking it so well for me.”

He brushes a couple of strands of hair out of your eyes so that you can see him properly. Obstructed view or not, he’s beautiful on top of you. His own bangs have already started to stick to his forehead and the pink flush of embarrassment has somewhat faded and turned into that of exertion, spreading from the back of his neck to his chest and face and matching the kiss-bitten swell of his lips. The muscles in his arms and shoulders are engaged with the effort it takes to hold himself above you, making him look even bigger. 

His eyes are soft, even as the rest of his features take on a more sinister expression. That was one of the things that made sex with Chris so good. He genuinely cares for you, not just as a lover, but as a person. Lots of guys put effort into making the other party feel good during sex but that doesn’t mean they care about them. It’s not like that with Chris. 

“Want it faster?” he asks you. You nod. “Ask nicely.”

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. 

“Please...”

He frees one of his hands and uses it to stroke your cheek. “‘Please,’ what?”

“Faster,” you squeak. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Seungcheol scoffs from the sidelines. 

“I’ll let her off easy this time,” Chris responds. “She can hardly think straight as it is, isn’t that right?”

Another nod. 

You get what you want and Chan picks up the pace, snapping his hips into yours in quick, shallow thrusts. 

“You’re getting tighter again,” he grunts, faltering imperceptibly. “You’re making this too easy for me.”

One of the other two makes what you assume is a snide remark but you don’t catch it because everything starts to fade into the background as you start to cum around Chan’s cock. It catches both of you off guard, you can tell. It isn’t unusual for you to finish from penetration alone but it usually takes a lot longer. 

“Holy shit, you’re so- fuck, you’re going to make me cum.”

He keeps going after you come down, chasing his own release. It’s almost enough to send you into a third orgasm but he cums before you can get there which is both a relief and a disappointment. 

You whine as the feeling ebbs and let yourself go boneless underneath him. He follows suit and collapses face first next to you on the mattress. 

“Sorry,” he whispers to you. “I would’ve kept going but I didn’t want you to be too sensitive for them.”

You nod in understanding and pat him appreciatively on the back. 

The room is quiet as the three men wait for you to catch your breath. Chris ensures you’re okay before rolling off the bed and joining the other two by the dresser. He mentions something about cleaning you up when you’re all done and offers to fetch you a glass of water. 

“There’s a Brita in the fridge,” Sangyeon tells him after also pointing him in the direction of the cabinet that holds the cups. 

He disappears into the hall and you gather what little strength you have to pop your head up and address the two remaining leaders at the foot of the bed. 

“Who’s next?”

this has been in the works for way too long lol but lmk what you think! i always appreciate feedback!!

tags: @minghaosimp @butterfliesinthenightsky @lelestarmy @stolasisyourparent @brownbunnyb @tinkerbell460 @cixrosie

add yourself to the taglist here

[violetlichen]

nobody puts my bald baby in a corner

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen / Named Atreides wife A little nsfw but that's not the point. Domestic family life. They have five kids and Feyd desperately wants another. Wifey won't oblige. Don't pay attention to the other characters and Houses I included, I don't know anything about Dune and I just pulled from the fandom wiki or made them up. Their son is not the Kwisatz Haderach either!

****if you're somebody who works at tumblr hq reading this because i accidentally reported my own fic im really sorry****

It has been five years since Feyd-Rautha last saw his wife swell with his child.

It is entirely by her design, and certainly not for lack of trying. He ravages her senseless almost every night, but after five children, the ever infuriating Diana Atreides refuses to give him another. As a Bene Gesserit, it is within her power to do so; the witches are able to bend their own reproduction to their will, and Feyd-Rautha believes she likes his methods of convincing her too much to give him what he wants.

Tonight, he almost has her hooked. He kisses her knee and up her bare thigh, licking and sucking the plush skin there. She barely acknowledges him and lets him fondle her as he pleases, lost in her own thoughts. 

“She’s too old for him. He’s just a boy.”

They are currently hosting several of the Great Houses. Earlier at dinner, he and Diana were approached by the Duke of Ginaz, who suggested they betroth his daughter to their oldest son, Aleksei. Diana had hidden her frown behind her glass of wine, but Feyd-Rautha had seen it and filed it away for later, thanking the Duke for his time.

He hums against her thigh, tongueing over the faint bruise he made. He can use this.

“He will be a man soon,” he reminds her. He pulls her leg over his shoulder as he shifts up the bed, now eye level with her weeping cunt. His mouth waters. “Even if we refuse this proposal, there will be others.”

He knows his wife wants to say more, but the words die in her throat when he shoves his nose against her, inhaling her scent and releasing a shaky breath. He pretends it is for her benefit, but really, this is all for him. With his fingers pulling apart the seam of her, his tongue lolls out, and Feyd-Rautha feasts. 

When he has had his fill of her pleasure, he crawls up the length of her body. She pants underneath him, back arching and eyes squeezing shut like a satisfied cat, her neck exposed and vulnerable. He licks off the sweat there.

“It will not stop with Aleksei,” he says, leaning over her.

Diana scowls. She shoves him, but he does not yield. He grasps her hand, pulling it away from his chest and up to his mouth, where he kisses her fingers.

He knows he is being cruel, rubbing salt in her wound. Her children are growing. At twelve years old, Aleksei is admittedly still too young to seriously consider for marriage, but the coming years will go by in a blink. First it will be Aleksei, then Nikita shortly after, and then Maxim – although their youngest and most unstable son will be difficult to pawn off, Feyd-Rautha thinks. 

His girls are another story. Sasha and Grisha were both gifted their mother’s beauty, but it is Grisha, their youngest, who takes after Feyd-Rautha the most. She is the only one of his children who did not inherit those dark Atreides curls. She is perfect; wholly Harkonnen, like her father. He knows he will feel how Diana does now when it is time for Grisha to leave his side.

It is why he fucks into his wife now, flexing his hips slowly and purposefully, so she feels every inch of his longing. He staves off the urge to empty himself inside of her prematurely, already aching to see her breasts swollen and leaking. 

He stops, trying to catch his breath. He pulls back from Diana to thumb over her pearl, grinding his length into her. “Shall I leave you like this, wife?” he asks her.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, her hips chasing his fingers.

“I can give you what you want,” he taunts. “I will pump you full of my children happily. What is one more?”

Diana does not answer, but he sees her breaking, just as he is. He holds her legs open, jutting into the apex of them, growling as he stares her down, willing her to change her mind. She hides her fears behind her pleasure, hides the tear sliding down her cheek by turning her face into the pillow, taking what he gives her.

What is one more child? Certainly not the solution to her problem. It is only a delay of the inevitable, that one day they will all grow up and no longer need her. Feyd-Rautha knows this. But he hopes to delay his wife’s suffering, just as he will delay her gratification if she does not give him what he wants.

When he pumps his load into her, he knows she is not satisfied. He breathes through his own satisfaction, nose flaring like a bull, but she does not complain like he expected her to. She does not roll him over to claim him, or bring her fingers to her cunt to finish what he started, his eyes on her hole, full of his spend.

Instead she buries her face in her hands. Feyd-Rautha leans his weight onto her and pulls her hands away, revealing her face to him. She blinks at him, her lashes wet and clumping together.

He knows what she is feeling. “I feel it, too,” he says. “Let me give you another, my darling.”

Diana nods and looks away, breathing out a held breath. “Alright,” she says. Her eyes soften fondly when they focus on him again. “Alright.”

They lay together for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Feyd-Rautha does not know if tonight will be the night, but he hopes. He hopes she sees it the way he does -- a continuation of their happiness, not the eventual ending of it. He kisses every part of Diana he can reach, and she cuddles into him, their limbs a tangled mess. 

A little later into the night, a knock on the door breaks their comfortable silence. Feyd-Rautha grunts, already irritated, and removes himself from her, slipping on a robe and his pants.

When he opens the door, he finds a wide-eyed servant. “It is the children, Baron Harkonnen.”

Feyd-Rautha frowns and widens the door, panic souring him. “Where are they?”

“They are safe, Baron Harkonnen, but there has been a bit of trouble.”

Diana appears behind him, wrapping her robe around her waist. "What sort of trouble?" she asks, brow furrowed.

“It will be best if you follow me to the drawing room within the guest wing, Baroness.”

Diana whips past Feyd-Rautha and the servant, not waiting for either of them to lead her to the guest wing. Feyd-Rautha follows after her, and he knows to expect his boys. It is not the first time he was awoken by something they have done when they should have been sleeping, but it does concern him that they were found in the guest wing.

Although he is the youngest son, Maxim is the instigator of all things. Not as bright as the others, he is aggressive and impulsive, often letting his hands speak for him. He acts before he thinks, and it frustrates Diana greatly. Many nights Feyd-Rautha has been brought before Maxim in the kitchens, where he sticks his grubby hands into pies and picks at berries meant for the morning’s breakfast. The guards know not to let him out of his room at night without their explicit permission.

But as explosive as Maxim is, it is Aleksei who reminds Feyd-Rautha the most of his own brother, Beast Rabban. His oldest son is proud and quick to anger, easily riled by Maxim and his sisters who poke and prod at him in the ways only younger siblings can. Feyd-Rautha does his best to temper Aleksei, to show him the value in patience, in choosing his battles.

Nikita, self-sufficient boy that he is, waits until the battles are over and won to pick at what remains. He watches. Feyd-Rautha suspects Diana favors him over the others, though she will never admit it. 

All of them dote on their sisters. Sasha has them carry her around on their backs, even when they are tired and sore and agitated from their training. They still treat Grisha like she is their baby, although she is almost six years old now and loathes the comparison. 

Each of them, in their own ways, bring honor to their House. It is not something he had ever imagined for himself when thinking about his future. Feyd-Rautha is proud of his children, and he would not be disinclined to have another.

The chaos they find upon entering the drawing room is enough for him to change his mind.

The lord and lady from Zanbar, whose names Feyd-Rautha has forgotten, fawn over their young daughter, who sits upon an ottoman in front of the fireplace, her face red and streaked with tears. She cries as she pulls at what remains of her blonde hair. It has been crudely chopped off, the ends blunt and jagged like it had been sawed with a knife.

Their boys stand sullenly in front of the governess, disheveled in her bathrobe and still flustered from being awoken in the middle of the night to collect them. Aleksei folds his arms over his chest, his head full of curly dark hair held high. Next to him, Nikita remains calm in the face of their impending scolding. He very likely had done nothing wrong but bear witness to the antics of his rowdy brothers. Meanwhile, Maxim openly glares at the small weeping girl. She deserved what she got, and he is waiting for a reason to give her more to cry over.

“What happened?” Diana asks, dismayed.

“Your sons snuck into my daughter’s bedchamber and cut her hair off while she slept!” the lord’s wife snaps, borderline hysterical. “Where were her guards? How was this allowed to happen?”

She is reaching an unnatural decibel, but withers under the glare Feyd-Rautha shoots her. They were pulled from their bed for this? His darkening expression does not fully quell the lady's anger, and she gawks at her husband, willing him to say something.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," the lord offers unhelpfully, averting his timid gaze.

Diana stills, taking in the sight of the poor girl’s hacked hair. With a deep inhale, she turns to the boys, her hand finding her hip. “Explain yourselves.”

“She was mocking Grisha, mother,” Maxim says, scowling. “We heard her at dinner.”

Aleksei nods, more self-righteous and refined in his anger. “She laughed at Grisha and made her cry because she doesn’t have hair.” He sneers when the lord’s daughter wails a little louder at this, because she, too, does not have hair now. “She called her ugly.”

Diana looks heartbroken over this, but her Bene Gesserit training helps to quickly neutralize her face. She looks to Nikita. “And you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I told them not to.”

Feyd-Rautha believes him. Nikita is no less ruthless, but he is also a diplomat by nature, preferring more uninvolved methods of justice or revenge. This boldness is certainly the work of his brothers.

Feyd-Rautha cannot wait to reward them handsomely for it.

Diana believes Nikita as well, for she turns back to the other two. “Apologize to Lady Rosalind.”

“But mother, she–”

“Enough,” Feyd-Rautha rasps, growing tired of the spectacle. “Do as your mother says, so we may all retire to our beds.” He shoots another glare at the lord and lady, who bluster under his attention, too afraid of him to protest again.

Aleksei and Maxim step forward and bow to the young girl. “We’re sorry,” they echo, not meaning it at all.

Knowing that is the best she will get from them, Diana exhales deeply and dismisses them back to their rooms, escorted by their governess to make sure they get there and do not take any more detours. Nikita follows, ever their solemn shadow. 

Diana kneels down beside Lady Rosalind. “Don’t fret. Hair grows back,” she soothes. The girl hiccups, and Diana gently brushes the hair out of her eyes before standing up to face her parents again. “I apologize on behalf of my sons. As you can see, they love their sister very much and do not take kindly to those who upset her.”

The lord and lady of Zanbar try to hide their grimaces. They know their indignancy is unfounded now that they know their daughter had started this. “Baroness, I must apologize–” the lord starts.

“That won’t be necessary,” Diana interrupts, putting a graceful hand up to stop him. “Let’s put this unpleasantness behind us. My husband and I will question our guards to understand how this was allowed to happen. Those responsible will be thoroughly punished.” She looks at Feyd-Rautha. “That includes our sons.”

This seems to satisfy the lord and lady enough to gather up their snot nosed daughter and leave, perhaps vowing to never step foot on Giedi Prime again. Feyd-Rautha will not miss them.

He and Diana walk back to their bedchamber in an agitated silence, until she breaks it.

“Still want another?” she asks him, deadpan.

“Not particularly. Would you still like me to thoroughly punish them?”

“Not particularly.”

Feyd-Rautha hums, and he reaches for her hand. 

The next morning, Feyd-Rautha walks over to Grisha where she sits on the wide stone fence, her little legs dangling over the side. The boys train in the yard, and she watches with her dolls, acting out the sparring techniques she sees with them. He kisses her head, smooth like his. She ignores him, too caught up in supervising the training of her dolls.

Feyd-Rautha smiles. “Who is winning?” he asks.

One of the dolls headbutts the other. Their yarn-like hair swings around violently. It is hard to tell under the light of the black sun, but he thinks one of them is blonde. That one plops to the ground, landing in the sand.

Grisha raises the hand of the victorious doll the way she sees her father raise his in the arena. “This one,” she tells him.

“Well fought,” Feyd-Rautha says proudly. He bends down to pick up the doll and hands it to her. He watches her run her fingers through the doll’s hair, brushing the sand out of it with great care.

One day, his daughter will train alongside her brothers. She will have no need for hair then. It would just get in her way, and make her easier to grab by her opponents. She will see the use in this, and appreciate what makes her Harkonnen.

For now, Feyd-Rautha cups her head and kisses her again. He calls her his beautiful girl, and returns to the yard, picking up where he and the boys left off.

[blixabargelds]

12. things you said when you thought I was asleep

pls pls pls

did you think i was going to be sad with this one 😈

- things you said when you thought i was asleep

They agreed upon it days ago. John drunk as all hell, a dead weight at Gale’s side and listing tiredly. He’d turned to Gale and said, wanna fuck you every waking moment. Gale had said, your waking moments are rapidly depleting. John had said, doesn’t matter to me. Gale, dropping to his knees to untie his boots for him, had said, to me neither.

The next morning, pitifully wrung out and wincing into his coffee, John had looked up at Gale open-mouthed, as Gale reiterated, “It don’t gotta be a waking moment.”

It’s not John’s fault that he’s a light sleeper.

Gale wakes groggily, the air still cool and the sky still pitch black as it leaks in through their window, John’s long fingers opening him up from behind. Gale’s breath catches. He’s face down in their bed, and inhales deep and slow the flavour of the cotton sheets, shivering as he tries to regulate the movements of his body. John had wanted this. Gale’s happy to give him the illusion. He keeps himself lax as possible, eyes shut, as John draws out two fingers, then slides three back in. He’s been half-successful; the stretch tingles in the base of Gale’s spine, but does not hurt. He notices, then, that the nape of his neck is damp against his sleep shirt’s collar, as if John’s been lapping at him. Gale is hard between his stomach and the bed. There’s a stickiness already at the tip of his cock, and the idea that John’s been at this for some time makes it suddenly more challenging to stay still.

John hooks his fingers inside him, and Gale swallows around a whine. It’s a poor method on John’s part- if he wanted Gale asleep then he shouldn’t delve like that, soft pads of his fingertips pressing and seeking, slick with Vaseline and scissoring a little. Gale breathes faster, tries to hold back the way his hips want to stutter, as John moans quietly behind him at nothing but his own fingers fucking into Gale.

“Christ, I’d have you like this every night,” he mutters. Gale bites his lip. “God, every morning, too. I just might.”

John pulls his fingers out, and it takes all Gale’s strength not to back up to keep them inside. The silence in the room feels enormous in his head, as John shuffles around in the dark. Gale’s half scared his heartbeat might give him away. His lungs ache with the effort of expanding subtly whilst pressed flat onto the mattress, and then John’s pressing him down further, his wetted cock pushing inside his hole with more restraint than Gale’s ever felt from him.

“Oh, fuck,” John hisses. “Buck, sweetheart.”

There’s drool escaping Gale’s lips from around his clamped teeth. He wonders if there’s any range of movement that won’t give him away, any small shift of his ass back onto John’s cock that won’t alert him to Gale’s wakefulness. He tests a fraction. It’s either well timed with John’s slow thrusts, or John is too gone to notice, because as Gale grinds back against him as minutely as he can John falls further forward, hitting the spot in Gale that would normally have him groaning loud.

“I love you pliant,” John whispers. Gale makes a punched-out noise that could be a dreaming grunt. “Love the way you just take me without tryin’.”

John pulls halfway out. It’s dizzyingly slow, so as not to wake Gale, who’s wide awake and fast losing his grip on pretence. He fucks himself down onto the bed, he can’t help it. The friction against his cock makes him sigh, makes him want to do it again, but he’s already jerking too much to be convincing much longer. John thrusts back into him deep, and Gale almost chokes.

“So tight even like this,” John keeps talking, filthy little whispers for nobody’s benefit but his own, every one making Gale’s eyes roll behind his eyelids.

He starts fucking him in earnest; not his usual, fast rutting, but clipped grinding thrusts, hardly any drag of his cock pulling in and out of Gale’s body, just burrowing himself further in. Gale’s mouth is open against the sheets now, and he thinks he might be wheezing. The bed begins to bounce with John’s movements, allowing Gale a touch more plausibility with which to fuck back onto John. He rolls his hips down, breath coming faster and harder as his cock twitches where it’s trapped, John splaying a big hand over Gale’s spine and pressing him down more. Gale’s aching cock rubs desperately against the sheets. He lets slip a decidedly conscious moan.

“Buck?” John says.

“Don’t stop,” Gale grits out, voice thick, “Bucky-”

“Fuck,” John says. He grabs Gale’s hips, pulls him back by them hard, and Gale finally releases a crushed, noisy breath as his chest leaves the bed. “How long-”

“John,” Gale gasps.

“Okay,” John says. “Alright,” as he reaches around to take Gale’s dripping cock in hand.

It only takes two tugs for Gale to come. He groans into the crook of his elbow, shuddering as John’s fingers slide over the head of his cock, gathering the hot rush of cum and slicking it back up his sensitive length, driving roughly into him until he shouts out his own release.

Gale collapses under their shared weight. John pulls out after a long, panting moment, and yawns.

“You tired or somethin’, Bucky?” Gale says.

“Were you leading me on that whole time?” says John. Gale says nothing, but shakes his head. There’s a small amount of light coming through the window now. In the relief of it, John laughs. “You were. You son of a bitch.”

“Says who?” Gale smiles. “Was just gonna tell you ’bout my nice dream.”

[harvesti]

What are few things you would advice to young girls to stop doing right this instance? Like right now? It could health wise, emotionally, physically etc

first of all, thanks for the question, I loved it! here's a list of things I wish I could tell younger me:

stop posting your face, name and general personal information online. people who say that it's "suspicious" or "inappropriate" to not have personal information online are potential predators. you owe nobody nothing! keep your anonymity, it's your right!

on that note, please stop sending nudes. not in a slut-/kink-shaming way, but in a you really don't understand how not private the internet is so please don't assume you're safe way. only send pics that you wouldn't mind if they got out!

the future is so fucking unpredictable it will make you sick. it will make you literally dizzy. you have zero control over like 99% of what will fundamentally direct your fate. so truly it is in your best interest to find a way to only concern yourself with what IS under your control.

for teens in particular: older men who claim you're special, mature and different from other girls your age are lying. the most mature teenage girl in the world is still a teenage girl, and they know it. no, it's not because girls mature faster than boys: it's because they know you'll fall for that shit so they can violate you and get away with it. if you're into older men, that's fine; older men who are into you, however, are not fine.

remember that there is an entire social structure that profits off your insecurities. people are making money off of you thinking that you're fat and ugly, and they want to keep benefitting from your tears and suffering. don't let them!

no person in the world is a permanent presence in your life. no matter if they're childhood friends, family members, love affairs: if they make you suffer, get away from them. cut them off. you owe nobody nothing.

save some fucking money whenever you can. honestly.

and, of course, QUIT SUGAR!

[caitlinsgirl]

Locked Eyes

- summary: first person perspective of a sports journalist who is failing miserably at her job.

- warnings: implied d*rty thought

- word count; 771

- songs

softly by clairo

i think he knows by taylor swift

- note: i don't know shit about sports, so please feel free to correct any technical details i got wrong. i hope you enjoy!

              

               God is playing a joke on me. God is playing a sick, cruel joke on me. I am going to get fired from my job for this. My amazing, dream, well-paying job with amazing PTO and retirement benefits.

            Just for a short, close glimpse of her… and it might be worth it.

            I have been sitting at this courtside seat for over an hour. The players have started to warm up, but the plastic under my legs feels cold. The pencil in my hand is covered in nail marks from my grip, as if it could provide the mercy that I desperately need right now. A writer with nothing to write. Nothing but, God she's so beautiful, and, Is she making eye contact with me? Fuck, no, that's crazy, wait, did she just do it again?

            Otherworldly is an understatement. Beautiful is an understatement. Hot is closer to the truth. Stunning, breathtaking, striking… I cannot seem to find the words to describe the way Caitlin Clark's magnetism binds me helpless, speechless, and spineless. Each glance from her feels like an attempt to stop my heart from performing its function. Against my will, but with my delight, my eyes follow her tall figure as she runs up and down the court. How long are basketball games, again? Did a sports journalist just forget that minor detail?

            It was one thing to attend her games in person from a further seat in the arena. Now, sitting this close to her, it feels like I could reach out my hand and run my fingers through her sweaty pin-straight hair.

            The noise of the cheering crowd drowns into muffled white noise with every charming move. How hot it is when she gets upset with an opposing team member. The upset look on her face is unapologetic and confident. My heart beats faster at the sight of it, and I cannot help but to wonder what it would be like to be protected by her the way she protects herself, her team. Just a few feet away.

            God, it is almost annoying. Her unwavering resilience, her iron focus, her muscular arms and shoulders… I did not even know it was possible for a woman in this cruel world to be that comfortable in her own skin. Come to think of it, comfortable would be an insulting understatement. She is demanding the room and the thousands of people in it. I want to get up from my seat and run into her strong arms.

            My haze is interrupted by the sudden flurry of extra-loud cheers from the crowd. One of the Indiana Fever's players scored, and I was too preoccupied with player 22 to notice. Caitlin was not the one to advance the scoreboard, but her infectious satisfaction and desire to win lights up the room. She moved her arms upwards, hyping up the crowd’s collective energy in the reveling of victory. Thank you, God, for allowing my eyes adjust the scene to slow motion; her strong shoulders, her long muscular arms, leading up to her pale long fingers… I watch her hands in the air and my lungs give up when I see the way that her middle two fingers stick to each other. Could that be muscle memory?

            Then, she remembers. I see it on her face the millisecond before she turns her head to look at me, again. Look at me, again. Look at me, look at me, no one else me. She remembers I exist, and it matters enough to break her concentration of the game onto me.

            I wonder what she sees when she catches my view. Does she see the way my cheeks have been flushed in amazement this entire game? How stupid I look with my lips slightly parted with desire? How my ankles cross over each other with school-girl hesitation? She holds our eye contact for a few seconds, and they feel like blissful eternity. It was like the crowd, players, and professionals melted into the floor. The roof sinks upwards to reveal a Paris starry night, and she is the angel standing across the street, manifested just for me.

            My girlish desire paints itself over my face and my lips melt into a smile, a smile that says I adore you. My writing hand, pencil still in hand, reaches up to my hair to fidget with the ends. In an instant, our moment is interrupted by her game. She focuses again, but with a lingering and flattered smile. Could it be the adrenaline, could it be all that running? Her cheeks are flushed the same color as her uniform.

[uzurimisery]

stars so soft. / toji fushiguro x reader

Warnings: suggestive content, friends with benefits to lovers

w.c.: 1k

Written for the @pixelcafe-network Friday Challenge #2

You know it is before you open the door. It’s late, 2 am. The sunset was so long ago it feels like the night has been around the whole day. The guy you started seeing, Alan, a nice guy but a bit boring if you’re honest, left around 11 pm and you’ve just been scrolling through social media on your phone since then. You’ve kept yourself awake, knowing he will turn up eventually. He always does. Toji’s the only person who shows up at the time, with no regard for whether you’re sleeping or not. But like habit you open the door, the hinges creaking under the weight of itself, and sure enough it is Toji on the other side.

“Hey,” he speaks, voice rough from the cigarettes he smokes. His hair is damp and slicked back from his face from the rain. It drips down onto his shirt, the fabric clinging to every ridge of his body. 

You hesitate for a second. It’s not surprise, but more like trepidation. There’s always something about him that makes you feel like a school girl with a crush. He never let’s you know what he actually feels towards you and you’re left guessing. You’ve given yourself the grace to assume he wants nothing serious. 

You step to the side without thinking. It's second nature to let him in. “Hey.” 

He brushes past you, some water dripping onto the tile of your entryway, and you close the door behind him.

The two of you have a complicated relationship. If you can call it that. You aren’t even sure what he’d consider you guys to be. Whatever it is, you know at least you’ll be having great sex tonight. 

“You got a new couch.” Toji is a big guy, he takes up a lot of visual space in your apartment. Its not that you’ve got a small apartment, he’s just big. Tall and muscular. 

“Yeah, I did.” 

It's plush, a deep shade of teal L-shaped couch that contrasts nicely with the warm wood floors of your apartment, really makes them pop. For something you found for $200 on Facebook marketplace, it really is a steal. Fits well in your space and really ties it together in a way the red loveseat you used to have never could. Makes the space cozy and inviting. Makes it feel like a home. 

“Looks nice,” He’s quick to slide his shoes off, sink onto the couch, and place his feet on the coffee table. Maybe when you’re that large you forget that things are smaller than you or maybe he doesnt care, but it jostles the two wine glasses you forgot to clear. They clink against each other softly. Scoffing, you nudge his legs off the table. 

“Seriously?”

He pointedly glances at the glasses. “You have company?” 

You shrug nonchalantly, sliding onto the couch beside him. “Just some guy.” 

It is like a witch goes off for him. Toji’s stiff at that, turning to face you. His brows heavy, forehead scrunched up. Reminds you of a kid finding out they aren’t getting the toy they’ve been eyeing a the store. “You’re fucking other guys?” 

“No, it was a date. I’m not fucking him. Yet.”  You roll your eyes at his tone.

His jaw tightens. “What do you mean yet?” 

“As in I’m not having sex with him yet, but I will later.”  You reply flatly. 

He crosses his arms and stares forward. His posture was rigid like someone shoved a pole up his ass, muscles tensed under his wet shirt. There’s a long silence, which is normal for him he has phases where he doesn’t talk much, but it’s awkward and 

tense. He doesn’t look at you, but he’s firm when he finally speaks. 

“I don’t want you to.” 

“Why not?” 

Its at that he faces you again. There’s a possessive edge in his eyes, something hungry and controlling.  It’s predatory and sends a shiver down your spine. If you’re honest, it turns you on. 

“I don’t want you to,” he’s cold as he speaks. “If you sleep with him I’ll kill him.” 

That should be expected given the whole hitman-for-hire thing. Murder is the most natural thing in the world for him. Comes with the territory. You should probably flinch, act horrified, and cry, but you knew what he was and who he was. 

“Toji, you’re not my boyfriend I can do what I want.” 

 He puts a hand on your thigh as he doesn't miss a beat. “Starting today I'm your boyfriend.” 

“I don’t get a say in this?” Both of you know that you’d say yes if he had asked you months ago, you were just being bratty since he didn’t ask before and now is telling you of this. 

“What like you’re gonna say no?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “You’ve got to take me on an actual date now y’know that?”

“Okay.” He’s smiling at you.

“And I want flowers every week,” you add. If he’s going to decide this for you, you want romance. God knows he’s got to make up for the lack of it he’s been giving you.

To your surprise, he doesn't argue. “Alright.” 

You stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The look on your face must say a lot because he laughs, one of those full-bellied ones, before pulling you onto his lap. 

“You’re serious?” you ask, still suspicious of him. 

“Dead serious,” he replies, grip tightening around your waist and pulling you closer to grind your core against his growing erection. His voice is a low growl and he leans in and whispers the next part. “You make me fucking crazy.” 

“Buh buh buh,” you place a hand on his chest and push him back. “Bad dog. Gotta earn it by taking me to dinner tomorrow.” 

He groaned, putting his head on your shoulder. “Fine.” 

You can feel him smiling against your skin before biting your shoulder. 

“Ow!” 

“Sorry,” he chuckles pressing a soft kiss to the spot. “I’m not house-trained.”

©️ uzuzrimisery

[physalian]

On Hyper Independent Characters (and how not to make them the bad guy)

So many characters with “trust issues” are painted out to be cynical little gremlins who just need to ~open their hearts~ and ~let the love in~ like doing so, repeatedly, has only proven them right every single time, but this one love interest will swoop in and save the day.

The people who write these characters tend to do so in bad faith, as if their fears and trust issues are unfounded nonsense, like they’re wrong and Negative Nellys for being wary.

So!

From experience (thus this is hella biased), here’s some thoughts on writing an independent character with trust issues that isn’t belittling.

1. It’s likely not that kind of trust they have issues with

I said this before a while ago, but “trust issues” paired with an extreme sense of self-reliance isn’t “I think everyone is a liar,” but rather “I think everyone is unreliable”. It might stem from a place of constantly being let down, of constantly having the people in their life drop the ball on major events, but also little things, even something as simple as “hey yeah I’ll totally do the dishes” and then they continue to sit there, forcing the person to be a nag about it, or just do it themselves.

These kinds of personalities tend to grow up surrounded by unkept and empty promises, where, while it might not be every single occasion, it happens one too many times for them to keep giving the benefit of the doubt. Even when people have the best of intentions and mean it when they say they’ll do XYZ in the moment, and they really just forgot, the person they made the promise to is impatiently waiting for them to remember 12-day-old dishes.

2. Why don’t they just remind people to keep their promises?

If you’re in my boat, many people with commitment issues are also narcissists or just mean, who, if you even gently remind them, make you out to be a nagging, impatient brat. And to avoid hearing that again, you just don’t speak up. Too many times where ‘forgetting’ has been from a source of a weird power fantasy, intentionally screwing you over, leaves people sitting in a state of unknowing whether it’s benign neglect or very much on purpose, and afraid to voice their concerns to be proven right.

If you’re not in my boat, chronic “forgetters” aren’t going to change without intervention. So if I ask you to do the dishes once, and you forget, that’s one thing. If I ask you twice, three times, four times, nagging over and over again, then the benefit of the doubt is shredded, and I can’t help but assume that the “forgetting” is on purpose. Either weaponized incompetence or something more benign, doesn’t matter. Even if you have some executive dysfunction, that's an explanation, not an excuse, and the people you live with aren't your maids.

Either way, these personalities might grow up with a whole slew of self-worth issues, and be reluctant to make plans with people, invite friends to important events, or get excited about big milestones, because they’re so used to people they care about “forgetting” or canceling last minute that the only one they can trust to reliably show up is themselves.

3. Why don’t they just communicate these fears?

See the “narcissists” in point 2

4. Isn’t it lonely never letting people in?

Fuck yeah, it is. The thing is, though, that if you spend your whole life learning how to do everything alone—pay your bills, do ‘couple’ or ‘friend’ activities, run errands, take yourself out to places—the idea of having to squeeze in the wants and needs of someone else might start to sound incredibly inconvenient.

If you’re so used to being on your own schedule and reaping the benefits of being a party of 1 in crowded spaces (I just took myself to dinner at a place with an hour long wait, able to be seated immediately at the last remaining barstool), of not having to wait for someone else to confirm plans, negotiate who’s driving, negotiate a time to meet up, food to order, a movie to see, a roller coaster to ride, a game or streaming service to buy—everything is entirely under your control, sacrificing convenience for the chance that the person you invite actually shows up on time and is invested as you are isn’t really worth the risk.

That's not to say I don't enjoy when I get to do things with friends, but I can equally enjoy doing things alone as opposed to whining about it.

Personally, while I can daydream about having a romantic partner, that thought is always immediately followed up by the understanding that they’ll be an inconvenience to my independence. But I’m someone who’s always had to do the emotional labor in a relationship, who’s always the most organized, the most mature, the most level-headed in tough situations. Always been the person in groupwork who does all the work. The idea of being “a team” is a fantasy meant for other people. “Team” to me is “me and this deadweight that I have to drag around”.

5. How I’d like to see this represented in characters

Dropping “the one” into their lives and having this person swept up, broken out of their little pessimistic shell, in some epic romance, as if they only needed to find the right person and nothing at all goes wrong… is bad faith.

It’s bad faith because it minimizes this kind of independence as just a little mood problem that can be fixed right quick, that it’s inherently wrong—what was all the fuss about?

What I’d like to see is examples that prove they’re not crazy. Big and little things. Dishes, and big events. Then, they can meet “the one,” but not without some trial and error. A lifetime of “people suck and are unreliable” isn’t going to be snapped away bibbidi bobbidi boo after one good date. This magical person will have to show up, and keep showing up, and keep showing up, and the one time they don’t, because they won’t, then A and B can hash it out like adults.

6. How this person might act

I’ve never actually met somebody like me and we’d either be best friends or loathe each other. But this person might be the most reliable friend you’ve ever had, because they’re so afraid of becoming like everyone in their life who let them down before. If you ask a favor of them, it gets done with supernatural haste.

This person might also have their own commitment issues, where instead of failing to keep their promises, they punish themselves by keeping promises they hate, showing up out of spite and resentment because they said they would, lest they be called a hypocrite.

They might under-share or not speak up about accomplishments in their life until the time for hype and anticipation has passed, lest they share expecting the same level of excitement only to be met with apathy. They might not show visible excitement about objectively exciting things, because they’re so used to plans falling through that they won’t believe something is happening until they are physically in the location and it’s staring them in the face.

Thus, they might look frequently bored or unhappy and unmoved by something important to you, or something you thought they’d like (especially if you’ve let them down before, trust is a privilege, not a right).

7. What I’d like people to understand most of all

First, that some of us tend to live by the “if you want something done right do it yourself” mantra, so actually asking somebody for help with something is admitting that X cannot be done alone, which makes failure to keep a promise even worse. As in, if A goes out of their way to admit they can’t do F alone and risk being let down to ask B to do this one little thing for them, and B still drops the ball, A is going to sit there and think “this is why I have trust issues”.

Can’t speak for everyone, but yes I do acknowledge that the suffering in silence isn’t helping anyone and am working on it. Counterpoint: Weaponized incompetence is very real and an adult should not have to remind another adult to keep their living space clean, at the bare minimum. Agreeing to do a thing is at least equal responsibility on the inviter and invitee and "you didn't remind me" isn't a valid excuse.

But most importantly, if you have a friend or relative who is fiercely independent, I’d implore you to learn one thing: Do not make promises that you can’t keep. And if shit happens and you have to cancel even when you had the best of intentions, have the decency to tell them and make the best effort you can to reschedule ASAP, instead of putting the impetus on them to do the rescheduling. Make it absolutely clear that you do, in fact, care, and weren’t going out of some apathetic sense of obligation.

I cannot count the amount of times I have asked a friend to do something for me, they eagerly agreed, and then my very real deadlines come and go and they say absolutely nothing, so I have to nag them, and nag them, and then they turn it back on me with a “obviously you can see that I’m busy and you’re not paying me for this” when all they had to do was say “no I can’t help you” (two whole humans; we are not friends anymore).

The ability to be approached with a request for a favor, step back and think about it, and go “No, I don’t think I can do that in that time frame/at this moment I’m going through a lot/with the skill the task requires” is apparently ridiculously rare. I’d infinitely prefer a no upfront than a yes, bank on that yes, and then wait around hoping someone follows through.

Not saying anything is really rude. If you agree to X, the person who asked you is fully expecting you to do X. They shouldn’t have to be lining up backup plans and last minute helpers scrambling to do the job you promised would get done.

—

Not exaggerating when I say it happens in so many areas. I’ve needed very important things like recommendation letters, or actual paid beta readers on a very hard deadline and still scrambled at the last minute to find replacements that sometimes cost real money for rush fees. I’ve been left waiting at an event for an hour minimum only to finally receive a ‘hey I can’t come’ text and then go home. I’ve told people multiple times, “hey, if you’re going to do X, please do it like this and have some consideration for my things that you’re borrowing” and just… be ignored.

As somebody who gets whatever’s asked of me done immediately, no matter how busy I am, man is it hard to keep accepting “sorry I forgot” as an excuse, from multiple people, multiple times.

The nice thing, though, the big benefit of hyper-independence is that I have learned so many skills out of a compulsion to just do it myself instead of gambling with the accountability of another flighty human. Handyman things for my home and my car, but artistic things, too. So there’s that.

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Seven

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warning: Bloodshed, fight between a man and a woman, tech talk, injuries, future implications of murder on the horizon. Use of your nickname for König.

Words: 2628

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?”

Just because you can, it doesn’t always mean you should.

Sometimes it better to walk away.

Letting things lie.

Leaving them in the shadow of what could have happened if you wanted to act upon your urge to be rid of them.

Your fingers trail along the mask. An incredible gift in your eyes. The sleek material cool beneath your fingers, the curves forming over your face.

As if the material itself bonded together with your face, the digital HUD flickering to life with a gentle hum, casting a soft glow in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Simon took a tentative step towards you. He looked at it, he said, "It's a beauty," he whispered with a hint of envy.

"Lightweight, customisable, and undetectable by most standard security systems, protects my face from dust, debris, and potentially harmful airborne particles." you described part of it.

Other functions of your mask were less visible but equally important. It had a built-in respirator allowed you to breathe without revealing your position through foggy breath in cold environments or leaving a trail in smoke-filled rooms.

The mask's indented 'teeth' served as a silent venting system for the excess heat your body produced during intense combat. It was a marvel of modern warfare technology, and it complemented your lethal skill set like a second skin.

You don’t know when the chatter around started to grate on your ears and eat away at your nerves. Part of you thinks it was because of a certain part of you being denied sustenance. Thrill of a fight itching to be satiated.

Itching. Aching. Burning in the bottom of your stomach like a meal denied.

“We are all doomed. We are not special. None of us are special. We live on a tiny rock floating amongst other tiny space rocks. To imply we are special is to deny the truth. You are not special, just as I am not special.”

You were tired of the excuses. You were tired of them. “You are mediocre at best and tolerable at worst. I don’t care about you or anyone else here. Your existence is finite.”

“You are mediocre at everything I have seen you do.” You repeated with a narrowed glare. “Everything you are. It could and would be forgotten as long as your superiors benefit from it.”

“You don’t get to keep something someone else owns. Not ever. I don’t need a ‘saviour’ stop implying that I need one.” You murmured, your voice as fierce as a cat's growl. Your hold on his throat base stayed firm, as relentless as desert sands.

Despite your injury, you retaliated fiercely when threatened sufficiently. The cut deep enough to insert at least three fingers. You were always considered difficult to your peers. You didn't care about their opinion as much as they believed.

Imagine talking about someone’s trauma and labelling them as the ‘difficult one’ pathetic morons can’t consider the fact trauma changes people.

If they knew how trauma worked, they wouldn’t be flapping their pathetic mouths so much.

They need to learn to shut the fuck up.

Projecting their morals onto others like they’re the only people in the world.

Shut the fuck up. Most of you are more likely to have the privilege to never go through it.

Stupid pathetic moronic children who can only think of themselves first.

I see Simon receive the same treatment by women who label him the ‘difficult one’. It makes me want to smack the shit out of all of them.

Assault of any kind should not be tolerated. They need to shut the fuck up before I make them shut up.

I am tired of them. I am sick of their justifications of labels on people.

Shut the fuck up, I hate you all.

Trauma isn’t something you belittle. Yet you seem to have fun in doing just that. I hope you die and reach a depth of hell most won’t be able to reach.

It is what you deserve. It is what I want you to have. Now more than ever.

You think you snapped when it happened. Not that you aimed for a psychological snap any time, sooner or later. Yet the whispers and murmurs grated on your nerved like nails on a chalkboard. Call me pathetic and I will give you death.

I will give you a death even your so called god will not look away.

Your enemies cannot reach you. Sleep well, the clock ticks on.

The stars do not know you, prepare, they’ll whisper you your fate.

They look at you and wonder how you are even alive. Fear mixed with disgust. You feel it. You see it. They keep you because otherwise you would have been a darker shell of yourself.

He pushed you far enough to get here. Yet it caused you to laugh. To giggle. The blood gushing from your nose, a bit from your mouth, you laugh. You laugh because you know it’s all a game to them. A game of fear and power. And in that moment, you had all the power. You knew because the stars had already whispered to you, and they had never lied.

"An itty bitty knife? Are you fucking serious?" you taunted him.

The man snarled back a response, "This isn't a game, bitch," as he raised the knife, ready to strike fear into your heart.

“Are you scared? Are you going to run crying to your superiors, little bitch?” you taunted relentlessly. “Gonna cry now?”

A beast circling its wounded prey, every nip, every bite and every taunt. You became more beast than human when your anger wound-up tighter than a coiled snake. Posed and poised to strike. His eyes widened with fear, his breaths shallow, and his smugness replaced with a desperate plea for mercy.

Simon intervened, trapping you inside a headlock, the guy silently murmured and thanked for his timely intervention. He got off lightly in your opinion. Though getting stabbed by a butterfly knife put a damper on things.

"You're the one who should be scared." Simon's voice was cold and firm as he held you back, his grip tight but not painful. "You're better than this. Don't let them bring you down to their level."

“Who says I was going down to their level? When that level I go to is clearly lower?” you growled like a feral creature, clawing at Simon’s arms as he held you firmly in his grasp. His eyes, a mix of concern and irritation, searched yours for any hint of sanity left in the rage-filled maelstrom.

“We need him alive for intel," Simon reminded you, his tone still unyielding. You knew he was right, but the desire to rip the man’s throat out was a hunger that demanded satiation.

“Tell him that. The fucker stabbed me not you.” You jerked your chin towards the man cowering on the floor, trying to push Simon away, but his grip was like steel bars.

You knew he was right, but the adrenaline and anger pumping through your veins made it hard to think rationally.

You felt the warmth of the blood trickling down from your nose, mixing with the saliva on your teeth. It tasted metallic, a flavor you had become unfortunately accustomed to.

“Calm down,” Simon whispered in your ear, his grip on your arms tightening. “Remember who you are. Remember why we're here. And we'll get the stab wound looked at, I promise.”

“I'm not calming down for his sake.” You reminded him.

“No,” Simon's voice was low and controlled, “You're calming down for ours. We need you focused.”

You let out a breath, trying to regulate your breathing, which Simon knew was a sign that you were listening to him. You nodded slightly, allowing him to loosen his grip.

The room fell silent, except for the distant sound of gunfire outside the abandoned warehouse. The man on the floor was trembling, his eyes darting between you and the knife clutched in his hand.

Soap walked in moments after the whole debacle, his eyes scanning the scene before his gaze settled on the trembling man. “Well, well, look what we have here. A little stabbing party and I missed the invite,” he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips. He knelt down, pulling the knife from the man’s shaking hand with ease. “Looks like you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

You were about to leave the rest to Simon and Soap when Soap dragged you out instead, muttering things about not letting the bloodlust get to you. “I could have walked outside you know?” you muttered to him.

“You're a liability like this,” he shot back.

“Like what? Stabbed?” you countered.

Soap's smirk grew wider, “Exactly. Now, let’s get that wound patched up before you go full on Wolverine on us.”

“The animal or the mutant?” you snorted. “My life would be easier if it was the mutant. He heals instantly. Don't roll your eyes at me. I read so many X-Men comics growing up.”

Soap chuckled despite the gravity of the situation, his Scottish accent thick with sarcasm. “Ah, so you’re telling me you wish for the gift of healing rather than the rage of the beast?” He led you to a makeshift medical station set up in the corner of the warehouse, the harsh lighting revealing the stark contrast of the crimson blood against your pale skin.

“I mean that would just come with the healing right? With how Wolverine is, I wouldn’t mind the rage as much. The claws would be a bonus.” you quipped.

Soap shook his head, his amusement clear despite the seriousness of the situation. He took a deep breath, his eyes focused on the wound, “Well, we’ve got bandages, not adamantium, but it’ll have to do for now.”

Simon glared at the comment made from a bystander calling you cute when you are clearly not. You had wanted to be called it when you weren’t bloodied with another person’s blood on your uniform and your knuckles.

Once you were isolated, Price looked at you from the sidelines, his expression unreadable. As you let your aggression out on a punching bag. The smacking of gloves against leather in the background as they continued to speak about the fight between you and a guy who happened to be taunting Simon.

It grated on you enough to lash out. Ending in bloodshed. Despite these fights being rare, they are bloody enough for people to remember them. You felt the weight of Price’s gaze, his silent disapproval heavy in the air. He couldn't be upset with you entirely as you don't escalate them as much as people would love to believe.

“You okay?” he finally spoke, his tone flat.

“If you're angry with me just say so.” you told Price.

Price took a drag of his cigar, his eyes never leaving yours, “I'm not angry with you.” He said, “I'm just concerned. This isn't the first time you've lost it like that.”

“And it's not the first time they escalated it either. But you don't see that part because by the time you're here. They're on the ground and I'm already stabbed.” you reminded him. “Lecture them before you lecture me.”

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a serious whisper, “Look, I know you've been through a lot, but we need you sharp. We can't afford any more… incidents like this. Do you understand?”

“How about you tell them to keep their hands to themself?” you countered.

Price sighed, his gaze flickering to the side, “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes it is. Its called keep your hands to yourself. Don't touch someone without their consent.” you reminded him.

Price knew you had a point, but the situation was more complicated than that. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your shoulder. “I’ll handle it. But you need to control your temper. We're in a war zone, not a playground. If we don’t keep our heads on straight, we're all going to end up dead. Or worse, captured.”

Like the god Hades, you will never been seen as anything other than a monster of your own creation. Maintaining a balance most will never see. Passive. Altruistic. A creature made by whims and wants of others. A creature made and remade repeatedly.

A story retold to fit the whims and wants of those they want to appeal to. Hades went from passive to a main villain because of the lack of media literacy to think clearly. Whittling down his wife to a lost lamb in distress. When she is in fact his queen with strengths of her own.

A falsehood created by those who would rather see their version of a tale prevail than to see a man be gentle with his wife. Better to dehumanise the king of the underworld than to think otherwise.

They don’t seem to understand. Evil has no shading. Darkness does not equate to evil, and living in the shade of blissful ignorance will not save you.

Just as fire causes destruction. It also has a hand in creating life.

Neither side is good. Neither is side is bad. Both sides would have been considered good and great given the angle someone would take. Both sides can be considered a great evil. No matter what happens from this point forward. You will always be referred to as the name you are given. No matter how tainted you feel about yourself.

They will still refer to you by this name. Now, today and tomorrow.

As Elysium and Tartarus are both heaven and hell. It is both. It will always be both.

Choosing to believe one version of a tale over the other reeks of bias.

Much like Hades. You don’t have to go to them. People will come to their own end when they come to you. A fruitless endeavour to ever hope they could live to see tomorrow if they were your target. They are good as dead.

You are the least evil amongst them. It also didn’t mean you are harmless like a pup as much some might think.

“They will all come to me eventually. Regardless of how they feel on the matter.” You muttered. Mostly to yourself than to Simon.

Simon decided to interject, his deep British accent breaking through your deep meditated rhythm. The punches against the bag hard enough to shake through a concrete wall. Strong enough to go through a wall made of wood. You wore specialised earphones to block out background noise.

Now all there is left of you there are memories. It’s been a month since your kidnapping, entering into a second month now. They turned to your private thoughts of your journal in the hope they would find you sometime soon. Hoping König would not kill you out of boredom of you.

People fear death and fawn over theatrics.

People hate you because you represent the end of life.

Death. Grim Reaper.

Retellings will tell them you took them. Kidnapped them.

Even though your intentions were revealed to them and them alone.

Behind closed doors.

Twisting your words against your memory.

Even when your intentions were not what they will assume.

They mix up benevolent with kindness. You will show them, won’t you Mäuschen?

You will show them what it means to evoke the name of death upon their lips, right Maus?

The walls of your old bedroom, no longer the same as they once were. Not like you cared now. It was a moment of another time. Inside a lifetime, you thought you had all to yourself. Fleeting, as they were, finite. You were glad they were gone. As you were about to something so heinous. Even your mother would have disowned you.

No. She isn’t here anymore. She can not save you. No one outside this room can save you apart from yourself.

Rely on your instincts.

“What’s the matter, lamb? Are you scared?” You cooed into his ear. A plan forming in the back of your mind. If this was the game, he set up. He should be prepared for you to win it.

Fair is fair after all.

What is his will become yours.

What is yours will never be his again.

[pachu09]

Spirits of Nature AU

"*He is Harbinger of Doom!.*"

Tobirama snarled in fury as he gestured to his River that was flooded with lava after the Goddamn Volcano erupted.

Hashirama frowns at him even as the Spirit of the Forest watches with dull eyes as his vast jungle was consume with flames.

Thousand of years of nourishing each other and their territories were gone in an instant because of an anomaly.

His river, Anija's Forest and Human's lives are lost...

Just because a Spirit of Volcano had been borne? settled down? between their territories.

Tobirama curled his lips in disgust as he glowered at the Spirit of the Volcano. The Spirit stared at him blankly.

" If you want so badly to remain friends with him then do so....I will never welcome that Spirit in my territory. The moment he step even a foot in my Rivers...I will make sure the Ocean will drown that fucking Volcano even if it kills me. "

Tobirama turns around to leave his Anija with that accursed Spirit. He mentally tried his connection with his Rivers to cool off the lava that was happily lapping away at his clean waters...he sneered in disgust.

He might have to call for the Human's aid to clean the filth out of his waters. The nearest towns would help happily...since they all benefitted from his River Waters.

They surely wouldn't be happy that after the Volcano killed most of their kins they are also threatened with its lava flowing freely onto his Waters....

Tobirama clicked his tongue and dove into his river as soon as his feet touches it. He glared hatefully at the bubbling lava happily covering at least half a portion of his River...

" Just you wait. Your filth will never taint my Rivers again. " he muttered in fury as he carefully avoided the lava and swam underneath the water towards the Human's settlement.

~●~●~

And true to Tobirama's self proclaim promise. He never let the other Spirit near his Rivers again. The Ocean at the end of the Continent they lived in always bubbled angrily ( reflecting Tobirama's anger ) whenever the Spirit of the Volcano skirted around Tobirama's territory. He is always on watch at that menacing Spirit. He never lets his guard down even if he had to also ignore his Brother. He had even stop stepping a foot inside his Anija's forest eversince the dangerous Spirit had befriended his Brother.

He had also branded the Spirit of the Volcano's Brother as a dangerous entity. The Spirit if Lightning is a menacing entity that makes Tobirama feel fear and loathing. It doesn't even help that the other Spirit always repeatedly pokes around his territory. As if by doing so he thinks Tobirama will let him in....

Tobirama had made a quiet vow that he'll never let an Uchiha Spirit pollute his territory ever again....

But that vow was unintentionally broken when Tobirama let a little Uchiha Spirit settle near one of his largest lake...

One day, Tobirama glowered darkly as Uchiha Madara stood outside his lake's boundary.

Uchiha Madara stared darkly back at him. Tobirama plans to again ignore the other Spirit...but the other entity's words made Tobirama instantly pops veins on his forehead.

" I was unfairly banished from your territory. But my littlest kin gets an instant welcome from you...that is hardly fair because there is no difference between us, Senju! "

Tobirama sneered in disgust. " There is a massive difference between the two of you. First of all, Kagami actually asked for a permission to settle in my territory. Second of all, he is just a little geyser....unlike you who looms threateningly all over my territories....and last and most importantly...Kagami is actually cute and a gentle child unlike you who looks like a Brute, acts like a Brute and thinks like a Brute. Go away Uchiha, you will never step foot in my territories ever again, you'll have to kill me first if you want to get in. "

The Spirit of River carefully maintained his disgusted expression while internally he is afraid that Madara will force his way in even with a barrier between them. He narrowed his eyes as Madara casually puts his hand on top of the barrier and spidercracks bloom beneath his palm that glows menacingly....

Tobirama swallowed his fear. He knew he wouldn't last even an hour if he fought the Spirit of the Volcano. But he'd rather be dead than let the other Spirit inside his beloved territories again.

As quick as a wind, Tobirama tensely watched as Madara took off his hand over the weakening barrier....but the other Spirit's smile made ice slide down Tobirama's spine. It is a smile that is threatening and full of unknown promises....

Within a blink, the Spirit of the Volcano disappeared without saying anything more. It baffled and terrified Tobirama for usually the other Spirit harasses him without a rest, usually by screaming his head off or threatening to bust down his barriers. This kind of silence is a new one that brought unknown shivers down his back. It felt like he would be hunted down and what?...Tobirama shakily inhale...no sense in overthinking things...he just needs to repair his barrier and he can hide in the center of territories again to avoid that Brute of a Spirit.

~●~●~

A week later Tobirama watches with terrified eyes as the Volcano erupted again....but this time its deadly ashes, black smoke, giant boulders and burning lava completely swallows his Rivers and lakes ( some of the Human settlements too if the terrified and anguished screams he can hear are actually real ) but surprisingly avoided to destroy any of his Brother's territory.

Tobirama had ignored Kagami's pleas to come with him to safety. He was rooted to his spot as the Spirit of the Volcano emerge from the burning lava that already covered half of one of his favorite lakes.

He stared with terrified eyes as the other Spirit's eerie red red eyes settled on him.

" Won't you let me in now, Senju? "

[mmaarrzz]

Sweet Freedom (NSFW)

After finally getting out of jail, Vi gets a taste of something sweet.

Tags/Warnings: Vi x Caitlyn, Basically the brothel scene but they fuck.

—

The stench of incense thickened the air of the brothel. To most, the sights of masked figures and dim lights filled them with excitement, but for Vi, it brought about a sense of nostalgia. For Caitlyn, however, this new environment was a shock to her system. A straight-edged enforcer wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.

Vi put a hand on Caitlyn's back and pushed her into the building, noting the way the lights glittered off her eyes as she took in the sights, a bright blush growing across her cheeks as the sounds of pleasure erupted from behind not-so-closed curtains.

"Vi, how exactly are we supposed to be going about this?" Caitlyn asked, not quite understanding what kind of benefit a place like this would be to their cause.

"Pretend like you work here." Vi said with a shrug.

"I would never!"

Vi slowly spun around, hands still in the pockets of her jacket. She ran her eyes up and down the blue haired woman, making her feel almost naked. "You know what your problem is?" She said, walking around Caitlyn, spending a moment too long staring at her bottom that did not go unnoticed. "You expect everyone to give you what you want. If you really want people to talk to you, you need them to think that you have what they want."

"And what do I have?"

Vi spun around and pushed Caitlyn against the wall, trapping her between her arms. "You're hot, cupcake.”

Vi grabbed Caitlyn’s chin with her hands, moving her face around to get a better look. “You know, we don’t have any sweet things like you in Stillwater, I miss the taste.”

Caitlyn shied away from Vi’s piercing gaze. “I don’t think we have many in Piltover either.”

Vi chuckled at that, “I’m sure they do, Cupcake, you just gotta look a little harder.” Their faces were centimeters apart, warm breath heating the others lips. “You wanna try?” She asked as she ran her thumb across Caitlyn’s soft lips.

The slightest of nod was all she needed before she attacked the girl's lips with her own, savoring how another woman felt for the first time in years. She moved her hand from the wall down to the taller woman's waist, pinning her hips to the wall with her own.

Shockingly, it was Caitlyn who opened her mouth first, her tongue darting out to explore. It was all the permission Vi needed to take things further, shoving a knee between Caitlyn's legs to push upon the heat growing between them. With her strong arms, she pushed the blue haired woman down on her leg, the pressure of her thigh making Caitlyn gasp.

Caitlyn tangled her fingers in Vi's pink hair, finally remembering she had hands to use as well. She moaned quietly as Vi grinded her thigh into her crotch, the shock causing her to pull on Vi's hair, ripping their lips apart.

"Oh, I'm gonna make you regret that, Cupcake," They locked eyes as Vi kissed her way down Caitlyn's neck, stopping to lick up the length of her pulse before biting down. At the same time, she slid her hand down from her waist and up her dress to fondle her ass, feeling the lace of her panties. Vi unlocked her lips from the woman's throat with a small pop, stopping to admire the bright red mark that would soon be her dark purple claim on the woman. "Why don't we get a little more comfortable?" She asked, nodding to the curtained room next to them. She didn't wait for an answer, instead peeled herself off of Caitlyn and sauntering over, peeling off her jacket to reveal her muscular arms exposed through ripped-off sleeves. Caitlyn just stood there, taking a moment to process everything. She had never been with a woman before, and she had never been this turned on in her life. There was a small part of her, in the back of her mind, trying to remind her of her duty, of her purpose for being here. But when Vi whistled impatiently to get her attention, and she drew her eyes to the purple cushioned bed surrounded by candle light she squashed that small part and walked forward, letting Vi drop the curtains behind them.

Caitlyn sat on the edge of the bed, ankles crossed, hands gripping the hem of her dress as she tried to inconspicuously rub her thighs together. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman in front of her. Her strong muscular frame, pink hair, the small tattoo underneath her eye, it all drove her insane. She noted the piercings that decorated her ears, and wondered if she had anymore she was going to find out about.

It didn't take long for her question to be answered, as Vi peeled off her shirt to reveal herself. Caitlyn traced the soft line of pink hair peeking out from her waist band up to the metal in her naval, admiring the intricate tattoos that adorned her sides leading up to her breasts. One nipple had a small bar in it, the other surrounded by thick lines of ink.

Vi laughed as she was ogled, and pushed Caitlyn down on the bed as she straddled her waist. She grabbed one of Caitlyn's hands and brought it to her pierced breast, pushing her chest forward ever so slightly as she filled her palm. She leaded down to kiss her once more, gentler this time, as the woman gave her breast a light squeeze, testing the waters. Their tongues danced with each other, Vi letting out small sighs as Caitlyn now fondled both of her breasts.

Caitlyn lightly rolled the pierced nipple between her fingers, causing Vi to let out a breathy moan. She pulled a little harder, enjoying how the pink haired woman ground herself down on her as she did so. Caitlyn sat up, bring her head down to give small kisses on the woman's chest. She left a light kiss on the tattooed breast, then one on the other. Vi was panting with anticipation before Caitlyn gave small licks to the nipple, circling it with her tongue before bringing it into her mouth. The taste of metal was strange, but not unwelcome as she sucked, massaging the other with her hand.

Vi moaned loudly as she brought her hands up to return the favor, pulling the top of Caitlyn's dress down to expose her supple breasts. They fit perfectly into Vi's large hands, and the warmth of them traveled down between her legs and filled her with a hunger she hadn't felt in a long time.

She couldn't take the teasing any longer, and she pushed Caitlyn back down onto the bed. She sat up on her knees and spread Caitlyn's legs in order to situate herself between them. She rode her hand up the blue haired woman's thigh, stopping at the edge of her dress to look up into her bright blues eyes. Caitlyn gave a gentle nod and lifted her hips to allow her to push the dress up, exposing the black lace panties she wore beneath. They were already soaked through, the candle light flickering on the slickness now coating her inner thighs.

"Aw, did you wear these just for me?" Vi quipped, snapping the elastic on her hip into her skin.

Caitlyn sucked a quick breath between her teeth, "Remind me to show you my collection sometime."

"Oh, I'll make sure you won't forget. Now, let's see if you taste as sweet as you look."

Vi lightly traced her thumb up and down the middle of her underwear, the slickness leaving almost no friction of the fabric. She pressed down slightly at the nub on the top, rolling her thumb in a gentle circular motion as Caitlyn began to squirm beneath her.

"Tell me how much you want it," Vi demanded, "Tell me how much you want me."

"Please, Vi. I need you. I want your touch and your mouth. It's all I've thought about since I met you. I want to feel your strong hands inside of me."

"I think I can make that happen, Cupcake," she replied as she pressed a gentle kiss to her clothed center, taking the time to rake the tip of her tongue all the way up, stopping to add a little more pressure once she reached the top. She didn't have the patience to be a tease. She pulled the panties to the side to expose her dripping pussy, wasting no time to get a taste of the sweetness she oh-so craved.

She ran long stipes of her tongue up and down Caitlyn's center, relishing in the gasps and sighs let out whenever her tongue flicked her clit before moving down to her entrance once again. She quickly picked up the pace, lapping at the wetness and feeling her clit somehow get even bigger against her tongue.

She took the pearl into the mouth and sucked, enjoying the way Caitlyn's back arched just so to push herself even further into the other woman's mouth. She tortured the bud, rubbing her tongue against her clit as she sucked.

Vi traced Caitlyn's entrance with her finger, spreading her slickness on her fingers. She didn't push in, instead opting to trace up and down between her folds once more.

"P-Please..." Caitlyn moaned, and it was all the begging Vi needed to push one of her thick fingers into the other woman, feeling her tighten around her as she pulled out slightly, curling her finger as she went.

She set a gentle, slow pace to start as she continued to lap at Caitlyn's clit, who was all but screaming in pleasure at this point. After she relaxed around her, Vi added another, bending them up to rub gentle circles inside her.

Caitlyn threw her head back in wanton moans, brining one hand to grip at Vi's hair and the other to massage her own breasts.

Despite the grip Caitlyn had on her hair, she pulled her mouth away as she pumped into her pussy, watching as she lost herself to pleasure. The image in front of her was almost enough to set her off herself, but she was completely focused on the pleasure of the other. There was a prize to be won, and she was going to stop at nothing to have it.

Vi brought her other hand down to put pressure right above Caitlyn's crotch, reaching her thumb down to rub steady and firm circles around her clit. Caitlyn was almost fucking herself on Vi's hand at this point, the pink-haired woman now taking care to speed up her pace, pushing her fingers all the way into the other before slowly pulling them out with a curl, staring into her piercing blue eyes all the while.

"Vi... I-I'm getting closer..." Caitlyn gasped as the hand that was once tangle in pink hair was now tangled in the sheets, trying to ground herself to reality as she lost her mind to pleasure.

Vi sped up the pace of her fingers once more, making sure to maintain steady pressure on the top of her walls as they squeezed her tighter and tighter. She heard the beautiful sounds of Caitlyn's wetness around her growing, and it wasn't long before they exploded out of her as she came around Vi's fingers. The pink-haired woman dipping her head down to lick up every drop of Caitlyn's cum as she fucked her through her orgasm.

Vi fucked her until she had nothing left to give, and was simply a quivering, whining mess beneath her. She gently removed her hands from inside her, taking care to lick the rest of her cum off before moving up her body, peppering small kisses' against her fucked-out face.

"Vi... I-" She was cut off with a gentle kiss. "That was amazing..."

Vi chuckled, "Thanks Cupcake, I'm glad to know I still got it after all this time." With one more kiss she peeled herself up from atop her, moving to clean herself up before dressing once more. "Wait here while I go have a quick chat."

As much as Vi wanted to stay, to hold Caitlyn and deal with the throbbing between her own legs, she had come here for a reason. She pulled open the curtains and walked down the hall, she still had a job to do.

[keepthedelta]

Maybe I'm being overly cynical (I Do Not know these people and this is just my outsider view), but the whole 'Piastri family social media' stuff has made me uncomfortable from the start because (to me) it gives off huge 'chasing clout and followers by using my famous family member'

None of them were particularly active social media posters before, none of them had an interest in influencing or building a career from it. But, suddenly now Oscar is more popular they are posting A Lot. (For comparison, someone like Max's sister has definitely used her brother to her advantage in gaining a following and popularity, but, she also seemingly always had an interest in fashion and makeup and having a career in it + her posts are not about Max/F1 directly)

It's only going to cause headache and pain and sorry, if my brother was famous, I would not want to even remotely see people thirst trapping him or shipping him romantically with people. Why would you invite that into your space. Also, if I was on Oscar's PR team I'd be fucking worried because what happens if your mother or sister says/posts something that is controversial or actually bad. That now will have a huge audience and actually affect how people see Oscar, and he will be obligated to comment on it. And, if he doesn't, it will be to his detriment (See Max and the Piquet family)

Obviously, fans should just act fucking normally, but we all know that isn't how things work on the internet. You sometimes have to take steps yourself to avoid getting into those situations.

see i personally don't view it as them using him for clout because i think that it is at minimum a symbiotic relationship from which they both benefit. i am a long time hater of the piastri family socials, but i have disliked it because in my personal opinion oscar's family are being used as fodder for his pr.

you say they weren't really active before oscar's career in f1 but even if they are seeking to become influencers etc. which i cannot confirm or deny because i don't know them and frankly have no interest in them, the main reason imo that they did become more active was for oscar. it seems as though his pr is very much trying to portray him as a normal, down to earth relatable kind of guy. a gen z kimi raikkonen who is very calm and level headed (even if he's nothing like kimi, nor honestly is kimi like that). and it benefits oscar (and by extension his pr team) for him to have a cool mum who says funny things on twitter and cool young sisters interested in kpop etc. who aren't impressed by him. his image benefits from the "normal family guy" aesthetic.

there's a reason dts wanted to film him having breakfast with his family. his family has become a part of his media strategy. his mother goes on podcasts or whatever as part of his pr strategy. she is there to talk about him and to promote him without it seeming like promotion. you think if oscar or his team didn't want that she would still have gone on? i don't. that's not to say she's being disingenuous or inauthentic, but i'm sure someone went through roughly what media narrative they wanted to tell and how she should tell it. they are part of oscar's media strategy. they're there to make people think that he's normal and just some guy who happens to be an exceptionally talented driver.

i don't know if his family are benefitting from his fame or to what extent they may be but it's not oscar who should be worried about fan response to his family, it's them. they are being used as a proxy personality for him (and i know that sounds mean but it's not intended as criticism of oscar himself) and at some point things are going to get nasty. what happens if oscar and lando get into an actual wdc title fight at some point? what happens if the chirlies or cultLH turn on him and his fans? oscar has the protection of being a famous f1 driver. his family don't. people will send death threats to his sisters or turn up at his mum's house. they'll search through everything they've ever posted looking for a miniscule detail to cancel them over and justify their hatred and abuse.

everyone involved in this, oscar, his family, his pr team, mclaren, their pr team, needs to recognise that enabling these parasocial relationships, letting people think of oscar's mum as their friend or mum figure, letting people think it's okay to send his sister rpf as though she's their friend is not acceptable. there do need to be boundaries (frankly i think that all f1 drivers need much stricter boundaries than they currently have because some fan behaviour is worrying. people have already shown up at charles's house this is not a worst case scenario it's already happening) for the safety of everyone involved.

i do also think there's something to be said about fan culture and the increasing entitlement to a public figure's life. as fans i think we all need to be a lot more respectful of these people, whether they're famous or simply connected to someone famous. at the end of the day they are people and should be granted basic respect and privacy because they are people. we do not know them, we are not friends with them. how we feel about them should have no bearing on their lives.

but public figures personal lives are increasingly being used for promotional purposes and i think they need to recognise that they are feeding the entitlement and aggression of fans when they do that. the reason why fans get more and more demanding is because people keep offering up more of themselves and their families for promotion. and i think that needs to stop before someone gets hurt.

[jellogram]

Remember how "Karen" used to mean "suburban white lady who calls the cops on black men" and then like almost immediately it morphed into "the customer is always wrong and asking for a manager or requesting a refund makes you an entitled brat" with a side dose of "rude and angry women are the worst humans on earth."

Criticizing white women for weaponizing the police against black people? Not interesting enough apparently. But loving capitalism and hating angry women? Hell yeah let's have 10,000 viral videos that's the good shit right there. That woman being a bitch in a starbucks is worse than Hitler and we should doxx her children

[uncanny-tranny]

I recently had to do a project in one of my psych classes, and man, I knew that CBT was used for every little thing, but seeing over and over, "do CBT! CBT is the best for every mental illness!" was so jarring. I'm absolutely biased because of my own experiences, but I just don't think it's as universal a treatment model as it's touted.

If you didn't benefit from CBT, it's not because you're lazy or didn't try hard enough or lacked intelligence or foresight into your own needs. Frankly, it's a therapy model that (I think) shouldn't be the only readily-accessible model and among the only therapy models covered by insurance. Some of us should not be treated in a CBT model and that's okay. It's not a sign of poor character or unreasonable demands, and if you don't think it's a model that works for you, then it's your right to express that!

[fiapple]

society if dc hired a writing team of colour who could acknowledge the racial coding of starfire & raven, explore vic's status as a Black man in modern america who's specific disability further means his body is going to be read a certain way by certain people no matter what he does, along with potentially finding a way to sort through the racisim + fetishization that went into prior depictions of dick's heritage: