#would i shit on her interests in front of her?? no.

[meowdance]

Can confirm I "okay" people sometimes

"neurotypicals have this special way of saying 'okay' that makes you feel like shit after infodumping your special interest" anyone can do that actually

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"

[lin-ay]

English is my third language, German my first and Russian my second. I’m going to try and involve the languages into the story. That doesn’t have to mean that the reader is German or Russian, it just means that they speak more than just English! Tho the reader will not be born in an English speaking country. If the reader speaks in their native language it will be written like this: “{Hi!}”

Please correct me if I use a word wrong, forgot a word or similar things.

~pretty girl~

Part 1

PART 2

Last time:

“Damian Wayne.” His voice was deep but welcoming, (Name) didn’t know why but she felt his voice kind of calming and grounding.

Now:

“It’s nice to meet you!” (Name) stretched her hand out for him to shake, she hoped his hand would feel as welcoming as his voice sounds.

It quickly got awkward as Damian only gave her a side glance, ignoring (Name)s outstretched hand.

(Name)s let out a scoff and let her hand fell to her side. “So… you guys ready or…?”

Jon and Mia, finally stopped talking, apologized and Jon opened the car door for Mia and (Name) to step in. He and Damian went for the front seats, Jon behind the wheel.

“So Mia whose Party is this?”

“Some girl I met when we took a pre course for something.”

(Name) nodded and laid her head on the window, she looked into the rear(?) mirror and catches the sight of green eyes staring right back. (Name) didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, she didn’t want him to think she is imitated by him because she is not. He is just some random, handsome guy who basically shits money.

After a 15 minute drive they arrived at a pretty fancy and big house.

(Name) felt her excitement coming back, just because some guy was not interested in talking to her doesn’t mean she can’t have fun with someone else.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Damian watched (Name) from a distance, as she was sitting on some girls lap, making out with her as she let out moans.

Jon and Mia were flirting like little high school kid, which is not to unusual for Jon but even the usually confident Mia was blushing, stuttering and what not.

Damian didn’t know why people like to party, he didn’t mind it but the loud music and the crowded space made his head turn in a weird way.

His look went back to (Name) again, she was still making out messily with the same brunette. (Name) smiled as the other girl whispered something into her ear. He saw them both stand up and disappear somewhere upstairs.

Damian had a weird felling but he ignored it, he didn’t know (Name) but her bright smile just wouldn’t leave his mind.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(Name) let out moans as the brunette named Lara sucked on her neck and touched her in ways she could only imagine doing to herself.

(Name)s hand went up to Lara’s hair and gripped, Lara moaned quietly and (Name) put her lips upon Lara’s.

Lara pushed (Name) down and they both started to undress themselves. Lara pushed herself between (Name)s legs so their cunts will rub against when Lara starts grinding. When she did, they both let out different types of moans, Lara’s moans were breathy and more like quite gasps of (Name)s name and (Name)s moans were load and she basically screamed Lara’s name.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Damian was sitting on one of the coaches, when Mia and Jon joined him.

“Hey Damian have you seen (Name)? I really want to go home but I can’t find her.”

“She went with some brunette girl, they were making out.”

Mias eyes turned wide and she looked a bit spooked. “Did the girl have short hair, curls, with green earrings?”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowly nodded.

“That girl has been stalking (Name) now for days, (Name) didn’t seem to notice so I didn’t say anything but I heard stuff about her. (Name) apparently isn’t her first crush and the last time the girl was beaten up because the girl didn’t want to do some kinky shit!”

Damian and Jon shared a glance as Mia babbled about the stalker.

Jon asked with a hesitant voice. “You’re sure the girl is staking (Name)?”

“Pretty sure, everywhere we go I see her making heart eyes at (Name) and I even overheard her telling her friends how (Name) smelt so good like vanilla and she also said she wished she could see underneath what was clinging to her delicious curves.”

[mumbojumboshipbrackets]

REMEMBER THIS IS JUST THE CHARACTERS NOT THE CREATORS

MumScarian

Includes: Grian, Scar, Mumbo Submissions: 9 Reasons: - Because Buttercups, my beloved. They fit each other like puzzle pieces. - Chaos gremlin giran, accident prone scar, and mumbo who has to deal with them - Mumbo and Grian are inseparable and in love, and very, very weird about each other. Mumbo and Scar are, in my controversial opinion, in love and very, very normal about each other. Together they make such an interesting dynamic, whether you go an angsty or fluffy route. Mumbo is fond of both Grian and Scar, who are both fond of him, and both fond of each other, and they just meld so wonderfully. Scar has paired Grian and Mumbo together multiple times, telling them to hold hands in season 9 and to stand on the same trap door in the season 8 finale. Grian made a scarecrow with Mumbos face and scars hat. Mumbo has his Scar and Grian armour stands right next to each other in his build. They want to see each other happy so bad and they care for each other so much! - have you seen them - weird soulmate shit idk man - My absolute fav trio, I love grumbo, (mumbo x scar) and scarian why not all three!

LDshadowlady

Submissions: 3 Reasons: - They’d be so silly and awkward. I want the string bean man to have a short fairy girlfriend that flusters him - Imagine they were in double life together- they would have probably been soulmates. Imagine what a power couple they would be? Girlfailure x Girlfailure. Competently incompetent. Lizzie encourages Mumbo to have fun and get silly without being as much of an anxious wreck about it, and in turn Mumbo sticks by Lizzies side and lets himself add to the mischief tenfold. That, or he leaves Lizzie behind and she kills him in retaliation. Both are fun! - Last life parallels!!!!! These two I feel are the only ones who’d truly understand each other’s pain in the life series because most of the other players joined the games in 3rd life which was way less hectic and betrayal heavily compared to last life, Pearl had a much more stable alliance in last life and had other seasons to grow from her experience in last life and Gem only joined in secret life which wasn’t as betrayal heavy and she got to be the instigator of most of the violence which she enjoyed! They both joined last life without knowing how these games were supposed to work, joined an alliance and then watch that alliance crumble apart in front of them, abandoning them once they turned red. This lead to them both getting trust issues in secret life with Lizzie not allying with anyone and Mumbo attacking the Mounders on red. I feel like they’d bond over their similar experiences in the life series which allow them to be more vulnerable with each other, something which they can’t afford with other players, because they both know the struggle better than anyone else!

[beef-brisket]

((I'M SO SORRY! I'M TERRIBLE 😫😫😫))

Verosika sighed when she saw Adam leaning against his dressing room desk.

Verosika: You okay, babe?

Adam sighed: ...No. Not really.

Collapsing back onto his couch, Adam rubbed his face. He fuckimg hated this. Everything. Why the fuck did he get into music? Of course, those bastards up in Pride would have found out about him.

Adam: I should have just become a stripper... it would have been easier than dealing with this shit.

Verosika chuckled and sat next to him: You don't have the knees for that, babe.

Adam laughed, and dropped his hands: Bitch.

Verosika: Asshole... you seem conflicted.

Adam: Fuck, it's that easy to tell?

Verosika: No... but I know you, Adam. You feel. You feel for people. Even those who've hurt you.. it's a shit trait, but it's what makes you, you.

Adam: Yeah... a fucking dumbass.

Verosika: I mean, you said it~.

Adam scoffed: Fucks sakes... do you have any idea how much I miss him...? He was... everything to me. My first friend, the first angel to see me as more than an animal to gush over... he... he was the first person I thought cared about me... but he didn't... in the end, he didn't. And from there, it feels like a running fucking theme. People start to get close to me, they treat me with JUST enough kindness that I get hooked, then they throw me away like I'm nothing! They fucking use me! First Lucifer and Lilith, then Eve, then the angels, then all of Heaven! I did what I was told! I followed everyone's orders like a fucking mutt, and what do I get? A stab in the back and being reborn as... this... but it's not so bad. I met you, I've made logife for myself... but of course, that had to go to shit to...

Verosika sat and listened. She could feel Adam's pain. Over ten thousand years worth of it.

Adam: I... I just... why didn't he care about me before? Why did he just... stop liking me in Eden? He made love to the only two other people... but me? He just... he laughed. When I found them, both times. The first time, he glared at me. Threatened to hurt me... I was so scared- I love him. He was my best friend- and he was threatening to-.

She rubbed his back as Adam rubbed his eyes, tears threatening to fall.

Adam: T-To hurt me. In each meeting, he made fun of me. Him and Lilith pocked fun at how I looked- my body, my life on Earth... then, they rub their daughter in my face... they had what I only dreamed of... a child made from love. Eve, she... she hated me as much as they did... I-I couldn't take it- I snapped. I-I recommend the exterminations. And they ran with it... but- it made me sick. The blood- god, there was so much blood- I couldn't wash it off. I couldn't get rid of the smell... sometimes I thought it was soaked into my skin and clothes... it made me sick.

Verosika: ...I know what you need to do...

Adam: Pft... die? And stay dead?

Verosika chuckled: No... you need closure, Adam. You need to talk to him. Tell him all of this, then? Shit in his bed, and leave.

Adam laughed: I'm not that nasty... but, fuck... I... I think your fucking right... fucking, Charlie...

Verosika: Tell me about it~.

-

Angel: So, he's not interested, huh?

Vaggie: Pft. This is Adam we're talking about! He's completely unreasonable-! And pathetic... fucking... puta!

Charlie: Vaggie, please. I... he's hurt-.

Alastor: Hurt? Oh. Charlie, darling. He isn't hurt!

Charlie: ...He isn't?

Alastor: No! He's spiteful~.

Angel rolled his eyes: Don't listen to him, Char. He and Lucifer have a shit ton of history that we couldn't even begin to understand! This is... probably a little out of your grasp, babe.

Charlie sighed: I think you're right...

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front door, making everyone jump and stare at it.

Alastor: ...Well, go on~.

Vaggie: Shut up, Alastor!

Charlie: It's okay-! I'll get it...

Everyone watched as Charlie made her way over and slowly opened the door.

Charlie: Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. How can we- A-Adam?!

Adam glared, folding his arms and pulling his jacket right around himself: Yeah, hey. Don't fucking ask. Just take me to your fuck ass dad... please.

Succubus au

@beef-brisket

@fanofstuff01

(This au was originally on @things-aren't-what-they-seem66blog and was originally thought of by an anonymous ask)

The roaring of the crowd and the playing of his guitar deafened his ears but the incubus didn't care. He loved the way they cheered his name while he shredded on his axe. With one final strum, his song was done. He raised his arms and gave the horns, to which his fans reciprocated, and bid them all goodnight. He walked away his hands still raised until he was out of sight from them. Adam sighed heavily and wiped the sweat with his forearm as he made his way to his dressing room.

Once there he flopped onto the couch and groaned. Though Adam loved being a rockstar and having adoring fans, he wouldn't lie to himself, each performance, especially concerts, can be quite draining since he always had to prepare with mic checks and making sure he sounded right. Steve, his producer/manager/on-and-off-again fling, always assured him that these were mandatory. Just one of those sacrifices that come with being a star. Still, Adam felt a little like shit and he needed a drink, a hard one. Unfortunately, his evening wasn't quite over yet as knocking was heard from the other side of the door then a voice called out.

Assistant: Excuse me? Commander? I'm sorry for bothering you but I brought the VIP guests here with me.

Adam sighed completely forgetting about that. Almost all VIPs get access to meet him after every show. Though he loved his fans coming to him and saying how much they loved him, maybe even getting some head from the older crowd, tonight, he didn't want to. However, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice. Unless he wanted Steve up his ass, and not in a good way. Letting out a long groan he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yelled out to her.

Adam: Bring them in.

He closed his eyes and sighed once again as he heard the door open and feet shuffle in. He prepared himself for the immediate responses of squealing and clamoring over to shake his hand. However, he was not prepared for a familiar voice to call out his name.

Charlie: A, Adam?

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him were Charlie, Vaggie, and a one-eyed sinner.

[hungermakesmonsters]

Just want to take a moment to congratulate you on 500 followers! You absolutely deserve it and more! I love your ideas and your writing. Can I request a blurb with a headstrong reader who is always used to fixing things herself but Billy just wants to take care of her? I like the idea of PA reader, kinda like Donna & Harvey in Suits! Maybe something like reader gets “stood up” by an Anvil client whose interest in you got Billy clear on how he feels and jealous on someone else seeing your worth?

I used to love Suits... but I never finished watching it so I don't know what happened with the whole Darvey situation but I LOVED their dynamic in the first few seasons of the show (and also just how weird and awkward it was when Max Beesley's character was going out for Donna for a while). So, yeah, this was definitely fun to write and I hope I've managed to catch enough of the awesome Donna energy in the reader character here! (Also now I'm going to have to start watching Suits again)

Don't Have to Say You Love Me

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : M 

Warnings : [This is 18+ only, minors DNI] Smutty behaviour.  

You placed his coffee and lunch down in front of him, immediately drawing his attention upwards.

"Is that —"

"A large flat white and a toasted BLT with extra sauce," you said, knowing full well how he liked to take his lunch on a Friday. By this point you were almost offended that he dared to ask.

"And have you got —"

"The research on the Collins account and the two government contracts Senator Williams wants to discuss," you interrupted as you pulled three files from beneath your arm and placed them down.

His eyes narrowed on you, mind obvious racing, trying to find something you hadn't thought of.

"What about —"

"Yes, I've had someone from maintenance fix the AC in the meeting room because I know you don't like having the Senator in your office around the good scotch."

Everything was sorted. Everything he could possibly ask of you, and he knew why — he was just waiting for you to say it. You didn't want to have to say it, because you knew exactly what his reaction would be.

But you knew Billy Russo. You knew how fucking stubborn he could be.

It'd probably amuse him to keep you standing there all day like a lemon.

After a few seconds you let out a huff.

"You do remember that I'm leaving early today, right?" You asked, drawing attention to the elephant in the room.

You weren't even sure why Billy was so annoyed that you'd gone and gotten yourself a date — he was stringing along half the women in New York, so why did it matter that you'd finally found someone who was interested in you?

"Right, how could I forget?" He said and you could hear the disdain in his voice. "I still can't believe you're going out with Thompson."

"Why not?" You asked, really not in the mood for his snarky behaviour. You both knew each other better than that.

"He just so —"

"Rich?" You offered. "Handsome? British?"

"Boring. He's not right for you, he doesn't deserve you."

You rolled your eyes. "And what would you know about what's right for me, Billy?"

The question was met with the expected silence. You'd long since given up on any fancy notion of him actually seeing you or admitting to the undeniable tension that had permeated your relationship since you first started working for him years ago.

What had once been a will they, would they, could they, had be stamped with a big red absolutely not by him and his inaction.

"Enjoy your date," he said, like he was driving the final nail into the coffin.

You couldn't remember exactly what you told him as you left his office, but it didn't matter. The pair of you argued, you always had. You'd made it clear from the start that, just because you were his PA, you weren't there to take any of his shit. You did your job and you were damned good at it — he was lucky to have you, lucky that you still wanted to work for him when there were so many other firms that would love to have you.

But you were loyal if you had one fault. Endlessly loyal when it came to Anvil and when it came to Billy Russo.

The one thing you weren't, however, was an idiot. Davis Thompson was funny, charming and rich, and sure, you might have met him through work, but you at least owed it to yourself to see where it would go.

And, where it went, as it turned out, was absolutely nowhere.

You'd been stood up before — you were a big girl, getting snubbed by a man who couldn't even bother to text was not going to end your world. (Though it might give you the urge to key his car the next time he had a meeting at Anvil.)

You got to the bar early, and you waited.

And waited.

You ordered yourself a drink, and you waited.

You gave up on him showing, but you decided to have another glass of wine because, why not? And, while you were making bad decisions, you decided to add another to the list and text Billy.

Don't go getting smug, but you were right.

It took less than a minute for his reply to come through.

He bored you that much already?

You found yourself smiling, even as you rolled your eyes.

Didn't even show up.

Despite feeling somewhat embarrassed, you knew that Billy wasn't on the other end of the phone laughing at you. He wasn't like that. Not when it came to you. (He was probably planning on keying Thompson's car too now.)

You put your phone down on the bar and ordered another drink, only half-surprised when it didn't buzz with another message from Billy. It was fine. It was Friday, he was probably busy on a date of his own. You had your wine, you were happy, you'd maybe have one more, then —

"Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?"

In any other circumstances the bad pick-up line would have had you seriously considering throwing your drink, but you recognised the voice immediately and before you could even turn your head, Billy Russo was sitting at the bar beside you.

"Please tell me you've never used that line on a woman you actually wanted to sleep with," you said, barely biting back a laugh.

"I have," he answered, waving down the bar tender and ordering a glass of what you were drinking.

"And did it work?"

"I'll let you know at the end of the night."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny." You rolled your eyes. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Thought you might want some company since Thompson was a no-show."

For a few seconds you were willing to accept his answer, but it didn't exactly hold up under scrutiny.

"I text you literally five minutes ago; how did you get here so quick?" You asked, eyes narrowing.

"I was in the neighbourhood?"

He almost looked sheepish, embarrassed even, and you had no idea why. A dusting of pink spread across his cheeks and, for a second, he could barely even look at you.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?" And, then when he looked at you, you felt an unsettling feeling in you gut. "What did you do?"

You'd always been good at reading him, at seeing right through him. And, right then, he had the look of a guilty man struggling to explain himself.

"Don't get angry —"

"Don't ask me not to get angry if you're going to say something that makes me angry, Billy," you warned.

He took a drink. "I might have cancelled your date —"

"You did what?"

Un-fucking-believable.

Actually, no. It was entirely fucking-believable. And that was what pissed you off the most. He'd ruined your date because of — what? Some selfish sense of jealousy and entitlement, because if he didn't want you, no one else should.

You start to move, standing only to find his fingers on your wrist.

"Wait —" he started, almost sounding panicked.

"I did wait, Billy," you said, admitting far more than you ever wanted to. "I waited for years. For you. And what were you doing? Fucking half of New York."

It was the first time you'd dared utter anything of the sort aloud, the first time either of you had openly admitted to the unspoken, unacted-upon feelings between you.

You tugged against his grip on you, but Billy held tight as you struggled against him.

"Let me go," you said.

"No," Billy answered, getting to his feet, standing in front of you. "I'm not letting you go again."

Before you could even think to question what the fuck he meant, his lips were on yours and your whole world seemed to come to a screeching halt. For a few sweet seconds, you were frozen, indulging in something you'd barely allowed yourself to dream about, but how could you trust it? How could you trust him when he was only kissing you because he'd been jealous, because he'd thought you were finally going to find happiness with someone else.

You pulled back from the kiss, enough to see the flicker of hurt in his eyes and the worry on his face.

"This better not be a game, Billy," you warned him. "I'm not one of your girls that you can pick up and drop whenever you —"

He cut you off with another kiss, his arm winding around you waist and pulling you against him. And you let him. You allowed yourself to melt into the warmth of his body, you fingers gripping his shirt at his waist, just beneath his jacket.

"No more games," he muttered against your lips. "I can't lose you. I won't. I'm sick of pretending that I don't want you — that I don't love you."

Your heart stuttered, knowing the weight that that word bore for Billy. He'd never used it when talking about any of the other women, and you knew it wasn't the sort of thing he'd say without meaning it.

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to say it back. Not yet, not when some part of you still ached over his treatment of you.

"Take me home," you said, daring to hope that this wasn't just some pipe dream that would vanish the moment he'd had you in his bed.

Not that you made it as far as his bed.

He'd taken you by the hand a pulled you out of the bar, into the cold New York air — his car was park a block over, it should have been a quick, short walk if it hadn't been for you pulling him back for another kiss. Then, before either of you could think, you found yourself in an alleyway, pressed back against a wall as Billy kissed you.

Years of tension quickly came to the fore, your fingers gripping his jacket, his shirt, his hair — anything you could get hold of, anything you could use to keep him close. And all the while, he kissed you. You couldn't get enough of him.

Things quickly reached boiling point, your fingers tugging at the fastenings of his pants while he lifted your dress. There was no slow build, no teasing foreplay, once you'd freed his cock, you found yourself lifted and —

"Fuck," you moaned against his lips, "fuck, fuck, fuck — Billy."

He buried himself inside you in a single fluid movement, stopping when every inch of him was hilted.

His forehead pressed against yours as you both stilled, already breathless, and both entirely overwhelmed.

"Billy," you said in a low whine, your fingers gripping his hair.

His eyes opened and he looked at you through the gloom of the alley.

"I love you," he said softly, like he'd finally realised the gravity of the situation.

He started to move with slow but deep thrusts, not quite making love to you, but doing all he could to show you that this meant something. He alternated between kissing your lips and your neck, and you found yourself leaning into his every touch as pleasure started to coil inside you.

Your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him close, never wanting to let him go. And when you came it was with four little words.

"I love you too."

[confusionism]

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” It’s an overused line for a reason, although the analyses of Aiden’s coaching style often likens him more to a wasp. Meticulous and territorial, although his current approach to his personal life is far sweeter than one might expect. For example, he mirrors the nose scrunch and declares, “No chia seeds. That shit’s nasty.” Plus, they’re a bitch to clean out of the teeth. “I’d rather choke on stale weetabix. But anyway— you won’t get stronger if you hate what you’re eating.” Half of performance is mentality.

The harshness of his chips away at the mention of Winnie the Pooh. He flashes a small smile and breathes out amusement. “I heard it was for St. Christopher, but yeah. That too. The homeboy from the Hundred Acre Woods.” Who’s to say that his mother didn’t have a fondness for that story? But all of this is stuff to unpack later; he’s done with all the literal belongings before him, and the dimming lights above Anna have him starting the snoozing countdown.

“I’ll come get you next time.” It’s his own way of saying: I miss you, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you. Maybe he can somewhat compromise with, “I’ll call again before I leave.” Even if it’s for five seconds, while he’s getting dragged downstairs— or maybe he can leave a voicemail. Anything when the person on the other side means everything.

“Rest up.” Delivered with an expression holding the wish that he were there to give her a little ‘good nap’ kiss. He’s reassuring both of them when he adds, “—My turn to bring my A-game.”

The next few hours proceed in a blur.

Running across the street to procure the goods is no problem, but nothing really prepares him for the sheer amount of glam that storms through the door. Yeah, it’s only three people, but it’s a couple of complete strangers (and one Petra) entering private domain. It all begins with a two messages.

[10:41 AM]: I forgot to say thank you again before we hung up. Sorry. Thank you.

[10:43 AM]: The team is getting ready. They told me to wear something that opens up front like a robe so I borrowed the really big one that you got on accident. It fits fine but the rhinestones are a lot. Hah

(Later, a photo comes in from Petra, featuring today’s subject in the hot seat at the very start of the process, quietly intimidated by the array of styling tools and makeup spread in front of him, and wearing the silky robe — and the bedazzled letters of Anna’s name — well.)

In most cases, Aiden would proceed strongly, like a stone wall or a rolling boulder, but in the interest of doing this correctly, he… Waits. Allows himself to learn. To be pampered, if the meticulous transformation of the kitchen’s island into the center of an at-home studio is any indication. Seriously. By midway through the second hour, his nails have never looked shinier, and he’s got to ask what that special aftershave is, because he wouldn’t mind a new addition to his regular regimen. The only struggle comes later. While Alex works out the necessary suit alterations with the other guy:

[03:54 PM]: I’m not saying sweet potato but you’ll never believe this shit

[03:55 PM]: Petra tried to tan me. TAN. ME. She used that sparkly brown stuff and it made NO difference

[03:55 PM]: Five min break. I think that broke her brain. I’m embarrassed for her. I’m using a wipe cause I don’t want to cover my freckles. What do u think? Fresh face is in right?

Finally… Finally, after experiencing a level of scrutiny that he could have never anticipated or imagined, Aiden is ready. Dressed to the elevens, if he does say so himself, and it’s apparent in the way he stands before the large, living room mirror. The final touch involves picking out a pair of cufflinks. Maybe something that matches his earrings? He doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, but he better not say that part aloud. He’s already gotten an earful about proper etiquette for buttoning and unbuttoning his coat when standing up versus sitting down.

Say what you will about looking good. It’s fucking hard. Better consult the expert.

[07:32 PM]: Finishing touches. Want to help?

"I'm sweet as honey, but if someone gets in my way... I sting." It sounds more aggressive than it should. But Anna's are alight with something driven and competitive. A side often hidden behind all her good nature and sweetness. In the same way Aiden's soft underbelly is a shown to a privileged few. So, too, is Anna's cutting ambition and honesty. Except... Well, he'd see it anyway. Aiden sees her so clearly, it would be startling if it didn't make the hairs in the back of her neck raise with a tremble.

"Just none of that cocoa chia pudding crap." The go-to of many a model dietitian, quoted to be comparable to chocolate mousse. Anna crinkles her nose, the texture alone haunts her still. Luckily, "Though I'm lucky. Your old bachelor pad--" Because he's a bachelor no longer, right? Not with hand towels with daisies and lavender candles, it's not. "Wasn't some exercise in weird, fit bro health foods." Sure there's protein powders and granola bars. But at least there wasn't an entire freeze of chicken breast and brocolli.

She pushes her recliner back, steady against her seat as it transforms into a lay flat bed. Maybe she could ask the attendant to get the sheets, too, but frankly Anna's never been fussed about it. Once the lights go off, she will too. "Christopher." She tests out, and she wonders why she never found it in his file. "Like from Winnie the Pooh?" Anna doesn't know, of course, but if it's not in his file, then it has to mean something. And anyway, "Whatever the name, I'm crazy about the guy behind it." Simple as that, really.

"I know, babe. I promise." She says, not impatiently. But with a sigh that shows she hears him, loud and clear. It's in her nature to do anything for him, just like it's in his to never ask for anything. The combination of the two works in their favor this time. "But," she lifts her head. "It won't stop me from trying to do things for you, if I think it's good for you--" Case and point, her team ready to descend upon his London flat with one swoop.

"Two hours. Just enough time to clean your flat." It's a joke, obviously. AIden's place couldn't be any cleaner. Nary a sullied white glove, should an inspector look for any evidence. "Hmm..." She's not thinking about his request. Rather... "Sweet potato." She decides. "Yeah. That can be our safe word. Text me that, and I'll call Petra up. Tell her to back down." She trusts her team, of course. But just in case. "I'll be home at 1? Maybe midnight?" Or, if the captain's latest statement is to go by, just in time to see the end of the party. But she doesn't dangle the carrot. Instead;

"And I'll be here anyway I can." Outstretched on the chair, close to snoozing. But alert enough to see him enter the flat, and smile. A resounding thought in her head; I love talking to you, I love thinking about you... Shaking away the tigthening of her heart, she sighs. "I can't wait to see you all gussied up. You're going to look amazing." Not better, because it's impossible. But amazing in a different way.

[wewontbesleeping]

honestly what's happening with chappell is just more proof that entertainers are NOT who we should be looking to for our political information, and it blows my mind that anyone still thinks that being a musician means you are more informed or worth listening to than any random off of the street. this level of celebrity worship is the reason america elected a reality tv star as president, and i just don't think MORE celebrity worship is the answer.

[symbioticsimplicity]

Y’all what if Lilith didn't choose to take a vaycay in Heaven? What if she got redeemed?

[hsslilly-blog]

claire’s father 100% knows it was sebastian who told claire’s mother about the affair (because who else would have been? claire?). and sebastian knows he knows too.

[varian212]

I came across your comment by accident, honestly. Over time, I’ve made it a habit not to follow too closely what’s being said online about the books I love; I know I’ll find opinions that will make me write way too much.

But that was my mistake, for checking the A Little Life tag. Foolish me, hoping someone had made some fan art or an interesting post. Instead, I stumbled upon what you wrote.

The following lines are not just for you but for everyone who shares your perspective. So take a seat, and don’t hesitate to respond with the same level of engagement that I’ve put into this.

I think you’re so absurd in your post, it’s almost worrying.

A Little Life is not just a book about homosexuals, Jude is not just a homosexual, and the story is not just about sexuality. It’s a book about people’s lives, with both good and bad stuff happening. And don't come here an say that there weren't any good moments, that'll only show me how your brain is fixed on one thing (hating the book) and it's blinded by everything else.

And welcome to Earth, where Hanya doesn’t need to make gay men suffer, that already happens. I invite you in Rusia for a weekend,do you know what would happen to you if,as a man,you'll walk on the streets wearing girly clothes or makeup? And I don't mean you'll get cat called; that's literally the best case scenario.

But your post only shows how privileged you are, how protected you are from what happens in this world. Turn on the TV, read articles, watch the news – do you think Hanya invented these kinds of monsters, these kinds of traumas? I assure you, no, she just wrote about them.

And what a strange thing, to bring up sexuality so much. Especially when a good part of Jude’s traumas happened when he was a child, then a teenager.

But your first concern is not "What the hell, how can she write about this kind of stuff happening to a child?" but "What the hell, this author has a fetish for gay people." As if, for you, it’s more important that Jude is gay than that he is human .

There are so many books like this but where the main characters are women and no one says anything. Guess we are already used to know about them getting raped,assaulted, beaten. Turns out it can happen to everybody.

Your empathy for gay people seems superficial, like the kind that’s only displayed on social media; never vocal in real life.

And you know what's even worse? Your audacity.

Let me tell you a little story : By chance, I am a volunteer for an organization called Save the Children.

Last week, a little girl was brought in, and I had to take care of her. Do you know what the problem was? Two soldiers entered her family house, destroyed everything, and raped her mother in front of her and her two younger brothers.

After her mother lost consciousness, they did the same to the little girl. And they did it so violently that she lost the ability to walk for the rest of her life. A few punches to the left side of her skull resulted in damage to the motor cortex, combined with strangulation, which led to hypoxic brain injuries. That’s all it takes.

I’m not saying this to shock you—I just want you to know that this is just one child out of millions of similar cases. Real life children,real life people.

Will anyone speak up about this? Probably not. Will the military court do anything about those soldiers? In the worst case, they’ll give them a few days off, and then they’ll go right back to doing the same thing.

Again, Hanya Yanagihara (cuz yeah,if you leave a hate comment,have the decency to write her name correctly) didn't invent shit. Those evil people are literally alive and well among us.

Now imagine I go to this child, look at her, and say, "You've been abused too much. What you've been through sounds dreamlike. It sounds like trauma porn, if I’m being honest."

Please read this paragraph again.

Do you see how it sounds? Do you realize how ignorant you are about everything that’s happening? How much comfort you have in your life?

Do you care so much about a woman who wrote about gay people? Why don’t I see you being just as vocal about men who have written about lesbians, white people writing about black people, healthy people writing about those with disabilities?

Why aren’t you just as disturbed by criminals writing about being victims?

Those things happen in real life too,and yet you are more concerned about a book.

Maybe this post will be read up to this point, and maybe it will wake up some of you privileged, upper-class white people commenting on your iPhone 16 Pro Max.

We don’t choose how we are born or what education we can afford up to a certain age, but at some point, it becomes our responsibility to educate ourselves.

Do you know what I do when I hate a book, an idea, or a movie? I learn absolutely everything about it. I get my information from five different sources to make sure it's reliable. I try to reason, to find opinions that contradict mine, as well as those that agree with me. In short, I become so familiar with every detail of what I'm trying to criticize that my arguments are as valid and verifiable as possible. That's what I call effort worth noticing.

If you're gonna be a heater at least pretend to be a smart one.

i could never read a little life, cus its a reminder that just like bi men in gay porn, women are infesting the whole niche of writing about gay male main characters and overrunning actual gay male writer who would love to write about actual gay male character and they also always use those gay male characters to punch down or project their own self. A little life is literally just a het woman writing about a gay man and putting him thru everything to the point it becomes just torture porn and for some even unbelievable to the point of being dreamlike. That writer (hana yanagihari) literally only writes about gay men who were raped in their childhood and suffered their whole life after, she literally wrote the same shit 3 times!!! 3!!!!! She is obsessed with having gay men suffer.

This is always a dead giveaway to me that someone doesn’t conceptualize gay men as actual people so their writing exposes them by showing how they use gay men as archetypes or plot devices to send a message or push an idea which sends me back to the heyes code cus thats their unknown undercover bible.

Like at its core there is no empathy towards gay men.

[phagodyke]

kind of annoys me sometimes how I can happily listen to my roommate explain the entire plot of whatever she's currently into but when it comes to my interests she can only listen for a few mins before wordlessly walking out of the room

[vanweezer]

very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out

"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"

thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms

[scentofpines]

in class today i felt so incredibly out of place again, why does it have to be so hard for me? and, i like this girl, but every single time we have class she mentions her "autism" while happily chatting with 3+ ppl at a time, completely effortless, while im sitting there, staring and trying to focus enough to even understand the conversation bc there is so much noise around me that i feel like i'm about to either explode or shut down completely and i feel like an alien trying my best to somehow socialize and understand what is going on and really to just get through this.

[whoblewboobear]

Knowing that I have to go home after an 8-hour shift at the job I hate to force myself to deep clean the depression nest my room has become while neck deep in the same depressive episode for the past 3 months on top of chronic pain makes me wanna scream like can I just smoke weed and sleep on the couch instead pls?

[cathymee]

hi can we talk about when he gets ethereal. w his vocals specifically. idk if it's just me but when ppl talk about michael that word never gets attached that much. spiritual, otherwordly, angelic maybe but it's like. when it's Michael Jackson it's like a Dominating Presence. in a way that's like Oh My God He's Here That's Him. & there's no other choice but to be keenly aware that That Is Michael. u listen to him sing like that & it's like That's Michael's Voice and it feels like? having to stand in the middle of the road? knowing There Is A Car Approaching Fast so u have to run and move away?? that kind of awareness. his vocals where it's like yeah that's Michael he can do that. w his voice. he can belt out those notes he can growl out those lyrics he can sing like that

but it's like. when it's ethereal it's like that Is Michael but omg Why Is He Like That. scary. beautiful. hypnotic & strange u feel helpless & in awe. Feeling a Presence but never sensing where it's emitting from. hearing him sing & it's like. Are You Real. Where Are You.