#work be stressing and got bills to pay

[ticklish-v-93]

I finally finished! Lol work has been a key factor to why this is late buuuutttt its done! This is my OC Neve and you'll see her sometimes when I do more art for OBEYME! or TK art for the many lists and ideas I have lol. I was lazy and did not draw the background, found the wallpaper on Google. AN:

Art by: yours truly

If you share or repost, please give credit! Disclaimer: Did not make the background. The background was found on Google and belongs to the original creators and content.

[drivemysoul]

okay so i have no computer for the next 4 or 5 months at least. and all my fucking work is on my computer.

[face-breaker]

oh yeah i got a new job :')

[xotherwcrldsx]

I also need to write a fic about Amy's first kill... for no reason at all! Totally not to release some pent up anger and project 😌

[the-defiant-fluffball]

Reminds me of when I got diagnosed with adjustment disorder, which is literally just 'your life sucks right now and you're having anxiety about it'.

[saintedbythestorm]

Ugh... sure gotta love how dad always manages to make a small, fast little task into a giant issue...

[lesbiansanemi]

Thank you to everyone who offered kind words and encouragement last night, I really appreciate it <3 I’m feeling much better today and started getting settled in again. I’m working on clearing out the clutter in my room since so much of the shared living space was dedicated to him and I have room to do more than hang things on the walls now. I cooked dinner for the first time in weeks, and my cats curled up on my lap while I watched tv

[pacofprunes]

WISHFUL THINKING

CONTAINS — thanos/su-bong x pregnant! reader (fluff, comfort)

WARNINGS — thanos and reader have matching tattoos, crying, mentions of sex, cursing, pregnant reader, switching of referring to thanos and subong, lowercase,

you joined these games because although you thought it was too good to be true, it was all you could do. your shitty ex su-bong making you invest all your money into some dumbass crypto scam and blowing all of your guys money on drugs, childish bets, and gambling. after he blew both your guys money out, you left him, blocked him on everything, ignored your doorbell when he’d attempt to see you in person, everything. but two months after you broke up, it all came crashing down. you found out you were pregnant. and he was the only one you let see that part of you, it was his. but you were sure he moved on and even if he hadn’t, you couldn’t take him back. if he was this much of an incompetent person, he’d definitely be a terrible father. you didn’t want him in your life or your child’s.

besides some guy you assumed to have dementia or be on drugs, the game was going pretty smooth. until it wasn’t and it turns out the guy wasn’t crazy and people all around you were dying. blood splatting on your face left and right. you finally find a method and stay behind other people and everything was going smoothly again besides the intense stress and pressure. your heart and stomach feeling heavy. but the next time that doll turns around you hear a bunch of screams and you look to the right and see that su-bong was here too, and he had just pushed all of those people. he looked crazed. you just ignore it and try not to think about it, finally passing that finish line and being done with the first game, waiting for a full explanation.

you all move back into the main rooms that contained all your beds and people start screaming and yelling for answers. crying to go home, begging for their lives. you too wanted to go home, but you had so much on your mind. so much that you don’t notice your ex is nearing right behind you.

“señorita! oh my god baby is that you?”

he grabs your shoulder and turns you around to face him and you look up at him, frowning your eyebrows. he starts grabbing your face in his hands, touching all over you, not being able to comprehend it was you.

“oh god, it is you, babe, are you okay? where have you been i’ve missed you—”

“subong, stop. we’re not together, and we never will be ever again.”

you push his hands off your face and step back to put some distance between you two, still giving him a major glare. he reaches his arms out towards you again as if he was slowly trying to pick up a scared puppy.

“cmon— you can’t still be mad. baby, i’ll make it up to you, especially now.”

you look behind him and see a few people waiting on him, clearly eavesdropping. he turns around and looks at you again, a puppy dog look on his face but you shake it off.

“it’s not going to work subong. the debt im in now is insane because of you!”

he holds his right hand out before grabbing your right hand.

“baby please — we got these tattoos together,”

you look down at your hands and see the matching line placements decorating both of your hands. it was a stupid idea. you’d been dating for a little over a year, you shouldn’t had done it, you knew that. but you could barely pay for your bills, you definitely couldn’t pay to remove a tattoo. but deep in your heart you wished he was different, wished you could forgive him because deep down you still loved him. that tattoo was a sick reminder of that everyday. you realize you’d been staring at the two of your hands for a while before pulling away quickly. he looks at you with a smile and hope in his eyes. he places both of his hands on your shoulders again.

“see, we’re meant to be. it was a mistake, i know, i did it out of the goodness of my heart! for us, for you, you know that.”

you scoff at him.

“no. no i don’t know that. we’re not getting back together choi su-bong, that’s final.”

his hands go limp on your shoulders before you speak up, saying your next few choice of words slightly quieter as his fans or friends or whoever was still behind you two, stop eavesdropping.

“and just so you know, i’m pregnant. it’s yours. i’m keeping it. i don’t need you to help me. i’ll find a way to make money and i’ll raise my child.”

he stares at you stunned before you push away and move through the crowd. you hear him yell for you, yelling that cringy señorita pet name your way, but you ignore him, trying to hide in the crowd, listening to what the guards say as he drowns in the sea of people.

the guard mentions voting and how you guys were gonna vote whether to stay or leave. part of you wanted to stay still, but if you died, so did your baby. and you were scared out of your mind, nothing able to comfort you. so you knew you were going to choose to leave. you weren’t in insane debts but you still had a lot. the money they were offering after the first game was nowhere near close enough to pay it all off. you would have to play one more game, maybe even two to pay it off, but you couldn’t take any risks. they start calling from highest to lowest numbers and once they call ‘player 230’, your shitty ex makes his way down the line, skipping to smack that blue button, choosing to stay. it only made you wanna choose the other side even more. your turn comes and you choose to leave, sticking the red ‘x’ on your chest. you could see him staring at you through the corner of your eye, but you just chose to ignore it. creepy bastard.

after arguments and close physical alterations, the voting was over. you had lost, you’d be staying for another game. you wanted to go but at least you’d have an opportunity to make a little more money, you guess…

“excuse me, young lady, would you like to join us?”

you look over to a short older woman holding onto your arm, pointing over to a small group of people who were sitting on their beds. you give her a small smile and nod, letting her take you over there. she signals where you can sit and you move slowly while holding your stomach, letting out a deep breath once you finally get down all the way. you look around and there’s an older man, a younger girl, and another woman with some very strong features. the older woman speaks.

“i mean, i can’t believe they chose to stay! no offense hyun-ju, but come on!”

the older woman smacks her hand down on the bed and you give her a sympathetic and understanding look. she looks up at you before she gets a surprised look on her face and quickly flails herself around to get her composure.

“right! ma’am, this is my son yong-sik, this is young-mi, and this is hyun-ju.”

she pauses looking at you and sits up quickly again.

“oh, and you can call me mrs jang.”

she gives you a teethy smile. realizing she’s waiting for you to introduce yourself you let out an oh and tell her who you are and she grabs your hands into hers and rubs circles into them.

“oh that name is so pretty. a pretty name for such a pretty girl.”

her son yong-sik slaps her shoulder and then they start arguing. you just sit there happy to have the company before you look to your right and see subong on the other side staring at you. you quickly look away and look down at your legs, biting your lip.

“yo, who’s that girl? you were arguing with her earlier. she’s smoking.”

he keeps staring before snapping his head back at nam-gyu.

“you are right, she is smoking hot.”

he pauses.

“well you see nam-su—”

“nam-gyu…”

“right right, nam-gyu, anyways, that’s my girl over there, okay? she just playin’ hard to get right now is all’,”

nam-gyu raises his eyebrows, getting an idea.

“soo, you gonna let me have a turn with that, right?”

thanos slaps his arm.

“nah bro, ive had dibs on her for at least two years.”

he slaps nam-gyus arm again and then grabs it, causing nam-gyu to let out an ‘ow bro’,

“don’t worry bro! i’m sure we can find ya a bitch in here though! keep your mind busy and dick wet and we’re sure to win this whole thing.”

he slaps his arm one last time before nam-gyu slaps him back, thanos just laughing before slowly going back to watching you. trying to figure out how he should go about this. deciding that he’d just wait until everyone was asleep to talk to you again.

night time comes around and you had to piss. this fucking sucked. you had none of your pain killers, and you were about to crawl into a ball and start ripping your skin off from the pain you were in. but right now just focus on pissing. just focus on pissing you thought. you get up slowly, clutching your stomach before walking up to the door to the bathroom, knocking on it, waiting for someone to answer. finally the window slides open and you’re met with a triangle looking at you, or at least you think he, it? is looking at you.

“uhm, excuse me, i need to use the washroom.”

“players may not leave this room past your given curfew.”

the window to the door shuts. you take a deep breath, not willing to cause a scene and just about walk away before a guy walks up behind you and starts making a scene for you. that guy being su-bong.

“hey, me and my girl are tryna fuck, if you want we can do it right in the middle of this fucking room!”

it doesn’t work and the door doesn’t open.

“im not a girl! i have a penis and i know how to fucking aim. the next time you open this door it’s gonna be fucking yellow instead of pink i promise you that! i gotta heavy ass piss stream i been holdin’ and i can let out all over this door!”

you slap him, asking him what he was doing and that he was being crazy. but if you were being honest you were trying to stiffle a laugh. he always was funny, and in your relationship he always knew how to make you laugh. you’re pulled out of your thoughts when somehow what he said actually worked and they opened the door for you both. you make your way to the bathrooms and it’s silent the whole time. he was thinking of what to say to you. a million things running through his mind. you make it to the two bathrooms and you go and open the women’s bathroom door before it feels ten time lighter and you see subong holding the door open for you. giving you a cheeky grin. you just look at him before making your way into the bathroom and the door closing behind you. you hadn’t even noticed that you were holding your breath before you breathe out and realized your lungs were burning.

“i really have missed you, you know?”

you snap your head around and see that he had followed you into the bathroom and you call him a perv, yelling at him to get out.

“hey! i’m not here to fuck alright. i mean, unless you’re down then babe, let’s get it fucking going.”

he claps his hands together and you give him a disgusted look before going into one of the bathroom stalls and slamming the door shut so you could finally piss. but when you were done actually doing your business, you just sat there with your face in your hands. he was stressing you out, this baby was stressing you out, and this place was stressing you out and you were on the verge of a breakdown.

“i’m not coming out until you’re gone.”

you see his feet right under the bathroom stall door you were in and groan. hearing the door creak a little, assuming he was leaning against it, which he was.

“baby, please. i just want us again. i’ve missed you so much, you’ve been the only thing on my mind since you left.”

you started to tune him out and started rubbing your face in your hands even more, feeling your eyes start to water, your breath getting caught in your throat, your sniffing starting to become louder before one of your sobs slips and he hears it. asking if you were okay and you just ignore him, covering your mouth with your hand, continuing to cry.

“please let me in.”

you take a deep breath and slightly get up to unlock the door before sitting back down on the toilet seat, face still in your hands. he crouches down to you and cups your face in his hands before he pulls you in for a hug and starts rubbing circles into your back. your sobs getting louder as you burry your face into his bloody jacket, but you really weren’t thinking about that. god thinking of when you two were like this made you start to regret the past, yearn for a future with you two, and hate the present situation you were in. still crying into his jacket as he continues to try to soothe you with his touch. he pulls away after awhile and pushes your tears away with his thumb. his heart crumbling as he sees your teary orbs looking him in the eyes. you’d cried to him before when you were together, and he had comforted you many times before, but never had he seen you this distraught. he hooks his arm under your shoulder and lifts you to standing and he moves you out of the bathroom stall. you wipe your tears away, mumbling a sorry, avoiding all eye contact with him, looking at the ground.

“baby, look at me.”

your eyes look around at the ground before you slowly move your head up to look at him, a small pout on your lips. biting them from the nerves. it was a bad habit you’d never gotten rid of, you’ve had it since he’s met you. he looks at you, almost looking through your eyes. he places one hand on your arm, and grabs your right hand in his right hand, the matching tattoos clashing together.

“please, give me another chance. we’ll figure out the money, work, all of it.”

he pauses and looks down at your stomach. moving the hand that was on your arm to hold your stomach. looking up at you for confirmation that he could and you give him a small nod before he rubs the side of your tummy.

“i just can’t believe it. you should’ve told me!”

he raises his voice and you look away. still about to completely knaw off your lip.

“i didn’t think you’d want to stay. can you blame me?”

he pauses his rubs on your stomach, other hand still in yours and moves the hand that was on your stomach to your face, making you look at him. putting his thumb on your lips, getting you to stop biting them.

“i promise i want to be there for you and for our baby.”

you take a deep breath and he rubs his thumb on your tattoos.

“i won’t leave you, i’ll be better for us, i promise baby.”

you whisper under your breath. can’t believing you were about to say what was about to come out of your mouth.

“you promise…?”

his eyes light up.

“i promise baby.”

he pulls you into a tight hug and he hears you groan, forgetting that he might’ve been putting too much pressure on your belly. he gives you an awkward smile and he takes your hand into his and holds both your guys hands up to your face, as if showing you that he was never gonna let go of you again, and you two couldn’t be separated. you give him a light smile before letting go of his hand and he gives you a look of confusion.

“what? you never gave me the chance to wash my hands.”

[tojicide]

DOCTOR, DOCTOR! ☆ ZAYNE.

summary. when you’re feeling under the weather, doctor zayne is quick to prescribe you with what he knows will have you feeling better in no time.

warnings. fem!reader, boyfriend!zayne, pet names, praise, masturbation, fingering, oral ( fem. receiving ), cockwarming, unprotected p in v, mirror sex, creampie, aftercare. the rocking chair is featured. wc. 3.9k.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Zayne is an intelligent man, that much was evident, but for the first time in his career, he’s absolutely stumped.

Why is that, you may ask? Well for starters you, his beloved girlfriend, have been a bit distant lately. Not cold, not rude, but distant.

With his busy schedule, he didn’t see much of you during the day, and by the time he got home, you were usually fast asleep. It was easy to think that he was simply missing you and that was why his brain had led him to feel this rift between the two of you, but alas, he couldn’t be more wrong.

This entire ordeal truly got him thinking…

He saw a few tissues in the trash bin—perhaps you were catching the common cold. But when he prepared a spoonful of bitter medicine and a glass of water to wash it down, he was met with your denial that you masked with a smile.

If it wasn’t that, what could it be? Zayne asked the same question.

Maybe you were stressed out because of work. He finds that to be probable, so he made it a point to get home as early as he could last night to give you a massage after he cooked you your favorite meal.

You seemed to be soothed by his touch, murmuring a few ‘ah’s and ‘ooh’s of satisfaction as his skilled hands threaded into the tense muscles of your shoulders. Once you were at ease with your head resting back on his chest, he gave you a tender kiss on your cheek before he turned in for the night.

Call him overly analytical, but when it took you awhile to join him, he had a feeling that the massage hadn’t quite accomplished what he hoped it would have.

His mind then started to wander even further. Had he forgotten to run the dishwasher? No, of course not. Had he forgotten to pay the utility bills? Absolutely not, he took his credit score very seriously and a late payment was simply unlike him.

Had he forgotten to put the toilet seat down…? Okay, he definitely did, but that couldn’t be why you were acting so unlike yourself.

And then, as he sat at his desk with a fresh plate of food in front of him, it dawned on him. When was the last time you orgasmed? More importantly, when was the last time he’d given you one himself?

It was almost inhuman how fast he jumped up from his office chair to inform Yvonne that he would be out for the remainder of the afternoon, because oh was he feeling downright horrible.

He was back at your shared apartment in no time, pushing the door open and setting his shoes in the nook positioned in the entryway.

(He had a bad habit of trucking on the hardwood floors without removing his shoes, and considering he was already on your shit-list, he made sure to do it now.)

“Honey?” he calls out to you, making his way towards your closed bedroom door. “Sweetheart, I’m home.”

Zayne’s eyebrows raise as he glances around, finding that your apartment looks rather empty and desolate. “I’d like to apologize. I know I haven’t been present for you lately and—”

And then, he hears something. Something that makes him stop in his tracks. His eyebrow quirks up with intrigue as he presses his ear to the door, listening in.

He’d know those beautiful sounds anywhere, even if it’d been awhile since he had lured them out of you himself. Your moans were muffled by the door, but they were enough to make his cock stiffen up beneath the fabric of his black slacks.

“God… please,” you muttered, clearly out of breath and in frustration. “Damn it!”

Behind the door, you were resting on his side of the bed, hoping that his scent would be enough to make you finish. Your fingers toyed with your clit as you desperately tried to get yourself off, but nothing seemed to be working.

Zayne was practiced in a way that only he could be. He knew female anatomy better than you did, but more importantly, he took pride in learning yours. He knew what you liked and what you didn’t, what made you crumble and cry out.

And now that you’ve gone without him for so long, you’re finding yourself more pent up than ever. A huff of frustration leaves your lips as you try again, again, and again—only to be edged with your release without reaping the benefits of it.

He exhales, twisting the doorknob as he cracks the door open. To no surprise, there you were, sitting on his side of the bed with your hand slipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

You hardly looked horrified at the sight of him, more so desperate if anything. He pulls his tie loose as he takes a few steps towards the bed, his knees finding the plush comforter as he sinks onto his stomach.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, almost sounding sympathetic. He runs his hands over your thighs as he hikes them over his shoulders. “Let me see.”

You roll your eyes. “Who’s to say that you deserve to?”

Zayne gives you a look that you know all too well, one that silently reads ‘girl, are you serious?’ And no, you aren’t serious by any means, so you nod your head to give him your permission.

He pulls the damp fabric of your panties to the side, his gaze slimming as he sets eyes on your cunt for the first time in what feels like forever. (It’s been two and a half weeks at most, but you’re both awfully dramatic.)

“I’m sorry,” he speaks into your heat, almost as if he were apologizing to both you and your pussy. He raises his eyes to yours as he flattens his soft tongue to swipe along your wet folds. He moans at the mere taste of you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pulls you even closer to him. “I had no idea. Truly, baby, I didn’t.”

You whine at the sensation of his gentle voice rumbling against your sensitive skin, your hand delving into his hair. “No idea about—hah—what?”

Zayne takes a moment to reply. His mouth is certainly distracted with the way it’s buried into your soaking cunt while his tongue laps at your inner lips, his nose brushing against your clit with each movement he makes.

“I hadn’t realized I was neglecting your needs,” he clarifies, cracking his eyes open just enough to look at you with hollowed cheeks as he sucks onto your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He releases it with a ‘pop’, his tongue quickly replacing his lips as he curls it in up and down motions that stimulate you in ways you can’t even comprehend. “My girl is too sweet to be treated like that,” he whispers, thumbing at your folds to give himself better access.

One of his hands continues to rub your thighs for some sort of comfort for his behavior, and soon, the other reaches up to take your hand in his own. You squeeze onto it immediately, finding the gesture to be much appreciated.

“So, you… mmh— you remember I exist after all?” Your words are meant as a joke, but he doesn’t seem to consider them as such with the way he presses a kiss to your clit before pulling away.

“Honey, I’m being serious,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on your thigh. “I’d never want to make it seem like I don’t consider you and your feelings.”

He gives your hand a squeeze before he smiles, adding an earnest, “and truth be told, I’m rather surprised that I’ve gone so long without tasting this pretty pussy of yours,” before he delves right back into eating you out like a man starved.

Zayne hasn’t noticed it until now, but he truly was starving, and not for the lunch that he left on his desk back at Akso Hospital. He wasn’t much for alcohol, but getting drunk on your pussy was one of his favorite pastimes, and he’ll never go this long without doing it again.

He was a man of science, and even then, he would never be able to explain the chemical imbalance that tasting you set off in his brain. Sure, medically speaking, the preoptic area of the brain is what triggers an erection, but what you did to him was far beyond that.

It was safe to say that Zayne was almost as in love with your pussy as he was with you, and judging by the way he’s making out with it right now, you have no doubts about that.

Your head tilts back against the headboard as he reintroduces his middle finger to your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench around it.

“Mm, quite sensitive, are we?” he lowly asks, licking a few swipes at your clit before adding, “Is it because you’ve been using your own hand for quite some time now?”

It’s almost pathetic how quickly you nod, your fingers grasping onto his dark locks as he presses an open-mouthed kiss onto your folds. “It’s the only choice I had,” you whine.

(He makes a mental note to give you his credit card so that you can purchase anything and everything you’ll need in order to satisfy yourself whenever he isn’t around. The fact that he hasn’t thought of that sooner is a problem in and of itself.)

He nods in return, though the movement only invites him to make hard licks at your pussy, collecting your slick on his tongue. His cock is rock hard, but he’ll get his turn soon enough.

Even if his turn never came, he’d be more than happy with this alone—that much was incredibly evident.

“I know it, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on your sensitive clit as he slides another finger into your hole. “Is this alright?”

Your thighs tense up at the sensation, but you nod, tilting your head down to look at him. With your permission, he continues, his tongue swiping at you while his fingers fuck you into oblivion.

When you tilt your head back, he squeezes your thigh. “Eyes down here, I need you to watch closely.”

A sharp whine escaped you as his mouth somehow latched onto your pussy in the time it took you to look at him. He pulls off of you to speak, his lips coated with your arousal. “There will be times like this in which I won’t be able to give you what you need, and as much as it kills me, your pleasure can’t be limited to the times I can have you like this.”

You tilt your head. “What… what do you mean?”

Zayne nods his head, urging you to tune in. He curls fingers inside of you, hitting your g-spot with each push. “Hm. I suppose I can teach you how to touch yourself a bit more effectively. Would you like that?”

Your hand goes flying to his shoulder as you nod, your teeth pressing down onto your bottom lip. “Hah… mhm.”

He nods, grasping onto your hand. He presses a few kisses on your knuckles as he guides it to your clit, helping you swirl the pads of your fingers around it in smooth, moan-earning circles. “Very good. You look happier with me already.”

“You’re still a jerk,” you huff.

“I’m sure I have been behaving like one, yes,” he murmurs with a laugh. “Don’t let me off the hook too easily, either. I need to get a few orgasms out of you before you should consider that.”

That sounds perfectly fine to you, so all you do is moan in reply, which makes him smile. He likes to please his woman, and knowing that he hasn’t done a good job of that makes him even more determined to make up for it.

“It’s okay to use two hands, sweet girl,” he continues teaching, tilting his head towards his own hand that was still thrusting two fingers inside of you. “While it may be mine right now, yours will work just the same.”

Something switches inside of you the moment he begins to help you masturbate, his own fingers fucking inside of you while yours stimulate another part of your puffy cunt. You always had a thing for acts of service, but when it came from your boyfriend, you were practically putty in his hands.

“That’s right,” he purrs, a smile tugging on his lips. “Such a pretty girl. Perhaps you just needed to be reminded of how to treat yourself.”

His hazel eyes are still on your face, watching as you pinch in absolute ecstasy, your thighs shaking on his shoulders. “I see that I’ve underestimated you,” he teases, dipping his head to lick at your folds, his tongue brushing against your fingers as he continues to guide the movements of your hand. “It seems like you’re doing just fine for yourself after all.”

You huff, shaking your head. “No, no… it’s all you.”

Zayne chuckles at that, sucking your fingers that were circling your clit into his mouth before he places them back on your sensitive pearl, giving you a bit more lubricant. “There’s no need to be so hard on yourself, I’m merely helping you. We’re practicing together, sweetheart.”

You almost roll your eyes because the last thing Zayne needed was practice on how to please you. He may have been a bit distracted, but that could never take away from how perfect of a lover he was.

And… it was difficult not to be hard on yourself when he’s practically taken away your ability to orgasm on your own. With the way he’s making you feel right now, his absence was almost worth it.

Your eyes haze over as you look down at him, a soft moan leaving your lips. “Mmh, ‘m gonna cum,” you choke out.

To that, he nods in understanding. He thumbs apart your folds, leaving you to play with yourself as you please while he dips his head in to lick at your cunt in any way he can, feeling the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s right. Look at you, honey, such a quick learner.”

Zayne grasps onto your thigh with his free hand, pressing a few wet kisses along your inner skin as you come down from your high. Your hand still has a death grip on his hair, but he doesn’t mind it. He knows that he deserves to lose a few strands of hair after how he has left you alone.

You pant, your chest heaving as your body reels from your orgasm. While your vision is blurry, you can still make out the picture of your boyfriend sucking his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them free of your release.

“Mm, you know, the release from an orgasm does much to calm people,” he murmurs, giving your mound a chaste kiss before he rises up to give you one on your forehead. “Do you feel any better, my dear?”

You do feel better, but a part of you, one that you can’t quite shove away, is still yearning for more. Despite that, you nod, brushing your hand along his cheek as he dips his head to give you a kiss.

Sugary and sweet are two words you’d used to describe kissing Zayne, because those were adjectives you’d also use to detail how he always behaves when around you.

He pulls away from the kiss, propping himself up on his elbow above you while he uses his other hand to brush away your hair. “I really am sorry,” he whispers, his voice soft and full of a raw honesty that makes your heart squeeze.

You shake your head with a smile. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you reply. “It’s just… you made me feel like you didn’t need me, like what I felt was one sided.”

Zayne’s expression seems to soften as he shakes his head. “Of course I need you, I always need you. Your needs are never one-sided, especially not needs of this nature.” He brushes his hand over your cheek. “And I was serious about my endeavors of making it up to you, sweetness. C’mere.”

Before you know it, you’re plucked from your position on the bed and carried to the corner of the bedroom. Zayne takes a seat in the rocking chair positioned there, spinning it around until it faces the body length mirror just in front of the two of you.

He then undresses you entirely, kissing along your thighs, your hips, the curves of your back, on the cheek of your ass—everywhere and anywhere he could. Sure enough, you hear the rattling of his metal belt buckle behind you, and when you glance over your shoulder, his cock is pulled out from the confines of his boxers.

His slacks are still bunched up around his thighs, as are his boxers, but he pays no mind to it. He raises two fingers as he beckons you to sit in his lap, and you do.

Zayne rests one hand on your hip while the other grasps onto his shaft, pumping it in his fist a few times before he smears the head of his cock along your folds, gathering your slick. “The ‘teaching’ is over, but now, I simply want to show you just how much I need you.”

His words stir something within you, and when he leans up to press a kiss on your shoulder, you already feel like your lover is here to live up to his word. “Is that alright?” he asks against your skin, prodding your entrance with his tip.

When you nod, you’re already sinking down, taking him inch by inch until you’re cockwarming his thick length. He smiles at you in the reflection of the mirror, his eyes drifting over your body that he will never forget to worship again.

“So beautiful,” he coos, his hands mapping out the curves of your waist, your hips, your thighs. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

Your cheeks flush at his words. “Thanks.”

Zayne shakes his head. “There’s no need to thank me for speaking the truth,” he whispers. “That’d be like thanking Einstein for developing the theories of special and general relativity—it’s practically a given.”

You aren’t sure where the correlation is, but when one of his hands slips in between your thighs while the other grasps onto one of your breasts, you don’t care about fighting it out.

“Point is, I mean it. Every word,” he adds.

You feel like a goddess being worshiped as his mouth finds your shoulder, the smacking of his lips omitting into the otherwise quiet room as he places open-mouthed kisses on your skin. His middle and ring finger work to toy with your clit, his other hand squeezing onto your breast.

And then… he begins to rock.

You gasp at the feeling of his cock just barely moving inside of you, your body entirely engulfed in the sensations that he is so eagerly providing you.

“You feel—hah—so, so good,” he whispers against your skin, his lips climbing the curve of your shoulder. His fingers circle your clit at an agonizingly slow pace, and when you place your hand on his to guide his movements, he smiles at you in the reflection. “There’s my girl. Such a quick learner, just like I said.”

You lazily return his smile, your head resting back on his shoulder. He removes his hand from your breast to pluck his glasses from his face, placing them on yours instead.

“My baby is such a smart girl,” he purrs, his lips finding your neck as he admires you. Flushed skin, hair messed up, his glasses resting on your nose. He could come inside you at the sight, but he wants to prolong this. He doesn’t ever want to leave this moment with you. “And so beautiful too. Absolutely ravishing.”

You chuckle at that, though your laughter was interrupted by a soft moan as his fingers pick up the pace as they circle your puffy clit. “You’re… hah—handsome,” you manage to return.

Zayne chuckles at your words, nodding his head as a silent thank you. He presses another kiss on your shoulder, though he quickly leaves another one once you begin to rock your hips. He sits back, catching a glimpse of how you look when you bounce on his cock.

He grins, his hand finding the swell of your ass as he gives both cheeks a nice squeeze. “We can move back to our bed if you’d prefer, sweetheart. I don’t want you to have to put in any more effort into your pleasure tonight.”

You shake your head, glancing over your shoulder to look at him. “I wanna see you,” you breathe.

“Honey, there are positions—”

He’s interrupted by your hand reaching back to hold his jaw, pulling him up so that he too could see the reflection of you both in the mirror.

And oh, was it a sight.

“I wanna see you,” you repeat.

Zayne is in no position to deny you, so with a nod of approval, his hands find your hips. “At the very least, let me help you.”

The sound of slapping skin and your breathy moans fill the room, his large hands keeping their iron grip on your hip bones while your hands rest on top of his. He peers out from behind you, watching as your tits bounce just as you do, your hair flying messily.

“Pretty baby,” he pants, more to himself in reaction to the mere sight of you. “Such a lucky man you’ve made me, fuck… take it, baby, yeah. I love you so much, so much…” he babbles, not quite sure what he’s saying, just that he’s speaking whatever graces his mind.

“Oh, I… I love you too, Zayne,” you gasp.

You whine, grinding your hips in fluid motions as you feel your second orgasm quickly approaching. You were sensitive to begin with, and the feeling of his cock stretching you out was more than enough to bring you here.

“Shit,” he rasps, his head falling back onto the rocking chair as his eyes screw shut. “You take me so well, you fit me so perfectly, baby… I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna… oh, shit.”

You weren’t far behind him, and as your movements grow lazier, you opt to sit on his cock entirely as the both of you find your orgasms only second apart.

Ropes of white paint your insides, your cum coating the base of his cock as the two of you become one in a way that you’ve missed so dearly.

Only bliss envelopes the two of you as you slump back onto his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him. The two of you sit just like that for a moment as you find your breaths that have run off, relishing in the feeling of your combined warmth.

Zayne reaches up to carefully grasp your jaw, turning your head back just enough so that he could kiss you. Your breaths mingle to add to the scent of your love that looms in the air, his other hand running soothing strides along your hip.

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathlessly says with a lovesick grin. “Quite frankly, I don’t. You’re wonderful to me.”

You shake your head, leaning down to kiss him again before he slowly helps you up onto your trembling legs. “Oh, stop that. Just because you’ve been a little caught up with work doesn’t mean that you’re suddenly a bad partner.”

Zayne sweeps you into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards the bathroom. “See? You’re simply too good to me. Such a lovely personality, the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard, the cutest snores when you sleep, the sweetest pussy in existence… my dream girl in all capacities.”

You smile as he sets you down, pressing a kiss onto your forehead as he crosses the room to draw you a shower to your liking. Warm—not cold, but not hot enough to the point that your skin tingles. He’s had plenty of practice in this area, and he’s gotten it down to a science by now.

“I do not snore,” you murmur, shaking your head.

As he peels off his clothes, discarding them without care on the bathroom tile. He extends his hand to you to invite you inside the shower behind him. “Mhm, sure you don’t.”

You scoff, tipping the toilet seat shut. “You can tease me for my snoring once you, my 27-year-old man, master the art of putting the damn seat down.”

“…Oops.”

note. my dr. zayne would never forget to please his woman! but i really liked the concept sooooo :3 it was rly difficult for me to write him lol the dialogue might suuuuuckkkk but i hope i did him justice < 3 thank you for reading, interact if you enjoyed !!!

i ALSO kinda wanna do a similar version of this with sylus except… not nearly as gentle ig?? would you be interested??? do let me know.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

[marsian-tango]

Yandere Alien

Part 2

A normal person should be allowed to have normal problems, right? You’re no exception. You have a job that forces you to get out of bed at 8 AM, a shitty apartment that needs to be cleaned and tidied from time to time, bills to pay.

You have a life, you’re busy. But god, you’re exhausted!

You may be an adult, but you’re still young, and sometimes you just need to take a little break from everything!

So when you decide to spend your money on a modest trip to the countryside, staying in a secluded but cozy cabin, you’re finally able to relax…

CRASH!

Or maybe not.

Yandere! Alien who crashes his ship near your cabin, and is pretty much trapped in the debris.

Yandere! Alien who you manage to find through all the metallic rubble, using all your strength to drag his large body to your cabin. Tending to him despite your raw confusion and fear. Trying your best to steady your shaking hands to clean his wounds. How were you supposed to clean a wound again? Ugh! Maybe reddit knows?

Yandere! Alien who in his almost unconscious state, looks at you through half lidded eyes, taking in your soft features and small frame. You look so cute with his blood all over your hands! He can’t believe he got saved by such an adorable human. He needs to learn your culture so he can court you properly. Oh! Will you accept him right away or will you wait a little? Will you come live with him on his planet or should he just remain here with you?

Yandere! Alien who eventually passes out with a lazy smile painting his face, dreaming of how your relationship will develop.

Yandere! Alien who wakes up the next day with waves of pain rushing through his body. But he can only focus on the faint smell that envelops him. The bed he’s lying in…it must be yours! It smells just like you. He takes a deep breath, taking in your sweet aroma. He then gets up from the bed slowly, letting out a groan, he ventures through the cabin until he finds you.

Yandere! Alien who sees you pacing around the living room with a tired and stressed look. Oh, his poor human. You didn’t expect to meet him, neither did he. But don’t worry, he’ll take care of you from now on. After all, you saved him, so it’s the least he can do!

Yandere! Alien who clings to you constantly. He just can’t be away from you! You smell so good, and you’re cute, and small, and so...his. He thought that physical contact was the universal way to show affection, so why are you trying to push him away when he hugs you? It must be a game, right? Yeah, you’re just being silly!

Yandere! Alien who tries to learn your language through shows and movies, while also trying to learn a more human way to court you. It isn’t perfect, but at least you can understand him now.

Yandere! Alien who completely ruined the normality of your life. Having to take him to your house and give him a home. Cause who knows what could happen to him if you don’t? What if the government finds him and experiments with him in a lab? You don’t want that in your conscience!

Yandere! Alien who hates when you go to work. But if he finds out that you’re going out with your friends or, God forbid, a man? Oh, yeah, you’re definitely not leaving. Have fun trying though.

Yandere! Alien who enjoys seeing you struggle against his grip. He’s so much larger and stronger than you. You could bite, scratch, and push as much as you want. It practically tickles him, and it only makes him look down at you with those lovestruck, condescending eyes of his.

Yandere! Alien who’s romantic advances don’t go unnoticed by you, but you just don’t know what to do anymore! You’ve tried your best to make your intentions clear. You saved him, you took him, and you’ll keep him for now. That’s it. You’ve tried telling him countless times that you don’t like him in that way, so why doesn’t he stop cuddling you and asking you to marry him?!

Yandere! Alien who daydreams about his future with you. He’s starting to like earth, so he truly wouldn’t mind living here with you forever. It has nice movies, food that doesn’t exist on his planet, and a funny thing called ‘internet’. He can’t leave your apartment unless it’s nighttime, so when he found out that he could interact with other humans and learn more about your world through this ‘internet’ he was ecstatic! He started learning ways to court you, to treat you, to make you laugh. He even found a website where he can learn how to please you! That one will come very handy once you two get married.

Yandere! Alien who can’t wait to make you officially his…

This is the first time I write for something that isn't school, so this is very new to me. Please excuse my amateur ass, and if you find any mistakes please let me know, cause English isn't my first language. I would really like some feedback, so be as mean as you want, I just want to grow as a writer, even if nobody reads this. Kisses <3

[catchastarorten]

—More than anything.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x lover!fem!reader

Summary: You had supported him through everything, but when you fell sick, he couldn't save you because of debt, so he participated in the games. The blood, the violence, it was all worth it because it was all for you, but he still couldn’t save you, even after winning.

Warnings: angst, illness, death, grief/loss, mentions of violence, guilt/sacrifice, emotional distress, Sang-woo won the games in this au, english isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.9k

The first time you met Sang-woo, it was in the bustling hallways of Seoul National University, your books pressed against your chest as he nearly toppled over you in his haste. Apologies poured out of him, flustered but composed, but it was the soft smile that followed that made you pause. You didn’t know it then, but that clumsy encounter would change both of your lives forever.

From that moment, he had become everything to you. And soon enough, you realized you were everything to him too. Sang-woo was the kind of man who always seemed in control of himself. But with you, that cool demeanor softened. He would laugh more, touch your hand absentmindedly, watch you as if you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

You supported each other through the tough years at university. His mind was brilliant—quick, sharp, and endlessly determined. It wasn’t hard to see why he was the pride of his family, the hope of his mother. He was going to do great things, you always believed that, and you reminded him every chance you got.

Sang-woo always spoke of a future where he’d be successful, where his mother would never have to work a day in her life again. And somewhere in that future—he said with a tentative smile—was you.

Years passed, and the challenges of adulthood crept in. Sang-woo’s ambitions, once so pure and noble, became entangled in desperation as he fell into debt. It started small—a few bad investments, a loan here and there, promises that he’d make it all back soon. But soon, the debts piled into something worse, a mess that loomed over both of your lives.

He had so much promise, so much potential, and you wanted to see him succeed. So when he started to falter—when the world wasn’t as kind, when the debts began to gather up, and his once-unshakable confidence began to fracture—you did what you thought any partner would do. You helped him.

You saw the way the guilt ate away at him. He tried to hide it, but you knew him too well.

“I’ll pay off this part for now,” you’d told him gently, holding the bank statement in your hand. He had stared at you, his expression tight, his hands gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles turned white.

“No,” he had said firmly. “You’ve done enough. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.”

But you didn’t care about that. You knew he felt ashamed, that his pride was bleeding, but you loved him too much to let him drown. “Sang-woo,” you whispered, reaching out to place your hand over his. “I’m doing this because I want to. Because I believe in you.”

He looked at you like you were his lifeline, the only light in his darkening world. He kissed your hand and said nothing more, but no matter how much you reassured him, the guilt lingered. He began to withdraw, the weight of his mistakes crushed him.

Then, as if the universe wasn’t cruel enough, you fell ill. It started with fatigue and a persistent ache in your chest. You brushed it off at first, telling yourself that it was just stress, but when the symptoms worsened, you finally went to the hospital.

The diagnosis was a gut punch. The doctors spoke in clinical terms, but all Sang-woo heard at the moment was that it was serious. You needed treatment, the treatment was possible, but expensive.

The hospital bills mounted quickly. You had always lived sparingly, but this was different. The treatment you needed was far beyond what either of you could afford, especially with Sang-woo already drowning in debt. You had tried to remain strong, tried to reassure him even when your body weakened and the days became harder to endure.

But Sang-woo wasn’t strong. At least not in the way you were. He didn't want to put up the pretense of having a "perfect" reputation anymore, he just wanted you.

One night, as you lay in your hospital bed, pale and shivering despite the blankets covering you, he dropped to his knees beside you. He gripped your hand so tightly it hurt, his head bowed, his shoulders shaking.

“I’ll get the money,” he said, his voice trembling with determination. “I’ll find a way. I promise.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw the man you loved falling apart. His face was gaunt, his eyes bloodshot, guilt and desperation consuming him.

“Sang-woo,” you whispered, your heart breaking for him. For both of you. “I’ll be okay... don’t do anything reckless.”

But he shook his head, his jaw set in that stubborn way you’d come to know so well. He pressed his lips to your forehead, a lingering, desperate kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he said. “With the money. Just hold on for me.”

You wanted to believe him, but as you watched him walk away, a part of you knew that he was heading down a dangerous path.

At first, you tried to think light. You thought he had simply left to clear his head. Maybe he was meeting someone to talk about loans or some other last-ditch effort to save you. But then the days turned into weeks, and Sang-woo didn’t return.

You tried calling him, but his phone went unanswered. You asked the nurses, his mother, even some of his old university friends, but no one had seen him. You didn’t know whether to be angry, scared, or heartbroken. All you knew was that he wasn’t here, and you were running out of time.

The nurses came and went, offering kind smiles and gentle reassurances, but it wasn’t enough. What you needed—what you wanted—was him, by your side.

You missed his voice, his laugh, the way he’d hold your hand and promise you that everything would be okay. You told yourself that he was out there fighting for you, but as the days stretched on, doubt began to creep in.

In your quieter moments, you wondered if he’d given up on you. If the burden had become too much and he just left without a trace. But deep down, you knew Sang-woo. You knew how much he loved you, how determined he could be. He’d find a way back to you. He had to.

In your final days, you thought about him often. You tried to convince yourself that he had a plan, that he would come rushing through the hospital doors at any moment with that look on his face, telling you everything was going to be okay, that you could heal properly now. But he didn’t.

Instead, you were left with an empty chair by your bedside, your heart aching with the absence of the man you loved more than anything in the world.

On the last night, you couldn’t fight the tears anymore. You whispered into the quiet room—“I just wish you were here.” Your voice cracked, and you closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. You dreamed of him one last time—of the way he smiled when you first met, of his hand in yours, of the warmth that had once filled your life.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was what Sang-woo was enduring.

He had entered the games through a salesman with a suitcase and a card with a number on the back. The games were a deadly competition where the stakes were higher than anything he’d ever faced. Life and death were decided in brutal, messed up versions of childhood games.

At first, he told himself he was doing it for you, for the money that could save your life. But as the games progressed, as blood stained his hands and the faces of those he’d sacrificed haunted his dreams, the lines began to blur.

How much of himself was he willing to lose to save you?

Every decision, every betrayal he made, weighed on him. He thought of you constantly, your smile a light in the darkness. When he felt the weight of his actions crushing him, he clung to the hope that he could still save you. That he could win, come back to you, and make everything right, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how much pain he had to endure, it was all for you. Because how could he call himself a man—your man—if he couldn't even keep you by his side? If he couldn't even get the money to save you and have you in his arms again, healthy and full of life?

When Sang-woo finally emerged from the games, clutching the blood money that was counted from each of the lifeless bodies of the other players, he felt hollow. His actions, the lives he’d taken, the people he’d betrayed—all of it threatened to suffocate him. But he pushed it aside. None of it mattered now. All that mattered was you.

He rushed to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. He imagined the look on your face when he walked through the door, how you’d smile and tell him that he’d always been your hero. And for the first time since the games, he smiled. He smiled.

But when he reached your room, he froze, and everything inside him seemed to shatter.

You were still, too still. Your chest didn't rise or fall, your lips were pale, and your eyes—those eyes he had loved so much—were closed forever.

The nurse had pity in her eyes as she approached him. "I'm sorry... she passed away a few hours prior. We... we tried calling you, but..."

“No,” he choked out, he staggered to your bedside, falling to his knees onto the mattress of the bed, his hands reaching for you. “No, no, no… please, no…”

He pulled you into his arms, cradling your lifeless body as tears streamed down his face. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, wake up. I have the money now. I did it. I got it for you. You can get better now. Please, just… open your eyes.”

But you didn't. You couldn't.

“I got the money,” he whispered, tears falling from his eyes. “I have it. We can pay for your treatment now. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay…”

Sang-woo's hand trembled as he cupped your face. Your skin was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth he remembered. He pressed his forehead to yours, the card that contained all the prize money laid forgotten on the floor, a cruel reminder of what he had to sacrifice to save you—of the blood, the death, and the lives he had destroyed in those games. He had told himself it was all for you, that he could endure anything if it meant seeing you smile again. But now, as he held your cold body in his arms, he realized it had all been for nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been here. I should’ve stayed with you. I thought… I thought I could save you.”

He had done everything he could to save you, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. And now, he was left with nothing, because you had been his everything.

[ms-demeanor]

Since July (when the business I work for got acquired by a larger company) I've been doing a LOT more work and have been under a lot more stress and have been a lot more tired.

I have also said the words "I'm severely underpaid and we need to fix this" to at least three people from the c-suite and have been assured that nobody has forgotten that and that's on the agenda.

It's great that that's on the agenda but I keep having to choose between buying a mattress that doesn't hurt and paying power bills and it has been five months. (I got paid about a thousand dollars for a side project recently so this is no longer a choice that has me over a barrel but also it's not a choice I should have been struggling with given the size of the company I'm now working for and my tremendously increased workload)

All of which is background for the fact that I am applying for jobs and have been spending an unconscionable amount of time on LinkedIn (which is, like, eighty times more soul-crushing than I had realized; it is fucking grim on that website).

Because applying for jobs is a nightmare and because it is totally normal to apply for approximately a million jobs before you hear back from one, I have made up a tiny, miserable RPG to play to track my applications and I figure every time I "die" in the game I'll do something nice for myself like burn a vacation day or get takeout.

Anyway, here are the rules for playing Labor Quest:

Player starts with 100 HP; interactions with the Job Board determine player health over time.

Applying for a position: +1hp

Response: (call or email): +2hp

Interview: +10hp

Rejection: -10hp

Ghosting (1 month silence): -2hp

You die when you get to 0 points.

I'm playing very slowly because I do at least have a stable job with benefits so I'm not putting in more than a few applications a week and I'm currently at a score of 93. I've been ghosted by a landscaping company that was looking for a receptionist (and that I had to do an indeed skills test for to apply) and rejected by an extremely scammy ghostwriting company that I mostly replied to just to see what would happen (it's the writing company from the Dan Olsen "Contreprenuers" video). I suspect that I'm going to lose a lot of HP through ghostings in the coming week (I only wrote this out as a game in October so I haven't been tracking ghostings more than a month).

I'm considering adding modifiers like "reconfiguring entire resume for one submission," "taking skills tests," and "writing a goddamned cover letter," "spending > 1hr on LinkedIn in a 24hr period" that would also impact player HP.

[midniqhtt]

michael robinavitch

masterlist • the pitt • 07/02/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

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Between long shifts, late-night triage, and the chaos of The Pitt, something quiet has been building between Dr. Robbie and Y/N. When one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface and maybe neither of them is ready to pretend anymore.

𑣲 triage I @/tedmustache

Amid the nonstop pressure of a Pitt emergency room, one nurse navigates long nights, relentless crises, and two doctors who are harder to read than any medical chart.

𑣲 residuals pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 I @eureka-its-zico

You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

𑣲 devastation (daughter!reader) I @nineteenninety-six

The tragedgy at Pittfest brings brings a victim that devastates Dr Robby

𑣲 late night visits I @stellamarielu

somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer

𑣲 impatient intentions I @/stellamarielu

robby’s innocent obsession with his neighbor takes a turn after a dinner invite that leads him straight into your kitchen and renders him a slave to your touch

𑣲 work crush I @xximperioxx

𑣲 heartbeat pt2 pt3 I @asxgard

You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

𑣲 companionship pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 pt9 pt10 I @/asxgard

He’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. You’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. All in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. It’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.

𑣲 a lesson in vulnerability pt2 I @/asxgard

A pregnancy scare forces you both to lay your cards on the table.

𑣲 be I @/asxgard

You had no intentions of falling for the sad-eyed attending on one of your rotations. And yet, here you are.

𑣲 feels like trouble I @thepencilnerd

You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television.

𑣲 cuddles in the on call room I @/thepencilnerd

𑣲 drunk confessions I @/thepencilnerd

You’re out drinking with your colleagues. Robby’s not there—until he is. What happens when you see each other again in the ER, and everything you said (or left unsaid) comes rushing back?

𑣲 chronic illness!reader I @/thepencilnerd

𑣲 the story never ends I @/thepencilnerd

From coffee and first glances to slow unraveling and quiet return—this is a story of love across changing seasons, of what’s lost, and what still lingers; healing is neither linear nor pretty, but it’s real—and sometimes, that's enough.

𑣲 dayshift nurse!reader I @/thepencilnerd

𑣲 sweet nothings I @thebestandworstdayofjune

you own a bakery down the street from PTMH, and Dr. Robby is one of your favorite customers. The night of The Pitt Fest shooting, you stress bake and deliver the results to the park near the hospital when you have a gut feeling everyone could use something to lift their spirits

𑣲 stay with me I @mercvry-glow

𑣲 a girls guide to shopping I @/mercvry-glow

𑣲 i start my mornings with folgers and hot, steamy sex I @spockiguess

Dr. Robby doesn't get to share many mornings with you, so when the day comes that he's finally able to spend just a little bit more time in your embrace, he doesn't pass on the opportunity to make it memorable.

𑣲 idiots doctors in love I @oceantornadoo

𑣲 rose scented scrubs I @/oceantornadoo

𑣲 i look in people's windows I @augustwinesworld

𑣲 message received I @abbotjack

𑣲 and you came back to me I @/abbotjack

𑣲 stitched together I @hauntedhowlett-writes

after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.

𑣲 lead the way I @traumaone

after over a year of pining over Robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. Robby (after putting up with a snippy reader) comes to the rescue

𑣲 keys I @/traumaone

Robby misses you, but lucky for him, you just so happened to leave your keys on his desk after your shift last night (or, you come by to pick up your keys and Robby feels you up in the ambulance bay)

𑣲 immature I @/traumaone

Robby loses his temper on you, and you're not quick to forgive, then tragedy strikes, and Robby's not answering his phone

𑣲 mature I @/traumaone

𑣲 the right moment is you I @cherriready

robby didn’t mean to propose today. not during a long shift, not without a plan, and definitely not in front of the ER. but when he saw her—cradling a toddler, keeping on a concussed mom, keeping calm in the chaos—he saw the rest of his life. no speeches. no perfect moment. just her. always her.

𑣲 drabble I @arrenjo

𑣲 touch I @a-soft-aside

You land yourself in the ER and Robby is the first face you see.

𑣲 positions I @/a-soft-aside

Your recent work trip is the longest time you and Robby have been apart since you two started dating. He’s thought of you non-stop and all the things he’s been wanting to do to you. He gives you a welcome home to remember.

𑣲 dark is the way, light is a place I @isaysexualthingsaboutrobinavitch

As a board-certified clinical psychologist working at PTMC, you were expecting to see patients of the hospital. But by some twist of fate, you end up seeing several ER doctors for individual therapy.

𑣲 Ho'oponopono I @ay0nha

where you make a mistake that leads to a probationary period full of observation hours, required counseling, and loathing for Dr. Robby, the very person who put you in this position.

𑣲 young gf!reader I @astreamofcolors

𑣲 safekeeping I @dexxtrosee

A baby got to the ER thirty minutes ago and hasn't stopped crying since. It's starting to get on everyone's nerves. He is, unfortunately, the one in charge, so it's his problem to deal with.

𑣲 drabble I @loveyhoneydovey

𑣲 in good hands I @blackleatherjacketz

You draw the short straw and have to work part of your shift in the ER, but Dr. Robby makes it a little more tolerable.

𑣲 night vision pt2 pt3 pt4 I @artibeus-lituratus

While dr. Frank Langdon is away while seeking treatment for his drug addiction, you're plucked from the loving arms of the night shift in order to replace him inside the crushing jaws of the day shift in the Pitt. Being a nocturnal creature with a closed-off personality, it's hard to adjust at first, especially when you're no longer working alongside your mentor (and father figure of sorts), dr. Jack Abbot. However, you slowly start to grow on the day shift's attending doctor, and it's up to Robby if he'll stay away from you to protect his heart, or if he'll give in to something that's bigger than a workplace crush.

𑣲 robby’s biological clock I @marvelslut16

Robby opens up to the reader that he realizes that he wants a child after finding out that he almost had one.

𑣲 gyltig I @strangunddurm

Michael has a secret that he was too guilty to tell anybody about. Especially Heather Collins.

𑣲 loathing you, my whole life long pt2 pt3 pt4 I @kisses4themissus

𑣲 she’s here I @butyoudidthis4what

The day of PittFest becomes unbearably worse for Robby. A little over four months into the relationship you've both been waiting years for, you find Robby on the floor of pedes. When Langdon throws it in his face, Robby assumes you betrayed and doesn't react well.

[eyes-like-the-night]

I spent the past few years trying to have a better relationship with my dad and it’s currently absolutely in shambles

(My mom is kinda thriving though because she hates my dad and I get it now so when I’m really frustrated she listens and reminds me that yeah he hasn’t changed since she divorced him)

[e1e4n0r5]

Got a Lil Sugar: Chapter 1

Masterlist

Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing: Sugar Mommies Cait & Vi x Sugar Baby Reader

Words: 3184

Synopsis: In dire financial straits, you ask your friend Mel for advice. Unfortunately you have a rocky start.

Warnings: Financial distress, mentions of illness, discussions of sex work, creeps on the internet, lesbian reader has to flirt with men

Notes: Sex work is a very complicated industry with a lot of nuance. There are positives, and there are negatives. This fic does not shy away from the negatives, and there will be times when Reader is uncomfortable. I know this fic is just a smutty piece of fiction, but I don't want to glamorise what can be, at times, a very difficult job. Please read, and enjoy, at your own discretion.

The cappuccino in front of you was the prettiest, most luxurious thing you’d seen all week, all perfect foam and dusted chocolate, served in a ceramic cup you couldn’t afford to break.

You could barely afford the bus ride home.

Across from you, Mel sat with her phone face-down on the polished wooden table, perfectly at ease in her designer coat, and heels that probably cost more than your rent. She smiled faintly, like she always did when she saw you looking at the little gold bracelet on her wrist or the new bag over her shoulder.

“Stop staring,” she teased, blowing across her own latte.

You blinked, snapping out of it. “I’m not. Not like that. I just…It’s nice. You look as nice as always. You look happier too?”

Mel quirked a brow, amused. “I’ve got a new Daddy, he’s so nice. Actually cute, too.”

You laughed at that, because she always said it so breezily, like it was just another line on her résumé.

Mel Medarda: Professional Sugar Baby of 5 years, references available on request, glowing reviews.

When the barista swung by with the cheque (because this place was fancy enough that you didn't have to pay up front) Mel waved you off when you reached inside your bag. “Oh no, sweetheart, this is on me,” she said. “New Daddy’s footing the bill. He’d be so upset I let you pay.”

You smiled and said ‘thank you’, but something in your chest twinged as she signed the receipt, even though you knew you couldn’t afford the drink anyway.

“Mel…” you started, watching her tuck the receipt away.

“Hmm?”

“How…How did you get into this?”

Her head tilted slightly. “Into…?”

“This,” you gestured at her designer coat, her perfect nails, the delicate gold decorating her wrist. “You know…Being a Baby. Or whatever you call it.”

That got you a full grin. She leant back in her chair, drumming her nails on her coffee cup in amusement. “Why so curious?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I need money.”

Her face immediately sobered, sitting forward again.

“My rent’s due in three days and I'm more than half short. They're putting it up next month too, and I don’t have the new difference leftover each month. My account’s barely holding two figures as it is. Plus, my bills are almost overdue; the insurance company is gouging my pay for the medical bills, and the interest is constantly climbing…” You rubbed your temples, stressed tears starting to form in your eyes.

Her face softened. “Angel, I could help you-”

You shook your head firmly. “No. No, absolutely not. I’m not taking your money.”

“Well, how much do you need? I’m doing really well-”

You couldn’t help but scoff lightly. “Six figures, Mel. And I don’t just mean 100k.”

Her hands clenched around her mug. “Fuck cancer.”

“Well, I did,” you smiled. You toasted your cups together in celebration of the battle you fought for two years and ultimately won.

But it was time to finally swallow your pride.

“Things are just really bad right now and I don't know what else to do. Plus, I’ve always kind of wondered what it’s like. You make it look so…”

“Easy?” Mel supplied, laughing. “It is, most days. But it won’t be at the start,” she warned.

You sipped your cappuccino just to have something to do with your hands.

“Do you think,” you ventured, “Someone like me could even do it? I mean, I don’t have a designer wardrobe or whatever.”

Mel studied you for a moment, eyes a little sharper now. Then she shook her head with a low chuckle. “Oh, angel, being a Baby isn’t about already having all the pretty things. That’s what they’re for.”

She leant in across the table, her voice becoming warm and gentle as she held your hand. “I’ll help you. Show you the ropes, set up a profile for you, coach you through it.”

Your heart skipped a little. “I’m serious,” you said quietly. “I really need the money. I trust you.”

Mel grinned like the cat who caught the canary, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “You’re going to be just fine. Let’s finish our drinks and then go back to your place. We’ll get you started tonight.”

The door to your apartment stuck, like it always did, and you had to give it a little shove with your shoulder before it finally swung open.

“I always hated this place,” Mel groaned, stepping inside behind you and glancing around. “Why did we let you move in here?”

“Don’t,” you muttered, kicking your shoes off and placing them on the wobbly little shoe rack by the door. “It was all I could afford when I moved.”

She shook her head, looking at the cramped living room with its thrift store couch, second-hand rug with a hole in it, and one too-small window that barely let in any light. “We’re getting you out of here. Alright,” she said, setting her tote down on the coffee table, “Let's get to work.”

You sank into the couch and opened your laptop, as Mel sat elegantly beside you, already pulling out her phone and opening an app.

“Rule number one,” she started, holding it up like a teacher, “This isn’t a dating app. You are not here looking for a girlfriend, or a wife, or your soulmate. You are here to provide companionship and affection – and maybe more, if you’re comfortable – in exchange for being financially taken care of. Period. It’s okay to like the people, but do not get attached.”

You nodded, leaning in as she scrolled through an app.

On her screen was a slick, clean-looking interface with profiles. Every profile had photos, some with nothing but a name, others had a few teasing lines. You catch glimpses of headlines like “Looking to spoil someone special”, “Discreet arrangements only”, “Full sex services available”, and more than one bio that makes your ears burn.

Mel started showing you how it worked – how to set up your own bio, how much detail to give, what pictures are best to use, and how to keep your boundaries crystal clear from the start.

“So, to start off, you should include a close-up photo of your face; a full body shot; something a bit sexier but not too much; then – now, don’t freak out about this – your feet too.”

You gawked at her. “My feet?!”

She shrugged. “Feet is one of the most common kinks out there. I know Babies who only do feet content, and they’re loaded.”

“But I don’t want to do…Foot stuff,” you grimaced.

She raised an eyebrow. “What if someone offered you $100 just for a single photo?”

You paused, remembering the numbers on your debt spreadsheet. “Okay, feet too. Got it.”

Mel chuckled. “What’s your age limit? Realistically speaking. Not necessarily for full sugar, but what could you realistically be comfortable with chatting to, or going on dates with?”

“What’s yours?” you asked.

“I don’t have one. There are some lovely widowers out there who just want companionship. It might be worth leaving it quite high, but it’s up to you. Plus, you can also choose what you’re willing to provide based on age when you talk to people.”

You had to admit that was reasonable. Plus, you weren’t really in a position to be choosey. “Okay, no limit,” you adjusted the setting on your new profile.

“And – here’s the hard question – are you willing to include men?”

You couldn’t help but grimace.

“I know you’re a lesbian, sweetheart, but if you’ve got bills to pay and medical debt to work through, could you face sending some flirty messages to men if it earns you some spoils? Plus the majority of Sugars are men, you’d be cutting off a huge portion of potential benefactors.”

You pondered again, wringing your hands together. “Just messages?”

“Remember, you can always choose how you interact with each person individually,” Mel advised. “It’s your choice. But what if you come across a man wants to give you $50 a day for a sexy photo? You could always tell him that you won’t want to meet up in person.”

You weren’t happy about it, but you ticked all the boxes for sex and gender.

“Never say you’re ‘open to anything,’” she warned, clicking through a few examples. “Even the most confident, experienced Babies have limits; everyone has limits. Manage their expectations from the start. Next: be sweet, be charming, but also make sure they know that you know your worth. No desperation, no haggling, and always let them come to you. You’re doing them a favour by letting them take care of you. If you say a photo is $100, it’s $100; not 80, not 75. Do. Not. Haggle,” she said firmly, wagging her finger at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Got it. No hagglers.” You were quiet for a moment, watching her scroll and type as a message came through on her profile. Then, hesitantly, you asked, “How do you tell the real ones? You know, from the scammers and the creeps?”

Mel actually grinned at that, like she’d been waiting for you to ask.

“Good girl,” she said approvingly. “That’s rule number two. Trust your gut, and don’t believe anybody who promises big money right away. Someone offering 10k for your first date and another 10k every week after that? Not real. Real Mommies and Daddies don’t flash cash in the first message. They ask about you. They care about what you want. They respect your limits. Scammers, on the other hand?”

She snorted, flipping through her inbox and showing you a couple of examples: ridiculous promises of thousands a week just for texting, requests for bank info before even meeting, weird links they say you need to click in order to get paid.

“Block. Block. Block,” she said with a tap of her manicured finger. “Anybody who pressures you to move off the app too soon? Block. Anybody who can’t spell ‘allowance’? Block. Anyone who complains about the vetting process? Block. Remember: the good ones want to be vetted. It shows them you’re being safe.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at her attitude: sharp and sure, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Mel noticed your look and smirked. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said softly. “You’re just really good at this.”

“Damn right I am.”

She pointed to your laptop and nodded at the empty profile. “Alright, sweetheart. Time to write your bio. Start with something sweet: one or two lines about you, what you’re looking for, and what you want in return. Be honest but keep it classy.”

Mel helped you write your bio and choose pics from your gallery – though you did have to take a fresh feet pic, cringing the whole time. By the time Mel finished tinkering with your profile, you were already emotionally exhausted.

“See?” she purred, nudging your shoulder with hers as you sat side by side on your sagging couch. “That’s a good start. Sweet, just a little flirty, and clear about your boundaries.”

You swallowed, rereading the words she helped you craft.

Looking for someone who knows how to take care of what’s theirs. I’m attentive, affectionate, and eager to please. Not looking for one-night stands. Photos/videos/voice notes available for tips. Open to discussing arrangement details once vetted.

Mel winked at you as you hit “Publish” on your profile and grinned at the little blue tick that came up next to your name once the system finished checking your details. She got up and poured the two of you a rum and cola – both ingredients the cheapest the store offered – to celebrate.

And then, not five minutes later, the first messages started coming in.

She stayed with you for another couple of hours, lounging with her legs curled up under her, one perfectly manicured finger flicking at your screen now and then to help you compose polite declines or playful replies.

hi bb u like cashapp? – Block.

Can I send you pics? – Block.

I wanna own u – Block and report.

But there were a few nicer ones – men and women who seemed polite enough, who asked how your day was going and didn’t jump straight to nudes or numbers. Mel made you save a few of them to look at later, and for a little while, sitting there next to her, you even felt a little excited.

When Mel’s phone buzzed with a sharp little chime, her expression shifted into something sly. “That’s my cue,” she said, gathering up her coat. “New Daddy’s taking me out tonight. Are you going to be okay? I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You nodded automatically, though the pit in your stomach was already forming as you watched her leave.

“You’ve got this, sweetheart,” she said at the door, hugging you tightly and kissing your forehead. “Just remember what I told you. Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, and don’t you dare settle for less than you deserve.”

And then she was gone.

The quiet in your apartment felt loud after that.

You curled up on the couch with your phone and tried to keep up the same energy Mel had drilled into you – polite, charming, firm – but after the first few hours on your own, it all started to wear you down.

So many of the messages were gross. Or pushy. Or straight-up insulting.

You should be grateful for whatever I give you

girls like u don’t get to make demands

Send pics now or I’m blocking

Come over tonight and I’ll test drive you

You blocked. And blocked. And blocked again. But each one chipped away at you just a little more.

And before long, your eyes were stinging, your throat tight, your stomach rolling.

For the first time you let yourself wonder what your parents would say. Not that they’d spoken to you in years. You couldn’t think about them. You couldn’t let the guilt and shame settle in and fester. You didn’t deserve that.

You looked back to your laptop again. Messages kept pouring in.

A new one blinked at the top: Baby, you’ve gone quiet. Can I spoil you a little more?

You stared at the words for a long time, fingers hovering over the keys. Your cheeks burned, but your bank account was growing, and your rent was due.

So, you took a breath. And you typed back:

Yes please, Daddy

The next morning brought more messages.

You woke up to the little notification bubble glowing on your phone screen – 48 new messages overnight, some payments made to your new cash app account that Mel had told you was safe for Babies to use.

You read through all the messages, your mood already feeling conflicted.

Most of them were basically the same thing: Good morning, gorgeous. Did you sleep well? Hope you have a good day. I sent you $20, did you get it?

Which was nice. But then you got the others:

What would it cost to see that body without the dress?

How much for a quick video of you moaning my name?

Why don’t you show me those tits and I’ll send you something

Some of the spoils in your account were for small requests - $10 for a video of you brushing your teeth. $30 for your skincare and makeup routine. $10 for a little ‘outfit of the day moment’. All of those you fulfilled as you got ready for work.

On the bus to work you scrolled through the rest of them, trying to keep your face neutral despite the stranger sitting beside you who definitely glimpsed over at your inbox.

You started typing out polite no’s, or simply blocking the ones that made your stomach twist.

By your lunch break, you already felt frayed.

One man had offered $100 if you filmed yourself ‘doing something fun’ with a pillow between your thighs.

You didn’t want to reply to that one. But you had bills to pay, so you messaged back with some clarifying questions – how long did he want the video? What did he want in it? What exactly was he looking for?

Your coworkers chatted around you at lunch while you anxiously picked at your crappy sandwich of cheap bread and even cheaper jam, trying to shake the hot embarrassment off your skin.

When you finally got home that evening, the weight of the day hit you all at once. You dropped your purse on the couch, sat down at your little kitchen table, and buried your face in your hands.

The screen of your phone lit up again and again as you left it face-down on the table, little dings marking incoming requests, compliments, and demands.

You felt dirty. And tired. And angry with yourself for feeling dirty, when you knew this was exactly what you’d signed up for.

Your phone buzzed again, and you forced yourself to flip it over. Another message:

Princess, you there? Don’t leave me hanging. I already sent you the money. You owe me.

Your chest tightened at that word. Owe.

You shoved the phone away and leaned back in your chair.

You were glad Mel couldn’t see you now, sitting in her your apartment, blinking back tears, feeling smaller than ever.

You whispered to yourself, “You need the money. You can do it.”

But even then, you weren’t sure you believed it.

You stood under the spray of hot water far longer than you needed to.

The steam clung to the cracked mirror, the air thick and wet, and still you lingered, scrubbing your arms, your neck, your chest like you could somehow wash off everyone else’s words.

You felt gross. Not so much for what you’d actually done – a few tame photos of your neck and feet; a breathy little voice note moaning someone’s name; one leg shot that you’d agonized over before finally snapping it and sending it. That wasn’t so bad, you told yourself. It was more how fast people demanded, and how entitled they sounded, and how you found yourself agreeing just to get the money.

Because you needed the money.

Halfway through rinsing your hair, your phone buzzed on the sink. Again.

You leant out of the shower to glance at the screen, water dripping from your elbows. Three more payments had come through. You sighed.

When you finally stepped out and wrapped yourself in a towel, your inbox was a mess again, dozens of new messages blinking at you.

Did you get my last request??

Don’t make me wait, girl

Show me something real this time, not just a tease.

I’ll double it if you send me something dirtier.

The words made your stomach tighten, and you put the phone down again to finish getting dressed into your softest, cosiest pyjamas.

You sat cross-legged on the couch, hair still damp against your shoulders, trying not to cry. Your fingers hesitated over the screen for a long time before you finally opened your inbox again.

Chapter 2

Taglist: @sevikas-whore, @djstinkyfartz, @jinririz, @abbyandcaitlover, @ayuxiru, @bebeluvvv, @youdoyou-andiwilldome, @kittymrtnezz69, @wyprettylilone, @jlb20416, @autisticratbagtm, @theoreticalfreak, @riotstemple29, @zaunite-516, @zmbieeee, @godhatesgoodgirls, @yoyo-w, @milanyas, @unknownomgg, @bella-but-not-hadid444, @marvelwomenarehot0, @nenoino, @opalundercover, @beggingonmykneesforher, @qlelwow, @loneliestafterparty, @flowersareup, @niceminipotato, @fruitfulfashion, @dut1fuldyk3, @youngtastemakerfart, @trinityobsessesovatings, @barmaideneeveewrites, @c1sne, @geminideathrose, @nuianced-tck-enby, @all-things-lilac, @m0ss-gremlin