#you can’t just force things to happen the way you want

[sugarwarachan]

part two, you dirty birdies. go read this first to catch up! summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x citizen!reader wc: 2.4k (oops) content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know), obsessive behavior, voice kink, dirty talk, blindfolds are involved, piv sex, oral f!receiving, spanking, dom/sub elements but not explicitly stated, aizawa's big dick, creampie, unprotected sex (do not do this!!! especially with strangers!!! this is fiction!!!)

Aizawa knows he shouldn’t go back.

It was already enough of a risk to hear your voice; that he's considering confirming his identity with you should have alarm bells blaring in his head.

But logic abandoned him hours ago.

Your message, come back tomorrow <3, blinks in his head. At this point, he’s just waiting for the city to fall asleep so he can slip out along the ledge and head straight to you.

Part of him is bizarrely nervous to replace the distance with reality, but the thought of never feeling your weight on top of him erases all arguments.

As soon as night falls, he winds his capture weapon around his neck and slides out into the dark.

All day long, you’ve been aching and hot, sliding your thighs together under the desk at work to relieve some of the pressure.

There’s no guarantee he’ll come back. You’ve told yourself this ever since you woke up gasping for breath, rocking your hips against a pillow.

It’s like he possessed you, you muse on the train ride home, the force of the train cars rattling your already frazzled head. You’ve never felt this way in your life, desire snapping and fizzing under your skin.

Your apartment looks exactly the same as when you left, straight down to the kicked-over coat stand you’d jostled on your way out the door. It’s all so maddeningly ordinary that it takes everything within you not to scream.

It’s almost like last night didn’t happen at all.

“No need to sigh like that, sweetheart.”

His voice comes from behind you. Fear zips up your spine like dynamite sparking, your stomach bottoming out in one fell swoop.

He’s here.

Something winds around your wrists and face, obscuring your vision and tugging your body back. You collide with someone who smells like cedar and books and black coffee.

You breathe in his scent as the fear melts to excitement, to anticipation.

He’s here.

“Miss me, sweet girl?”

You’d think huffing him in like a fucking croissant would be a dead giveaway.

“What’s with the blindfold?” you ask instead. Angling your head in various ways does nothing. He made sure you can’t make him out, only confirming your previous hunch. He’s a pro, and he sure as fuck doesn’t want anyone to know he’s sneaking into girls’ apartments and fucking them stupid.

“You’re smarter than that.”

His voice is even better in person; you can feel the rumble of it against your neck. He loosens his hold on the cloth binding your wrists. Your hands naturally settle on the broad expanse of his chest.

He says the next thing nice and soft, “We don’t have to do anything.”

You understand the out for what it is, but you’re willing to sacrifice your sight for a taste of what he offered you yesterday.

“I’d like to do some things,” you say, and he huffs a laugh. “I don’t know what you did to me, but if you don’t touch me in the next few seconds, I feel like I’ll pass out.”

You don’t even realize you’re grinding yourself on his thigh until his hand splays across your hip, stilling you. Flipping you around, he cages you against the door, teeth scraping down the side of your throat.

“You don’t know what I did to you?” He punctuates the ask by kicking your feet apart with the heel of his boot. Your pussy clenches around nothing, a keen high in your throat. “What about what you did to me? Feels like I’ve got you floating around my fucking bloodstream.”

With a growl, he scoops you up and pins you against the door with his hips, mouth bracketing over yours.

“Can’t get your pretty little noises out of my head,” he says against your lips, sounding like a man at a confessional. His hips jerk, the length of his erection pulsing between you. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty picture you sent me.”

He laves at your collarbone with his tongue, hand resting in the hollow of your throat. The gentlest squeeze elicits your softest sigh. He grunts at the sound, thick fingers applying more pressure before falling to your waist and locking you in place. His breath skates over your cheek; you feel the rasp of stubble on your skin.

“Let me take you to bed, sweetheart.”

God, his voice makes your knees fucking buckle. His forearm is tight around your back, holding you close.

“Please.”

You don’t recognize that whine as your voice; you’ve never sounded this eager, never felt this aching pulse in your core the way you do now. You need him to mold your insides to the shape of him, to pin you down on the mattress and take you.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. You don’t know him, not really, but you like this aspect of his personality. He makes his want for you tangible, so sharp you can practically taste it in the air. It’s like he’d rather die than leave you unsatisfied, and honestly, you don’t think anyone’s made you feel like that.

You can’t help liking it.

He taps open the door to your room with the toe of his boot. Lips slanted over yours, his tongue presses behind your teeth, licking into your mouth in the filthiest kiss you’ve ever shared with someone. It’s a sloppy clash of teeth and tongues; your hands fist in his hair as he caresses his thumbs over the skin of your hips.

“Take your clothes off.”

You obey just as you did on the phone, the rush to do so shooting a wave of heat over your face.

“That’s my girl, fuckin’ eager for it, huh?” You wish you could see his face; you want to match the feral snarl you hear with an expression. He sounds like he’s enjoying it, standing in front of you fully clothed while your arousal drips down your fucking legs.

You cross your legs together and he laughs, the hot span of his hands splaying over your hips as he tugs you to him.

“I know you’re needy, baby; you’re already doin’ so good for me. You listen just a little longer and I’ll make sure this pretty little pussy of yours gets the treatment she deserves, okay?” He cups your cunt in the palm of his hand; immediately, you rock against him, the meat of his palm bunching over your clit. He spanks your ass sharply. “Get on the bed and spread your legs open.”

Your muscles are shaky; your thighs tremble as you settle on the bed. You’ve never wanted to be able to see more than right now, spread out and vulnerable underneath a stranger’s gaze.

Before doubt can blare in your head, you hear him, “Fucking Christ, sweetheart, look at you. Absolutely gorgeous.”

His knee dips the mattress; his hands pry your thighs apart obscenely.

“She’s prettier up close,” he says, and then sucks your clit into his mouth.

You buck your hips into his face. He holds you down with his other hand and sucks harder. The sound you make has pre-cum spurting from his cock.

He’ll fucking cum like this if he’s not careful, rutting his hips on the sheets with your thighs choking off his air supply.

Worse ways to go, all things considered.

“You’ve been pent-up for a while, hmm?” He turns his head to kiss at the soft skin of your inner thigh, slick shimmering in the moonlight. He almost wishes his stubble were longer so he could capture more of your scent.

You smell so fucking good; he inhales and runs his teeth up the inside of your thigh, biting and sucking, grinding your clit on his nose. You whimper and lock your hands on his hair, silently begging for more.

He runs the flat of his tongue over your clit before breaking away. His dick jumps at your growl of frustration.

“Let’s stretch you out on my fingers first, pretty girl. I wasn’t just talking myself up yesterday.” He coats his fingers in your arousal, inhales the musky sweet scent of you like a drug. “You’re gonna need a little prep before you can take me.”

He sinks two fingers in. Your cunt sucks him in, gummy walls immediately clamping down. He drops his forehead to yours, thinks wildly about ripping away the blindfold, of forcing you to hold his gaze while he makes your pussy gush on his hands.

“More,” you cry out, and he obliges, working three fingers in, twisting and pressing and stroking, listening to your small gasps, waiting for the breath in your voice to catch. "Sho, please—"

Aizawa bites down on his lower lip when your back bows, fingers scrabbling at his forearm, holding his hand in place as you rock back and forth on his fingers. One little pinch of your clit and you’re sobbing out his name.

He lopes an arm under you and pulls you to him. Your breath comes out in shuddery little gasps.

“All good, sweetheart?”

You nod against his neck, already nosing at his throat for a kiss.

He doesn’t know what possesses him.

“I’ll let you take off the blindfold if you get on your hands and knees.”

The noise you make is so embarrassingly eager you almost cringe.

You might see him.

You arrange yourself as he asks, wiggling your ass and arching your back. You gasp when he palms your hip, pulling you back against his clothed cock.

"Can I take it off now?" you try to ask as coy as you can, but you just sound like a fucked-out mess. He feels big. You saw the picture but it's nothing compared to feeling the ridge of his shaft pulsing along the cleft of your ass. You choke on a groan, undulating your hips in a desperate move to calm the ache in your lower belly.

He grunts behind you and palms the back of your head. “Eyes forward, or you aren’t getting fucked. Understand?”

You nod into the mattress, not trusting your own voice.

"Words, princess, didn't we talk about this last time?" His tone is between condescending and tender and it's making your insides turn to fucking goo.

"I understand."

"Good."

You hear the clink of buckles, the rustle of a zipper.

"I'll only keep my eyes forward if all your clothes come off, though."

You know you're pushing it, pushing him, but fuck, you need his skin on yours so you can sear him into your fucking brain.

You squeal at the crack of pain when his palm collides with your ass.

"Mouthy tonight, honey?" There's his hand again, collaring the back of your neck. You throw your hips back at him; he spanks you again. "Fuck, you know what you're doin', don't you? My little cocktease want her pussy stuffed that badly?"

No one's talked to you like this. No one's ever said exactly the sort of profane filth you've longed to hear.

"Yes," you sob out.

"The clothes come off then, you little brat."

When he settles behind you, the hot ridge of his dick slides between your folds and you jerk back into him. The blindfold falls away.

"Goddammit," he growls out, fingers digging into the plush of your hips. "Fuck, you're soaking wet, baby. Can already feel her trying to suck me in, isn't that right?" He palms your lower belly. "You're gonna feel me right fuckin' here. I'm gonna be so deep inside you you'll forget about everything but me, you understand?"

His cockhead tips into your fluttering hole. Fuck, he is big. You peer back between your tits at where he's disappearing into you. The girth and length of him makes your stomach bottom out.

His hand pushes down on your lower back, bowing your ass up.

"Don't run away, let me work my way in, huh? Make my pretty girl feel so fucking full." Another inch of him slots inside you. The stretch of it burns slightly, but the pain recedes when he rubs little circles on your clit. "Fuckkkk, baby, you have any idea how perfect this tight little pussy is? Feels like you're suckin' the life out of me."

The drag of his cock inside you makes your eyes cross. With every thrust, he rubs the head of his dick on your g spot, hand locked in a possessive clutch on your lower belly.

"Put your hand here, feel where I'm fucking you." With one hand on top of yours, he presses down hard. You buck, the sensation almost too much. "No one else is ever gonna have this pussy, you hear me? It's fucking mine, sweet girl, mine to fuck, mine to feast on, mine to fill up with cum—"

The heel of his hand grinds down on your clit and that's all it takes before your orgasm collapses your lungs and shorts out your brain. Everything detonates, star-bursts of pleasure exploding in your core until tears stream down your face.

His rhythm barely falters as he fucks you through it, mouth hot on the back of your neck. "Keep goin', princess, you can cum again, can't ya? One more time, just for me. There's my fuckin' girl, milk every fucking drop out of me, fuck—"

You can only imagine the milky ring of cum and arousal coating his cock as he wrenches another orgasm from your tired body. His dick pulses inside you, a guttural moan reverberating from his throat so deeply you practically feel it in your gut.

He stays inside you for a few more moments, both of you catching your breath. When he slips out, you groan at the loss.

"Be right back, sweet girl. Blindfold goes back on, too."

He laughs when you pout, cloth obscuring your vision once more.

When he comes back, he dips a warm cloth between your thighs, swabbing away the gooey mess. You're so sensitive you hiss out a sharp breath. He presses a glass of water into your hand. You gulp it down with gusto.

"I already blocked off where I came in from," he's saying, and you can't help but roll your eyes even if he can't see the motion. You wonder how he chalks up this whole excursion in his stupid pro hero head.

"Don’t want anyone else getting to me or something?"

He clears his throat. "Or something."

The scrape of your window sounds. "I'd start locking these if I were you."

You know he's gone when the cloth whips away from your face, the flutter of your gauzy white curtains the only proof he was there.

taglist: @cryingintheclubdhmu @abigolemess @rindarudoesshonen @simplyraeblue @ermmclovingit @deputyazor @lizzobeth @quinn0-0 @hotlosergirl17 @mother-hellsing

[wandaslovey]

some ldr!wanda headcannons !!

(might do a part 2 to this 🤭 this is 100% self indulgent)

*for those who may not know, ldr stands for: long distance relationship :3*

ldr!wanda met you on some dating app a friend of hers set up unbeknownst to her. when she found out, she was slightly peeved, but after opening the app and seeing that a cute thing like you messaged her, she decided to say fuck it and go for it

ldr!wanda was hesitant at first to pursue something with you given the hundreds of miles spaced between the two of you, and your age gap (you being in your 20s and wanda in her mid 30s). however, truth be told, she can’t help but find your youthfulness endearing. not to mention the fact you were still quite wise and level headed for your age

ldr!wanda asked you to be her girlfriend just one month after talking. despite the distance and how it might seem unfair to “claim” someone who was so far away; she couldn’t help herself. she needed you to be hers

ldr!wanda calls you every night (without fail) to talk to you about your day. she wants to know every. single. detail. she loves hearing you speak. your tone, voice inflections and cute little giggles when you find something you said funny

ldr!wanda likes to facetime you in the morning when you’re getting ready. it just so happens that she is on her first break at work by the time you’re out of bed and going about your day. she learns after not too long that you like when she picks out your outfits for you - which she happily likes to dress you up like her little doll (even if it’s over the phone)

ldr!wanda was surprised when her seemingly innocent girl sent her the very first provocative photo. little did she know, there was a whole other side to you she had yet to uncover

ldr!wanda was quick to take control, assuming a more dominant role once she learned your burning need to submit. she created a list of rules for you, personalized and reasonable - and let’s not forget, a list of punishments when you disobey

ldr!wanda’s favorite way to punish you when you’re naughty is to force you to watch her touch herself over facetime while you have to sit there and pant pathetically all while being sure both your hands remain in your lap on the camera. her second favorite punishment is to log into your shared “vibe” app and turn on the vibrator you so carefully placed inside yourself at her command. she turns it on periodically throughout the day, controlling the speed, rhythm and duration. (the only reason this is her second favorite is because she can’t see your reactions)

[mingi-s-dimples]

Pushed too far - JongJoong

~reader has been thinking about "playing" with Jongho for so long, teasing him around the house and in front of the other members (she’s the group’s submissive that they share). Hongjoong won’t allow it because Jongho is a little more rough than she’s used to. So Jongho shows reader exactly how rough he can be, and Hongjoong can’t help but to participate 🤭~ req. by @miyaluvvsyou

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader x jongho

genre: 18+, filth

summary: when you tipped the stakes just a little bit higher than you're supposed to.. jongho made sure to let you know just how rough he is.

wc: 4.9k

warnings: rough dom!jongho, softer dom!hongjoong, reader is ateez's fuck toy, neck choking, bulge kink (thru pants and neck/stomach i promise it's nothing too wild), hair pulling, head pushing, double blowjob, multiple orgasms, loooooots of cum, deepthroating, cursing, some pet names, 3some, lots of teasing, manhandling, unprotected (boo use protection irl!), completely consensual!, for sure forgot something, might edit later (probably).

Author's Note: this was hot ngl. tysm sweetie for requesting this... this was truly inspiring LMAO, i wrote it it one day :>. AND I ALSO LOVE HOW IT IS so it's a win win ^^. i hope you like itttttttt if you do plsplspls let me know down below or dm me ^^

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members.

The penthouse was buzzing with low chatter and the occasional clink of ice against glass, but none of that mattered—not when the real tension in the room was crackling between you and Jongho like a live wire, waiting to snap.  

You had been at this for weeks, pushing, testing, toeing the line Hongjoong had drawn between you and the one man you weren’t allowed to have. Jongho was too rough, he had said. Too intense. He wouldn’t hold back the way the others did, wouldn’t handle you with the same measured control.  

But that was exactly what you wanted. So you pushed.  

Tonight, you were being particularly cruel. Draped lazily over the armrest of Jongho’s chair, your bare legs stretched out across his lap, your silk shorts riding dangerously high. Every few minutes, you shifted—innocently, sweetly—just enough to brush against him. You let your fingers dance along the hard muscle of his arm, traced slow, teasing circles against his bicep, whispering soft, honeyed nothings just to see how long he could take it.  

Jongho had been silent the entire time. His drink sat untouched in his hand, his other arm draped over the back of the chair, muscles flexed so tight you could see the strain in his forearm. His jaw was locked, his throat bobbing with every controlled breath, his legs stiff beneath yours.  

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. He was close. So close.  

Time to end him.  

You let your foot drop lower, your toes grazing the inside of his thigh. The movement was slow, deliberate, teasing. And then, as if it was the most casual thing in the world, you nudged your foot forward—right against the thick bulge straining beneath his sweatpants.  

Jongho inhaled sharply. His fingers twitched around his glass. But you weren’t done.  

You pressed a little harder, just enough to feel the outline of him through the fabric, your breathy little sigh slipping past your lips like a sweet, wicked confession. “Poor thing,” you murmured, voice laced with faux sympathy. “Bet that’s been aching for me for a while now, huh?”  

Glass shattered.  

You barely had time to process what had happened before Jongho moved. One second, you were smirking, enjoying the control you had over him—the next, you were being yanked off the armrest and into his lap, a sharp gasp escaping you as his hands gripped your thighs with bruising force.  

“Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered, voice low, dark, dangerous. His hands tightened, keeping you pinned against him, the hard length of him pressing against your core through thin layers of fabric. “You have no idea what you just did.”  

Across the room, Hongjoong hummed in amusement, setting his drink down as he stood. “Oh, I think she knows exactly what she did.” His lips curled into a knowing smirk as he watched you squirm in Jongho’s grasp. “She’s been waiting for this.”  

Jongho exhaled through his nose, chest heaving as he stared down at you. His pupils were blown wide, his restraint hanging by a thread.  

You swallowed, lips parting as your breath hitched. “So,” you whispered, voice soft, teasing. “Are you gonna do something about it?” Jongho snapped.  

In a blur of movement, you were hoisted up and thrown over his shoulder, a surprised squeal slipping past your lips as he stormed toward the bedrooms.  

“Hey!” you whined, kicking your legs, but his arm tightened around your waist, holding you in place like a ragdoll.  

Behind you, Hongjoong let out a low chuckle, following close behind. “No point in fighting it now, sweetheart,” he taunted, voice laced with something dark and eager. “You asked for this.”  

As Jongho shoved open the bedroom door, dragging you inside with zero hesitation, one of the other members exhaled heavily from the couch, shaking his head.  

“Well…” he muttered, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. “She’s fucked.”  

And as the door slammed shut behind you, locking you in with two ravenous men who had been waiting for this moment for far too long, you realized—  

He was absolutely right.

The second the door slammed shut behind you, Jongho wasted no time. His hands were on you instantly, rough and possessive, dragging you closer as his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His shirt had already been discarded, and now his dark eyes raked over you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.  

“You think you’re funny?” His voice was low, dangerous, the calm before the storm.  

Your lips curled into a smirk, tilting your head up at him defiantly. “A little.”  

Wrong answer.  

Jongho scoffed, fingers tightening around the hem of the oversized shirt you had stolen—his shirt, because you liked the way it smelled like him. But right now? He didn’t seem to care about sentimentality.  

“Not anymore, you’re not,” he growled before yanking it off you in one swift motion, leaving you in just your barely-there shorts. His gaze darkened, jaw clenching as he took in the sight of your bare skin. His palm traced the side of your waist, fingers flexing like he was restraining himself from grabbing you too roughly.  

But then his control snapped—because those tiny, teasing shorts were mocking him.  

With one sharp tug, he had them halfway down your thighs before you could protest, his hungry gaze drinking in every inch of newly exposed skin. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.  

Behind him, Hongjoong let out a low chuckle. “Mind if I join in?”  

Jongho didn’t even hesitate. He glanced back at him, pupils blown wide, and rasped, “You better come here.”  

Hongjoong smirked and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before stepping closer. The two of them towered over you now, chests bare, muscles flexing under the dim lighting.  

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as you knelt at the edge of the bed, looking up at them with wide, innocent eyes—eyes that only made them harder.  

Jongho’s sweatpants did nothing to hide how much he wanted you. The thick, aching outline of his cock pressed tightly against the fabric, straining almost painfully. Hongjoong wasn’t far behind, the bulge in his jeans prominent as he tilted his head, watching you with that ever-calculating gaze.  

“Look at you,” Hongjoong murmured, voice smooth, teasing. “Got exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”  

Jongho let out a slow, shaky exhale, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Not yet,” he muttered. “But she will.”  

And just like that, the last of your teasing had run its course. Jongho reached for his waistband. And you knew—this was only the beginning. 

Jongho smirked down at you, tilting his head slightly, amusement flickering behind his darkened eyes. His hands settled on his hips, his cock still straining against his sweatpants, evident even in the dim lighting of the room.  

“Now what are you gonna do about it, hm?” His voice was deep, slow, condescending.  

You swallowed, heat pooling in your stomach at his tone.  

Hongjoong chuckled, brushing a thumb across his bottom lip as he watched you from the side. “You’ve been begging for this for so long, sweetheart,” he mused. “Are you gonna take us like a good girl? Or are you just all talk?”  

Jongho clicked his tongue. “I think she wants to prove herself,” he drawled, eyes burning into yours. “Wants to show us how desperate she is. Isn’t that right?”  

You couldn’t answer—not with the way they were looking at you, towering over you like they had been waiting for this moment just as much as you had. Your body felt hot, heavy, completely under their control without them even touching you.  

So instead of speaking, your hands moved on their own.  

Your fingers ghosted over the thick outline of Jongho’s cock first, pressing lightly through the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling the sheer heat of him underneath. He let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening at the sensation.  

Then, your other hand found Hongjoong’s jeans, palm smoothing over his length, feeling how hard he was beneath the rough material. His breath hitched ever so slightly, but his lips curled into a knowing smirk, eyes half-lidded as he watched you.  

“You’re trembling,” Jongho murmured. His voice was quieter this time, taunting. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? You were so confident earlier.”  

You sucked in a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the fabric of their pants as if grounding yourself. Then, without another word, you hooked your fingers into the waistbands of their pants and pulled.  

Hongjoong let out a low chuckle. Jongho groaned. And then— Their cocks sprung free.  

Your breath caught in your throat, eyes flickering between them, heat flooding your veins.  

Jongho’s was thick, heavy, the head flushed a deep red from how hard he was. A bead of precum sat at the tip, evidence of just how much you had worked him up. Hongjoong’s was just as impressive, slightly longer, the veins along the shaft prominent as he exhaled slowly, watching your reaction with amusement.  

You barely registered the way your thighs pressed together, how your breathing grew uneven as you stared.  

Jongho let out a breathy laugh, his fingers brushing along your jaw. “Speechless now, are we?”  

Hongjoong leaned in slightly, voice smooth as silk. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, tilting your chin up. “You’ll be using that pretty little mouth soon enough.”  

And from the way their eyes darkened even further, you knew—  

You were in for it.

Your lips parted, tongue darting out instinctively as your eyes flickered between them. The sheer size of them, the heat radiating off their bodies, the way they were both staring down at you with predatory intent—it had you dizzy.  

Hongjoong smirked, brushing a hand through your hair as he nodded toward Jongho. “Go on, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Show him what that mouth of yours can do.”  

Jongho didn’t say a word. He just watched you, eyes dark and burning with expectation. So, you did.  

Your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock first, warmth pulsing against your palm as you leaned in. You started slow, kitten-licking the tip, feeling the way he tensed under your touch. Then, you parted your lips and took him in, inch by inch, savoring the weight of him on your tongue.  

Jongho inhaled sharply, his head tilting back slightly as his grip tightened at his sides. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice strained.  

You bobbed your head, working him deeper, your tongue swirling around his length as your other hand reached for Hongjoong. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking him in tandem with your movements, teasing him even as you focused on Jongho.  

Hongjoong let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Such a good girl for us.”  

You hummed around Jongho in response, the vibrations making his breath hitch. His patience was wearing thin—you could feel it in the way his fingers twitched, his thighs tensed, his chest heaved.  

And then, suddenly, his hand tangled in your hair, tugging you off him with a wet pop.  

“I don’t feel like sharing,” he rasped. His pupils were blown wide, his jaw clenched. “Not like this.”  

Before you could react, he guided your head toward Hongjoong’s cock instead, pushing you to take him next. Your lips barely had time to part before Hongjoong slid in, groaning as he felt the warmth of your mouth around him.  

You tried to pace yourself, but Jongho wasn’t having it. His grip tightened, tilting your head just so before he muttered, “Open wider.” And then—he pushed you back toward his cock, his length brushing against Hongjoong’s as he nudged himself past your lips again. Your eyes widened as you felt them both pressing at your mouth, Jongho’s impatience clear in the way he guided you to take them together.  

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice deep, teasing. “You wanted this, didn’t you?”  

Hongjoong exhaled sharply, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Let’s see how much you can handle, sweetheart.”  

And from the way Jongho smirked down at you, one thing was clear—  You were about to find out.  

Jongho's grip in your hair tightened, a silent warning before he and Hongjoong began moving in tandem, setting a brutal pace.  

Your throat burned, lips stretched wide as they thrust into your mouth, using you just how they wanted. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as you gagged around them, but the needy whimpers vibrating in your chest only spurred them on.  

"Look at her," Hongjoong groaned, his fingers tangling deeper in your hair. "So fucking pretty like this—just a little mess between us, yeah?"  

Jongho let out a low chuckle, but his jaw was clenched, his restraint hanging by a thread. His cock twitched every time he felt the tight squeeze of your throat, every time he saw your pretty eyes glass over with need. He wanted to finish—God, he wanted to—but he refused to be the first. His pride wouldn’t allow it.  

So he held back, even as his body screamed for release, watching through half-lidded eyes as Hongjoong fucked into your mouth a little faster, his own control fraying.  

"Fuck," Hongjoong exhaled, his hips stuttering. His fingers tightened in your hair before a sharp inhale hissing escaped through his teeth. "Shit—"  

Hongjoong let out a shuddering breath, his grip in your hair tightening as his hips jerked forward. “Fuck—” he hissed, voice strained. His cock twitched against your tongue, and a second later, he groaned deep, spilling himself inside your mouth.  

The heat of it coated your tongue, the bitter taste making your body tremble. He didn’t pull out right away, his breath uneven as he let the aftershocks of his orgasm ride out. Then, with a sharp inhale, he finally eased back, his release dripping from the corner of your lips.  

You barely had time to process it before Jongho took control. His patience had run out.  

A hand tangled in your hair, forcing you onto his cock with a harsh thrust. The sudden depth made your throat clench around him, your eyes going wide as a strangled sound escaped you.  

Jongho groaned, head tilting back slightly, his other hand pressing against your cheek, feeling the bulge in your throat as he fucked deep into your mouth. His muscles were tight, his control slipping with every drag of your lips around him.  

“Fuck,” he growled. “That’s it—take it all.”  

You tried to breathe, tried to keep up, but he wasn’t letting you go.  

His hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself deep as his cock pulsed. Hot spurts of cum flooded your throat, thick and overwhelming, making you choke around him. Your nails dug into his thighs, your body shaking, but he didn’t move—he held you there, making sure you took every drop.  

Only when your throat convulsed around him did he finally pull out, a thin string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his tip. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air, dazed and spent, but Jongho wasn’t finished with you just yet. His fingers tilted your chin up, dark eyes locking onto yours.  

“Swallow.”  

Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, tongue darting out to catch what lingered on your lips before you swallowed every last drop. Jongho groaned, thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Good girl.” Then, with one firm push, he sent you sprawling onto the bed.  

Your back hit the mattress, your mind still hazy, as the two men finally kicked off the pants that had been pooled at their ankles.  

Your pulse raced, anticipation curling in your stomach as you stared up at them—both fully bare now, standing at the edge of the bed, looking at you like they were ready to devour you whole.  

And from the heat in their eyes, from the way Jongho cracked his neck and Hongjoong smirked down at you�� You knew they weren’t anywhere near done.

Jongho ran a hand through his hair, his chest still rising and falling with exertion, but his eyes? His eyes were locked onto you, full of unrestrained hunger.  

“Fuck, look at her,” he muttered, his voice rough, raw. “She’s already ruined, and we haven’t even started.”  

Hongjoong hummed in agreement, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. But then, an idea flickered in his gaze—one that made his cock twitch back to full hardness. He leaned in slightly, voice low, teasing.  

“I think I have an idea,” he murmured, making sure Jongho was paying attention. “You’re gonna love this.”  

Jongho’s jaw flexed as he listened, his dark eyes narrowing, and then— A slow, wicked grin spread across his lips.  

“Perfect.”  

Before you could even catch your breath, they moved.  

Jongho grabbed your legs, lifting you effortlessly as Hongjoong settled himself against the headboard. You let out a soft gasp as your back was pulled flush against his chest, his cock—still sensitive, still dripping from earlier—pressing hot and heavy against your ass.  

His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug in place as he leaned down, whispering against your ear.  

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, amusement lacing his tone. “You’re gonna need it.” But Jongho wasn’t in the mood to wait.  

You barely had time to process what was happening before he was there—towering over you, gripping your thighs, spreading you wide for himself. His breath was uneven, his control frayed, and without so much as a warning— He pushed in.  

Your body arched, a choked sound escaping your lips as Jongho buried himself deep in one swift, brutal thrust. No teasing, no slow adjustment—just the sudden, overwhelming stretch of him filling you completely.  

Your fingers dug into Hongjoong’s thighs, your legs trembling as Jongho set a relentless pace, fucking into you hard, fast, possessive. Your head tipped back against Hongjoong’s shoulder, mouth open, breathless.  

“Fucking hell,” Jongho growled, his grip bruising on your thighs. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be ruined?”  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only moan as he fucked you senseless. But then—  Jongho shot Hongjoong a glance. A silent signal. And Hongjoong understood immediately.  The arm around your waist tightened, and suddenly—you felt it. The thick press of his cock nudging at your entrance alongside Jongho’s. A soft, broken sound escaped you. Your body jolted, legs shaking, but Hongjoong just shushed you gently, pressing a kiss to your temple as he started to push in.  

The stretch was unbearable.  

The feeling of them both inside you at once had your mind blanking, your breath hitching into little whimpers as your body struggled to take them.  

But they didn’t care.  

They were focused only on the way you clenched around them, the way your body trembled, the way your nails dug into Hongjoong’s arms as they filled you together, stretching you beyond what you thought you could handle.  

And then— They moved.  

A sharp cry ripped from your throat as Jongho’s hips snapped forward, burying himself deep just as Hongjoong thrust up into you. There was no adjustment period, no easing you into it—they were already ruining you, just like they promised.  

The pace was brutal, overwhelming. Jongho’s grip on your thighs tightened, using them for leverage as he fucked into you hard, deep, his body completely lost to the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him.  

Hongjoong groaned low against your ear, his fingers trailing down to press against your clit as he rolled his hips up into you, pushing impossibly deeper.  

Your body shook, overstimulated, overwhelmed, tears slipping down your cheeks as they took you together—fucking you open, stretching you beyond anything you’d ever experienced.  

Their pace didn’t slow—it only grew rougher.  

Jongho’s thrusts turned ruthless, his cock slamming into you with deep, unforgiving force, stretching you wide around him. Hongjoong groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your waist tightly, his own thrusts erratic as he drove himself up into you from below.  

You were wrecked between them, their cocks dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, pushing you higher and higher. Your body trembled, your nails digging into Hongjoong’s thighs, your legs barely holding up.  

“Look at you,” Jongho growled, voice wrecked, gripping your waist even tighter. “So fucking desperate, so fucking full.”  

Your breath hitched, tears pricking at your eyes. “Please—”  

Hongjoong chuckled against your skin, pressing a hot kiss to your shoulder. “Please what, sweetheart?”  

A sob tore from your throat. “Let me come—please, I need to—”  

Jongho cursed under his breath, his grip turning bruising. “Fuck—”  

Hongjoong groaned, hips stuttering for a moment. “You gonna come for us, baby?” His voice was dripping with heat. “Gonna let us feel you?”  

That was all it took.  

Your body seized up between them, your head tipping back, a choked cry escaping your lips as pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clenched down hard, milking their cocks, leaving you shaking and gasping.  

That sent them over the edge.  

“Shit—” Jongho lost it first, slamming deep one last time as his cock throbbed inside you, his release spilling hot and thick. The feeling of him filling you up sent Hongjoong right after, his grip on your hips tightening as he groaned into your skin, emptying himself inside you, stuffing you impossibly full with their combined release.  

The overstimulation made your whole body tremble, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as their hips twitched against you, drawing out every last drop.  

Jongho pulled out with a low groan, watching his release leak out of you, mixing with Hongjoong’s. Something dark flashed in his eyes.  

“You’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he murmured.  

Before you could catch your breath, Jongho flipped you over, pressing your face into Hongjoong’s lap. The older man chuckled, brushing damp strands of hair from your face as you blinked up at him, dazed.  

His cock was still hard, slick with release, right in front of your lips.  

“Open up, baby,” Hongjoong murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw. “Let’s see that pretty mouth of yours.”  

Your lips parted instinctively, your tongue darting out to tease his tip.  

Behind you, Jongho was already moving again, gripping your hips and thrusting back inside you without hesitation, filling you up with their combined mess.  

A muffled cry escaped you, your throat tightening around Hongjoong’s cock as Jongho started moving again, his thrusts just as deep, just as brutal.  

“Fuck—” Hongjoong groaned, his head tipping back as you swallowed around him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”  

Jongho’s breath was ragged as he fucked into you, his cock pushing every bit of their release deeper inside you. “You’re taking us so well,” he muttered darkly. “Hope you’re ready, because we’re not stopping yet.”  

And from the way they were both panting, their hands gripping you tighter, their eyes locked onto you with nothing but hunger—  

You knew they were about to ruin you all over again.  

Their pace was merciless.  

Jongho was buried deep inside you, slamming into you with raw, relentless force, hitting every spot that had you seeing stars. His grip on your waist was bruising, holding you in place as he pounded into you, making you take every inch.  

At the same time, Hongjoong had a fist tangled in your hair, guiding your head down onto his cock, forcing you to take him deeper than before. The tip nudged against the back of your throat, making your eyes sting with tears as you swallowed around him.  

“Look at her,” Hongjoong groaned, his free hand cupping your jaw as he watched the tears spill onto his lap. “So fucking pretty like this.”  

Jongho’s breath was ragged behind you, his thrusts only getting rougher. “She wanted to be a tease, huh? Wanted to act like she could handle me?” He let out a low, satisfied chuckle. “Bet you’re regretting it now.”  

Your muffled cries were drowned out by the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, of your mouth working over Hongjoong’s cock, of the slick mess Jongho was thrusting into. Your body was trembling, overwhelmed, teetering on the edge once again.  

And when they both pushed as deep as they could—  

Hongjoong inching further down your throat, Jongho stretching you wide with one final, brutal thrust—  It hit you like a tidal wave.  

Your body tensed, your back arching as the orgasm crashed over you, your walls clenching around Jongho so hard it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. But this time— You didn’t just come.  

You squirted.  

A sharp cry was muffled around Hongjoong’s cock as your release gushed out of you, soaking Jongho, the sheets, everything in its path.  

Jongho *froze* for a split second—before a deep, pleased chuckle rumbled from his chest.  

“Fuck—look at this messy little thing,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. “She just fucking squirted all over us, Joong.”  

Hongjoong groaned, thrusting harder into your mouth, pushing you right to the brink of overstimulation. “Shit, baby. That was—” His sentence was cut off by his own wrecked moan.  

Jongho smirked, still buried deep inside you. “Come on, Captain. Pick up the pace. Let’s *really* wreck her.”  

And just like that, Hongjoong’s grip on your hair tightened.  

He didn’t hold back.  

He fucked into your mouth with sharp, deep thrusts, making you choke around him, your throat spasming. Your fingers curled into the sheets, your body barely able to hold itself up, completely at their mercy.  

A few more thrusts—Hongjoong gritted his teeth, his hips stuttering—  

“Fuck—”  

With a low groan, he buried himself deep one last time, his cock twitching as he came straight down your throat, hot and thick. The taste of him flooded your mouth, dripping from the corners of your lips, but before you could even think about pulling away—  

Jongho *grabbed* your jaw.  

“Swallow.” His voice was low, commanding.  

You obeyed immediately, the muscles of your throat working as you took every last drop, a soft whimper escaping your lips.  

Jongho *grinned*.  

“Good girl.”  

But he wasn’t done.  

Before you could even process what was happening, he *yanked* your head back by your hair, arching your spine, making your back curve beautifully for him.  

It made you take him even *deeper*.  

You sobbed out his name, hands gripping at anything you could reach, your body trembling. The sheer angle of his cock had you completely wrecked, hitting spots so deep you swore you could *feel* him in your stomach.  

The sounds spilling from you only made him go harder.  

“Not so bratty now, are you?” Jongho growled, his grip tightening as he pounded into you. “Not teasing me now, huh?”  

Your walls clenched desperately around him, squeezing every inch, and that was it— His breath hitched, his hips slamming into you one last time, burying himself deep as he let go.  

“Fuck—”  

His release filled you up once more, hot and overwhelming, stuffing you full until you felt like you couldn’t possibly take anymore.  

He groaned through gritted teeth, thrusting a few more times, making sure every drop stayed inside you, before finally stilling.  

For a long moment, the room was filled with nothing but heavy breaths. Then— Hongjoong chuckled, his fingers tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.  

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before teasing him like that.”  

Jongho, still panting, smirked as he let your body collapse against the mattress.  

“But honestly?” He exhaled, dragging his fingers down your trembling thighs, admiring the mess they’d made of you.  

“You should do it more often.” 

Your body was spent, trembling from exhaustion as you lay limp against the mattress, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.  

Jongho, still hovering over you, watched the way his cum slowly dripped from between your thighs, his expression dark with satisfaction.  

But then, something shifted.  

The intensity in his eyes softened, and his hands—so rough just moments ago—were suddenly gentle as he ran them over your body, soothing the marks he’d left behind.  

Hongjoong chuckled beside you, dragging the pads of his fingers down your arm, his touch featherlight.  

“Look at her,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “Completely ruined.”  

Jongho hummed, leaning in closer, his lips ghosting over your skin. “Mhm… but she’s *ours*, isn’t she?”  

Before you could answer, he *bit down* on your neck, right where everyone would *see*.  

A sharp gasp left your lips as his teeth sank in, not enough to hurt—but enough to mark you. To claim you.  

The sting faded into pleasure as he trailed kisses along your collarbones, biting down again, this time just above your breast.  

Hongjoong exhaled a laugh, watching the possessiveness unfold with a knowing smirk.  

“You just *had* to mark her up, didn’t you?”  

Jongho pulled back slightly, admiring his work. The faint bruises on your skin, the evidence that you *belonged* to them.  

“Damn right,” he muttered.  

You whined softly, your body too exhausted to even pretend to be bratty anymore. Hongjoong wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest, his warmth instantly comforting.  

“Mm, let’s get cleaned up,” he murmured against your hair.  

Jongho smirked, brushing his lips over your ear. “Let’s take a shower together.”  

Hongjoong raised a brow, teasing. “What, no *round two*?”  

Jongho rolled his eyes, but his smirk didn’t waver. “You *wish* she could handle another round right now.”  

You let out a breathless laugh, melting between them as they both chuckled, their bodies surrounding you in warmth.  

And as they carried you off to the shower, you knew one thing for sure—  

You were so in for it next time.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @peachy-bell26 @atiny1 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @atzlordz @chai0tea @miyaluvvsyou

[musingsofmajesty]

𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐬𝐡𝐲 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐥. 𝐈𝐈

summary now that you’ve kissed, the two of you can’t help but wonder what it means moving forward. Luckily, it’s so easy being with each other that taking it day by day doesn’t seem half bad | wc 1.1k

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[best enjoyed in order, but not required! ♡]

.・゜゜・ ・゜゜・．

If it’s one thing shy!eddie knows well, it’s labels. They’ve been forced on him all his life. But this—whatever has blossomed between the two of you—he can’t quite pin down. And the universe sure as hell isn’t gonna step in and do it for him. For once, the cards are in his hands, and he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

Later that night, he walks you out to your car, and it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. The feeling of your lips still lingers on his. He’s never wanted anyone to stay as badly as right now.

Nevertheless, you hug him one last time, and he gets the door for you without second thought because he’s always done so. Even before you made butterflies a permanent fixture in his stomach. 

“Thanks, Teddy,” you lilt as you settle behind the wheel. “Can I call you that?” You’re teasing, but only partly.  His blush is evident in the glow of the streetlamps that illuminate Forest Hills against the night. 

He hasn’t heard that nickname since it came past his mother’s lips when he was a boy. He smiles a little, lifts a shoulder as if he’s more indifferent than he is. “If you want," he says. 

You’re quiet for a beat, then cutely scrunch your nose up at him. “But what do you want?”  Eddie blinks like he hasn’t heard the likes of this question in a long while. 

“You can call me Teddy,” he decides. You could call him Edward for all he cared. Whatever you wanted, really. That’s when he realizes he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

Shy!Eddie who can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happens, but realizes he’s begun to pay more mind to the way he looks—undoubtedly because of you. One morning at 7 AM, his Uncle Wayne knocks on the bathroom door. Inside, he hears the startled sound of a tub of hair gel tumbling into the sink. “Shit—I’ll be out in a second!” 

An affectionate smirk pulls at Wayne's lips. “Guess I'll use it outside like a dog,” he jokes.  

Later that day, as Mrs. O’Donnell lectures the class, Eddie feels you poke the end of your pencil into the side of his ribcage from where you sit behind him. The way he straightens makes you smile, and he shoots a discreet glance over his shoulder to see what you want. Except your gaze is cast out the window in feigned innocence. 

Three minutes later, he curls in on himself as the ticklish pokes start up again. This time, you pass him a ripped piece of notebook paper that features your neat, bubbly handwriting: hi, handsome ;) 

All Eddie can do is helplessly flush with warmth. 

A couple weeks later, as you’re painting your nails on your best friend’s bedroom floor, you think aloud, “Me and Eddie.” Robin peers down at you from her bed, where she absentmindedly braids a strand of her hair. “I think we’re a sure thing.” 

Her brows lift in surprise. “So you’re official?” 

You purse your lips in consideration. “No, we’re just…us.” 

Robin frowns at first, but eventually nods because, maybe, that’s all love was ever meant to be. Unadulterated in the sense that it could never be bogged down to titles and definitions. 

“Sweet,”  she finally says. 

You nod and begin to smile at the thought of him. The way he gives you his full attention whether you’re talking about life at large or your day. The way he bites back his own goofy smile whenever he unintentionally makes you laugh—which happens all the time. The way he’s welcomed you into his little world.

You’re remiss that you weren’t braver sooner. 

“Yeah,” you agree in a wistful exhale. It is pretty sweet. You raise your hand to gently blow over the sheer pink polish coated on your fingertips. 

Like clockwork, the dismissal bell sounds to denote the end of yet another school day. A few more months, and you'll be kissing these stuffy, bustling halls goodbye.

Eddie catches up with you at your locker and asks if you’d like to go hang out with him in the woods behind the school. It’s nice out today. 

You narrow your eyes as you shut the metal door. “So was this your plan all along? Get my guard down so you can lure me into the woods and go in for the kill?” 

He knows you’re joking, but his answer is sincere anyway. His big bambi eyes dark and gooey as he says, “Never. No way.”

There’s a picnic table nestled amidst the tall trees, as it turns out. A calming breeze glides through the branches and rustles their leaves. Eddie sits first and expects you to choose the bench across from him, but you sit on the same side. You want to be near him. He can’t complain.

A comfortable silence settles between you that he eventually breaks. “Used to come out here a whole lot," he says. “I’d write songs or sit and listen to music," he lists. "Enjoy the scenery…” his words fade as his eyes settle back on you. There’s a tender depth to your gaze. 

He smiles a bit self-consciously, but he's not exactly embarrassed. More so hyperaware because you always make him feel so seen. “What?” he murmurs. 

Without a single word, you scoot closer to press your lips to his. One of his hands rise to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin. This kiss is different. Deeper. Unlike your usual affectionate pecks in every way. 

Warmth kindles in your stomach when his initial hesitancy dissipates. As he finds his way, his lips move sure and easy against your own. Plush and warm. You can feel his gentle exhales puff from his nose, and against your own desire, you slowly begin to pull away to ensure all this is alright.  

But Eddie’s okay. He’s more than okay. For the first time since he’s known you, he feels the soft tug of frustration in his chest. Except it’s not rooted in irritation. It’s rooted in want. 

When he leans back in, cheeks flushed and dark eyes hopeful, you let his lips just barely graze yours before you pull away. He tries again, and you lean back once more, flustered and excited by his newfound boldness. 

You place a gentle hand on his chest and chuckle despite yourself. “Easy, Teddy,” it’s a honeyed warning that carries no bite. 

“C’mere,” he insists, a pout on his face even though it's threatened by a smile. "Wanna kiss you." His voice drops low and shy, like it's a secret.

When you giggle, butterflies aflutter in your stomach, he takes it upon himself to hold you steady and kiss the sweet sound from your lips. 

The two of you are a sure thing, indeed.

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡

a/n making this a series because I can't get enough of these two. Stay tuned for the formal announcement!

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[urno1luv]

perverted older sister giselle

cw: stepcest,

-makes the most vulgar jokes in public settings with no shame

- always too handsy, rubbing shoulders, patting backs, or getting too close under the pretense of being friendly. "you look cold, baby. come to unnie, let me make you nice and warm."

- DEFINITELY exterts control using her authority as you big sister, guilt-trips or humiliation to get what she wants, calling you "uptight" if you reject her "friendliness"

- will tell the nastiest, most graphic, gory stories in a casual conversation just to watch you squirm.

You’ve always known Giselle... liked you. In a different way than how siblings should like each other. Ever since your parents remarried, she made it her mission to watch over you. At first, it was sweet—walking you to school, making sure you ate enough, warning you about boys who "only wanted one thing." But as you got older, something about her love started to feel... off.

Tonight is no different. You’ve just finished showering, wearing an oversized T-shirt as you towel-dry your hair. The bathroom is warm with steam when you step out, only to find Giselle sitting on your bed, legs crossed, waiting.

"You were in there for a while," she muses, tilting her head. Her dark eyes flicker with something unreadable. "Were you doing something naughty?"

Your face heats up as you prepare to defend yourself. "What? ...Giselle. I was just showering."

She snickers, patting the spot beside her. "Come here. Let me dry your hair."

You hesitate. You know better than to argue—she always finds a way to get what she wants. With a sigh, you sit down. Giselle hums softly as she runs the towel over your damp strands, her freezing fingers grazing your neck, sending shivers down your back.

"You smell so fucking nice," she murmurs. "I bet everyone is looking at you, huh?"

You tense. "Not really."

She chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. "Good. They don’t deserve you." Her fingers trail down to your shoulder, squeezing just a little too tight. "I worry about you, you know. You’re too soft. Too... delicate. What if someone takes advantage of you? Unnie cant let that happen, no, not at all."

"I can take care of myself," you mumble.

Giselle leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "No, you fucking can’t." There’s something possessive in her voice, something that makes your stomach twist. "That’s why I’m here. To protect you. No one does that better than I do."

You swallow hard. The words should be comforting, but they aren’t. Not when she says them like that. Not when her hands linger, dropping to your wasit, not when her eyes darken, not when her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

You force a laugh, trying to shake the moment off. "You’re so weird, Giselle."

She grins, pressing a long kiss to your cheek, right besdie the corner of your upper lip, before finally pulling away. "Only for you, baby."

And as she finally leaves your room, you exhale, only now realizing you’d been holding your breath.

part two explicit version coming soon xx

[urge4divinty]

Your ex’s hidden feelings about you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

pac tarot reading paired with intuition, take what resonates and remember energy can always change readings aren’t set in stone. + their signs or dominant placements

3 cards pulled for each pile ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ gender neutral

Pile 1

the first thing i feel before even pulling cards is warmth, a warm feeling? maybe they felt that with you and it was something they miss deeply they can’t find that in someone else so they might be completely tweaking out about the kind of warmth you brought them. song i’m also channeling is just dance by lady gaga? “wish i shut my playboy mouth—control your poison, babe, roses have thrones they say”

after pulling cards the exs hidden feelings give a very “i need to be soul searching after you”they are alone and possibly becoming independent in a introspective state. dealing with insecurity and trying to understand their inner feelings it confuses them how hurt they are and they never expected to be—they are trying to distract themselves so they might be in a hustling state where they obsess with work/or obsess over material possessions. i’m getting heavy insecurity they’re not able to express how they feel nor do they want to their usually assertiveness is muted, they feel imbalanced like maybe you weren’t giving a even amount? could be hesitant due to past hurts. they’d invest in the connection again if they felt it was safe to right now they struggle with vulnerability. guarded, uncertain, wanting clarity? signs: leo virgo taurus/libra

donut pile what’s teaaaa omg

Pile 2

the first thing i feel is slight annoyance? like very annoyed—it’s this energy of being slightly bothered. the song that came on while thinking of pile 2 was off to the races by lana del rey “god , i’m so crazy baby i’m sorry that misbehaving” oh?? “i need you i breathe you ill never leave you” “i love you forever? not maybe you are my one true love”

After pulling cards their hidden feelings is definitely defeat? like they lost something big? could’ve been married or just a really committed and serious relationship it gives a loving bond, or was loving such a “i wanted to propose to them i wanted marriage” oh they are in deeeeeep dude. but they are trying to seem stoic like they aren’t totally sick but they don’t seem like they’ll openly express any of this. they still think of you as their ideal partner!! but the ending was so painful for them they feel emotionally done and still hold on to the memories of you two. forcing themselves to accept that it’s actually over. signs: aries cancer/pisces gemini/scorpio

Pile 3

this piles energy is so different from the rest? its almost unexplainable it’s like they don’t know what they feel but they definitely know what they lost “i feel stupid” popped into my head.

after pulling cards i’m getting that they are having a lot of thoughts about you they have a strong urge to reach out to say something replaying conversations thinking of what they SHOULD of said or done to make a difference. they might’ve been emotionally detached while with you but after you left they got out of this state with a quickness they stopped ignoring their feelings and now they feel regret—they are becoming aware of what this relationship meant to them lots of self reflection going on for them and they are understanding their role of what happened, they feel pulled towards closure they want to try again tbh. their feelings are active and shifting going from indifference to “oh shit i lost them” they see the relationship in a way they didn’t see before this urge to reach out could be impulsive they are rushing into it to say their piece it’s chaotic and not at all well thought out so it could lead to aggressive communication.

signs: gemini/libra/aquarius cancer scorpio

[kpop-reactions-povs]

Stray Kids- Their S/O kissing them then running away to tease them

Bang Chan

Chan blinks, his lips still tingling from the sudden kiss as you sprint out of the room. A slow smirk spreads across his face as his brain catches up. His competitive nature kicks in, and he’s not about to let you get away that easily. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playing it?” he calls, already moving after you. When he catches you, he cages you against the wall with his arms, his eyes dark with playful mischief. “You’re not getting away that easily, love,” he whispers, leaning in close enough to make your heart race again.

Lee Know

Minho’s initial reaction is pure surprise, his eyes widening as you kiss him and take off like it’s a game. He lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Really?" he mutters under his breath, the faintest smile playing on his lips. A mischievous glint flickers in his eyes, and before you know it, he’s casually sauntering into the next room, catching you off guard. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice low and teasing. "Running away won’t save you. I always get what I want."

Changbin

Changbin’s heart skips a beat as you kiss him out of nowhere, but before he can even pull you closer, you’re gone. He’s left standing there, breathless and slightly dazed, running a hand through his hair with a crooked smile. “Oh, you’re in trouble now,” he calls, a playful warning in his tone. When he finds you hiding, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his breath warm against your ear. “You started this,” he murmurs, “so don’t be surprised when I finish it.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin stands frozen for a second, processing what just happened, his lips parted in shock. Then a wide grin spreads across his face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He loves the chase, and you’ve just made things way too fun. "Yah, come back here!" he shouts, laughing as he runs after you. When he catches you, he gently cups your face, his voice soft but full of intensity. “You can’t just kiss me like that and run. That’s dangerous.” His lips brush yours again, slower this time, savoring every second.

Han

Jisung blinks rapidly, stunned by the sudden kiss, and then bursts into a fit of laughter when you dart off. "Seriously?! What was that?!" he yells after you, already chasing you down the hall. Once he catches you, he pins you against the couch, his eyes gleaming with playful determination. “You think you can mess with me like that and get away with it?” he teases, his voice dropping an octave. “Guess I’ll just have to take my revenge… with interest.”

Felix

Felix’s face turns a shade of red as you kiss him and run away, leaving him standing there, flustered and breathless. He touches his lips, a soft giggle escaping him before determination flashes in his eyes. “Oh no, you’re not getting away with that,” he says, voice low and sweet. He follows you quietly, suddenly appearing in front of you, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I think you forgot something,” he says with a wink, closing the space between you and capturing your lips again, this time not letting you escape so easily.

Seungmin

Seungmin stands there for a moment, stunned by your boldness. He raises an eyebrow, his calm demeanor masking the rapid thudding of his heart. "Really? Running away?" he calls out, shaking his head with a sly smile. You barely have time to react before he appears beside you, his hand gently grabbing your wrist. “You didn’t think I’d let you go that easily, did you?” he whispers, his gaze locking onto yours. “I expect a proper kiss this time.”

I.N

Jeongin’s eyes widen, and his brain short-circuits for a second when you kiss him and bolt. He stands there, blinking in confusion before a mischievous grin takes over. “Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he mutters, running after you. When he finally catches you, he backs you into a corner, his playful side in full force. “You think you can just leave me hanging like that?” he teases, his voice soft but full of promise. “Let’s see how you handle it when I don’t let you escape.”

[mercillery]

CHIBI MIHAWK

WARNINGS: GENDER NOT SPECIFIED + NOT PROOFREAD NOTES: based on THIS absolutely cute Mihawk figure. This was done on a whim on a school night so there may be oopsies here and there.

Somehow, some way, for reasons that defy logic, science, and possibly even the laws of nature, Dracule Mihawk is now a chibi. A pint-sized, absolutely microscopic version of himself with all of his pride, dignity, and soul-piercing intensity still fully intact.

Despite his new… predicament, Mihawk flat-out refuses to acknowledge that anything is out of the ordinary. He does not see himself as helpless. He does not see himself as weak. He will not be patronized. He is still the greatest swordsman in the world, even if he now looks like he could be comfortably carried around in your pocket. And yet, despite his best efforts to maintain an air of authority, his tiny body betrays him at every turn.

You, on the other hand, have been gifted with a chibi Mihawk, and while this has certainly thrown your daily routine into chaos, you can’t deny that watching the world’s most fearsome swordsman struggle to do literally anything at this size is, frankly, the greatest thing that has ever happened to you.

Chibi Mihawk, who you desperately want to scoop up and cradle like a fragile little kitten, but who absolutely will not allow it. Do not be fooled. He may be fun-sized, but he is still himself—a walking embodiment of dignity, self-sufficiency, and sheer force of will.

If you so much as think about treating him like some kind of adorable novelty, expect an immediate and deeply unimpressed stare. Actually, scratch that—you’re getting the stare regardless. His golden eyes somehow retain the exact same sharpness as before, and there is something so deeply unnerving about being observed like a lesser life form by a man who is literally small enough to fit in a teacup. He does not blink. He does not move. He just watches you, silently, like a hawk preparing to swoop down on its unsuspecting prey.

And as if the sheer existence of a chibi Mihawk wasn’t enough, his sword shrank too. Of course it did. Yoru is practically an extension of himself—there was no way it wasn’t going to shrink right along with him. And now, you have not only a pocket-sized Mihawk but also a tiny, toy-sized Yoru that, miraculously, still looks just as menacing as the full-sized version. It is approximately the length of a butter knife. A very intimidating butter knife.

You have seen him attempt to sharpen it. With a rock. Like a miniature warrior preparing for battle, except there is no battle, just a very small man aggressively honing his skills on the coffee table. Oh, and his hat shrunk too. His entire outfit shrunk to match, and let’s be honest—the sight of him in his dramatically oversized coat, which now practically drags behind him like a royal cape, is almost enough to make you lose it. But you don’t. Because you know, deep down, that if you do, if you so much as let out a single laugh—he will remember. And he will wait.

You keep chibi Mihawk near you 24/7. There is no negotiation, no room for argument—this is non-debatable. The paranoia is REAL. He is the World’s Greatest Swordsman, and now he is the World’s Tiniest Greatest Swordsman, and there is absolutely no way in the nine circles of hell that you are letting him out of your sight for even a nanosecond.

What if he gets lost? What if someone steps on him?? What if a seagull snatches him up like a breadcrumb and carries him off to parts unknown?!? No. NO. Not on your watch. You have seen firsthand how ridiculously overpowered Mihawk is in battle, but even you have to admit that at his current size, he is disturbingly close to being classified as a snack.

Of course, Mihawk, being Mihawk, has very specific terms and conditions for how he is allowed to be carried. The only acceptable method? Perching on your shoulder like some kind of regal falcon. That is it. That is the rule.

Attempt to hold him any other way—cupping him in your hands, cradling him like a baby, or heaven forbid, tucking him into your pocket—and you will be met with a stare so chilling it could freeze the sun itself. And then, in a voice that is far too calm for how deadly it sounds, he will warn, “You’re testing my patience.”

Translation: You are moments away from death.

That being said, whether you like it or not, he is going to be on your shoulder. You are now a full-time, unpaid Mihawk perch. He will not ask permission, nor will he give you a choice in the matter.

You could be sitting down, minding your own business, and suddenly—boom—there he is, climbing up your sleeve with the sheer determination of a man who refuses to acknowledge that he is, in fact, fun-sized. You are now his personal throne, and he expects you to act accordingly.

Oh, and speaking of things you have no choice in? It is now your job to protect him from birds. You don’t want to? Too bad.

The moment Mihawk shrunk, he went from world-renowned swordsman to potential bird food, and the reality of that is absolutely terrifying. You have no idea how many times you’ve had to aggressively wave your arms and hiss at an overly curious pigeon while Mihawk simply crossed his arms and stared at it like he was daring it to attack. Like, sir, I don’t think you understand, you are one second away from becoming someone’s lunch.

Mihawk, despite being pocket-sized, still commands authority and expects to be treated with the same level of respect as before. Just because he is now a fraction of his usual height does not mean he is any less of a threat. (His words, not yours.) That means he still demands his wine, his alone time, and most importantly, his dignity. However, this is now impossible.

His first real struggle with his new reality? His wine.

Mihawk, being the man of refined tastes that he is, insists on drinking his wine as usual, except there is now a very specific and hilarious problem: the glass is twice his size.

Watching him attempt to lift it is a test of willpower on your end, because if you so much as smirk, he will know. And he will remember. Eventually, after a long, suffering silence, you had to find him a thimble just so he could properly enjoy his drink.

A thimble.

The World’s Greatest Swordsman is now delicately sipping wine from a thimble.

But don’t say a word. Do not react. Do not acknowledge the absolute absurdity of it all. Because if you do, you will be on the receiving end of the most powerful side-eye of your entire existence.

Good lord. Good. Lord. You lose him a lot. And every single time, it shaves years off your lifespan. Your anxiety? Through the roof. Through the atmosphere. Through the stratosphere.

This man is naturally quiet, an observer more than a speaker, and now that he’s chibi-sized, he is literally a walking jump scare. One moment, he’s perfectly within sight—perhaps perched on the windowsill, staring out dramatically like he’s pondering the weight of existence, thimble of wine in hand. You blink. Gone.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even do it on purpose. Mihawk doesn’t wander off to be mischievous—he just moves effortlessly, like some kind of stealthy little shadow demon. You could be in the same room, watching him one second, and then the next? Vanished.

And now you have to search for your tiny, lethal gremlin of a swordsman, all while panicking because what if you accidentally step on him?!? What if he’s under a cushion?! What if you sit down and crush him?!? You’ve started moving around with the same level of care and fear as someone navigating a minefield.

Mihawk, for his part, is completely unbothered. He does not understand why you’re always looking so frantic when you find him. He gives you a look that speaks why do you look so distressed? completely serious, as he lounges inside the empty fruit bowl on the counter like a very judgmental, brooding plum.

Reaching things has become an ordeal. Mihawk will not ask for help. Ever. If something is out of his reach, he will stare at it. Long and hard. Silently. Contemplating his options like he’s trying to calculate the meaning of life itself. He will not break his dignity by requesting assistance.

He will, however, accept help if you offer—but not without a huff and a very reluctant, “Do not make a habit of this.” Right. Sure. Whatever you say, chibi swordsman.

Being picked up? Absolutely not. You tried once. Once. And the look he gave you? Terrifying. You have never felt more pierced to your very core than when chibi Mihawk silently judged you for daring to lift him like a plushie. He is not a toy!

However, if you warn him beforehand, he will begrudgingly tolerate it—but only if absolutely necessary. If you say, “Hey, I need to pick you up,” he’ll fold his arms, let out a long, suffering sigh, and then mutter, “…Very well. But be swift.” Like you’re asking him to endure some great suffering.

That being said, no matter how much he despises it, he has no choice but to rely on you. And you know what? He hates that. There are certain things he simply cannot do at his current size—whether it’s opening doors, climbing onto furniture, or reaching high places.

And you? You, his beloved, have become his reluctant savior. He tolerates your assistance, but you know every time he needs your help, a little piece of his pride crumbles.

Teasing is absolutely not tolerated. If you so much as snicker when he struggles with something, expect a sharp remark or, worse, a long, judgmental stare. You have never felt so silently insulted in your entire life. And heaven help you if you get too playful—like when you start poking at him or cooing at how “precious” he looks. His eye twitches. His patience thins. You feel the silent threat in the air.

Sleeping is… complicated. His usual bed? Now far too big. You had to improvise—you put together a small, makeshift bed just for him. And while Mihawk said nothing, you swear you caught the faintest hint of approval in his expression. Was that… was that a glimmer of impressed respect in his eyes? You’ll never know for sure, because he’ll never admit it.

Despite your best efforts, though, Mihawk refuses to use the bed half the time. No, because that would be too simple. Instead, you often find him perched dramatically on a pillow, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling like he’s contemplating the tragedies of life. Why? No one knows. It’s just what he does.

And then there was the night you woke up and found him curled up inside your scarf. Not for comfort—no, Mihawk does not need “comfort.” According to him, it was “the most efficient size” for him to rest in. You stared at him, half-awake, and he just stared right back, daring you to question it. You didn’t. You just went back to sleep, pretending you didn’t see anything.

Food has been an experience. You may or may not have handed Mihawk a sewing needle as a sword as a joke. He was deeply offended. The moment you presented it, he narrowed his eyes and stated, “You insult me.”

But guess what? He still uses it. Not because he wants to. No, he would never lower himself to such nonsense—except he has. He has resorted to stabbing pieces of fruit with his tiny sewing-needle sword, all while maintaining a level of dignity that should not be possible. He will slice his meals with precision—small, but still menacing. You have watched this tiny, furious chibi man cut a grape with the same energy he would use to cut down an opponent.

You laughed once. It was a mistake. The moment the chuckle escaped your lips, Mihawk slowly turned his head, golden eyes glowing with silent judgment. And then, with great deliberation, he impaled another piece of fruit without breaking eye contact. You shut up immediately.

When Mihawk finally returns to normal, he acts as if nothing happened. As if he was never a chibi. As if you never had to carry him around. As if he never sat in a fruit bowl or slept in your scarf like a very tiny, very dramatic king.

He refuses to acknowledge any of the more… humiliating moments of his chibi state. The silence is almost worse than if he had complained. It’s the kind of silence that says, “We will never speak of this. Ever.”

However, if you so much as bring it up… Oh, you fool. You absolute buffoon.

He will turn to you with one long, unamused stare. And then, with calm deliberation, his hand will subtly grip the hilt of his sword—a silent warning. A promise. Do not test me.

That said, you were particularly helpful during his time as a chibi, so he does, in his own way, show some small (read: microscopic) token of gratitude. Maybe he’ll pour you a glass of wine. Maybe he’ll spare you from one of his usual sharp remarks. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll allow you one victory and not punish you too harshly.

But make no mistake—he remembers everything. Every single moment. Every joke. Every time you teased him. Every time you picked him up without warning.

And if you mocked him too much? You should start watching your back. Because Mihawk is not a man who forgets. And perhaps, one day, you’ll wake up… and find yourself chibi.

And when that day comes? Mihawk will simply stand before you, full-sized once more, staring down at your tiny form. No words will be spoken. But his smirk will say everything.

Your fate has been sealed.

[mariacallous]

It feels like no one should have to say this, and yet we are in a situation where it needs to be said, very loudly and clearly, before it’s too late to do anything about it: The United States is not a startup. If you run it like one, it will break.

The onslaught of news about Elon Musk’s takeover of the federal government’s core institutions is altogether too much—in volume, in magnitude, in the sheer chaotic absurdity of a 19-year-old who goes by “Big Balls” helping the world’s richest man consolidate power. There’s an easy way to process it, though.

Donald Trump may be the president of the United States, but Musk has made himself its CEO.

This is bad on its face. Musk was not elected to any office, has billions of dollars of government contracts, and has radicalized others and himself by elevating conspiratorial X accounts with handles like @redpillsigma420. His allies control the US government’s human resources and information technology departments, and he has deployed a strike force of eager former interns to poke and prod at the data and code bases that are effectively the gears of democracy. None of this should be happening.

It is, though. And while this takeover is unprecedented for the government, it’s standard operating procedure for Musk. It maps almost too neatly to his acquisition of Twitter in 2022: Get rid of most of the workforce. Install loyalists. Rip up safeguards. Remake in your own image.

This is the way of the startup. You’re scrappy, you’re unconventional, you’re iterating. This is the world that Musk’s lieutenants come from, and the one they are imposing on the Office of Personnel Management and the General Services Administration.

What do they want? A lot.

There’s AI, of course. They all want AI. They want it especially at the GSA, where a Tesla engineer runs a key government IT department and thinks AI coding agents are just what bureaucracy needs. Never mind that large language models can be effective but are inherently, definitionally unreliable, or that AI agents—essentially chatbots that can perform certain tasks for you—are especially unproven. Never mind that AI works not just by outputting information but by ingesting it, turning whatever enters its maw into training data for the next frontier model. Never mind that, wouldn’t you know it, Elon Musk happens to own an AI company himself. Go figure.

Speaking of data: They want that, too. DOGE agents are installed at or have visited the Treasury Department, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, the Small Business Administration, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, the Department of Education, the Department of Health and Human Services, the Department of Labor. Probably more. They’ve demanded data, sensitive data, payments data, and in many cases they’ve gotten it—the pursuit of data as an end unto itself but also data that could easily be used as a competitive edge, as a weapon, if you care to wield it.

And savings. They want savings. Specifically they want to subject the federal government to zero-based budgeting, a popular financial planning method in Silicon Valley in which every expenditure needs to be justified from scratch. One way to do that is to offer legally dubious buyouts to almost all federal employees, who collectively make up a low-single-digit percentage of the budget. Another, apparently, is to dismantle USAID just because you can. (If you’re wondering how that’s legal, many, many experts will tell you that it’s not.) The fact that the spending to support these people and programs has been both justified and mandated by Congress is treated as inconvenience, or maybe not even that.

Those are just the goals we know about. They have, by now, so many tentacles in so many agencies that anything is possible. The only certainty is that it’s happening in secret.

Musk’s fans, and many of Trump’s, have cheered all of this. Surely billionaires must know what they’re doing; they’re billionaires, after all. Fresh-faced engineer whiz kids are just what this country needs, not the stodgy, analog thinking of the past. It’s time to nextify the Constitution. Sure, why not, give Big Balls a memecoin while you’re at it.

The thing about most software startups, though, is that they fail. They take big risks and they don’t pay off and they leave the carcass of that failure behind and start cranking out a new pitch deck. This is the process that DOGE is imposing on the United States.

No one would argue that federal bureaucracy is perfect, or especially efficient. Of course it can be improved. Of course it should be. But there is a reason that change comes slowly, methodically, through processes that involve elected officials and civil servants and care and consideration. The stakes are too high, and the cost of failure is total and irrevocable.

Musk will reinvent the US government in the way that the hyperloop reinvented trains, that the Boring company reinvented subways, that Juicero reinvented squeezing. Which is to say he will reinvent nothing at all, fix no problems, offer no solutions beyond those that further consolidate his own power and wealth. He will strip democracy down to the studs and rebuild it in the fractious image of his own companies. He will move fast. He will break things.

[michanvalentine]

Some of my favorite lines—among the saddest—that Astarion has ever said. Every time I hear them, delivered so perfectly by Neil, my heart aches. I'm sharing them with you because my husband can't take hearing me talk about Astarion and Baldur's Gate anymore!

"It’s what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me." There’s an entire world behind this line: the expression on his face, the tone of his voice. There’s sadness and resignation. This is how things work—this is who he is. The person in front of him is no different from the others, just another one who wants to lose themselves in him, use him for their own pleasure, and then move on as if nothing happened. Not only that, but it's also the same old charade used to deliver unsuspecting victims to the slaughter. The same old script, one he’s tired of, one that causes him pain. His eyes grow sad as he says it, his shoulders sink, his lips curve downward, and everything about him exudes bitterness. In that moment, amidst sweet words and sensual movements, the real Astarion comes out, carrying all the heavy baggage he’s been burdened with.

"Maybe, but did he take it." Cazador is dead, Astarion won, he’s alive, and he’s free. But the death of his tormentor didn’t turn back time, the death of the monster didn’t undo the damage or return what was stolen. It’s a powerful, terrifying, and painful realization, especially when you think about how these things—these parts of Astarion—were taken and erased. Because what is gone wasn’t just lost—it was replaced with suffering, shame, anger, hatred, and horrific experiences. These are memories that will stay with him for the rest of his un-life, memories he’ll have to battle every single day.

"All right, I’ll do it." The way he says it, after Tav/Durge delves into his mind and uses his greatest fear against him, is utterly heartbreaking. Once again, there’s resignation, but there’s also fear and, worst of all, a hint of submission. In that moment, Tav/Durge is the embodiment of Cazador. They bring back his most horrifying experience, fill him with pure terror, and remind him of how useless, weak, and pathetic he is—unable to defend himself. It makes him feel small again, lost, and willing to do anything just to feel safe. And this is coming from the very person who, up until that moment (unless the player is a complete sociopath xP), had been helping him regain a shred of self-worth and independence. It’s truly a low blow, a betrayal—especially because Astarion depends on Tav/Durge, much like he depended on Cazador, but in a positive way instead of a negative one. They force him, against his will, to do something he doesn’t want to do, and with that statement, Astarion seems to be saying, “Yes, master.”

"I didn’t know how to say no." This one is heartbreaking too, it hits right in the heart. It really hurts, especially in context, but also in general. Saying "no" is a fundamental right of every free individual. But Astarion doesn’t say that he can’t say no—he says he doesn’t know how to say it. And that’s truly sad, because at this point, it’s no longer just an external imposition; it’s something internalized. And of course, it goes without saying that here too, Tav/Durge took advantage of Astarion—of his inability to defend himself, to immediately recognize and stop behavior that should be shut down at the first sign because it’s harmful to him. Once again, Tav/Durge betrays him in the worst way, right after an agonizing confession, no less—Astarion opens up and admits to having very real struggles with sex.

Do you have any favorite lines too? Obviously, there are a billion more funny ones, but I’m afraid I’d need an entire day to write down all my favorites. I just love this little shit too much. xD

[bunnysfairy]

she knew this would happen the second they got home.

had known it when she put on that tiny little skirt, when she slid her sheer tights up her thighs, when she leaned into her butch’s touch at the bar and whispered the filthiest things into her ear, voice syrupy sweet.

had known it when she pressed her hand near the thick strap bulge in her butch’s jeans, when she caught the sharp inhale, the way her fingers twitched against her waist like she wanted to grab her right there.

had known it when she noticed how butch barely even looked at her face all night; eyes glued to her tits, her thighs, her waist, jaw clenched, hands flexing like she was forcing herself to be patient.

but she doesn’t have to be patient anymore.

"f-fuck, baby- " the butch whines, hands shaking where they grip her hips, her sheer tights ripped wide open at the crotch, panties shoved to the side. "please, please, lemme- angel, needa be inside- "

"you’re already inside, baby" she giggles, arching back against her, teasing.

the butch groans, hand sliding under her skirt, pushing her deeper onto her strap, the other curling around her waist to rub at her clit. "yeah? then take it, bunny. c’mon, take it for me- fuck, feel so good, s’perfect for me-"

she gasps, head dropping forward as her butch presses deeper, desperate, hips stuttering, whimpering against the back of her neck. "oh my god, daddy-“

“oh my god, daddy," the other mimics, a teasing little whine in her voice, pressing a sloppy kiss to her shoulder. "so fuckin’ cute, baby, but you’re so mean- dressin’ like that, teasing me all night, makin’ me wait- "

"aww" she coos, voice syrupy and sweet, "did my poor puppy wanna fuck me in the bathroom?"

the butch chokes on a groan, whole body shaking as she grinds against her harder, desperate, pushing deep, pulling her back onto it like she can’t help herself. "wanted to fuck you on the fuckin’ table, princess-“

then she gasps- goes stiff- fingers digging bruises into her femme’s hips as she slams forward, whining, pathetic. "oh my god, oh my god, baby, fuck, ‘m sorry-"

she barely even realizes what happened until she feels it, warm and thick inside her. her whole body jolts, face heating up. "you- " she gasps. "baby, you just-"

but the butch doesn’t stop. just keeps rocking into her, whimpering, so desperate and dazed. "i know, i know, ‘m sorry, angel, j-just feel so good, fuck, can’t stop, please- "

"oh, fuck- " she sobs, fingers clawing at the sheets, legs shaking as the butch rubs her clit faster, fucking her even deeper.

"that’s it, bunny, c’mon, gimme one, baby, c’mon, wanna feel you- "

"you already fucking came inside me- "

"i know," her butch moans, almost crying, voice so wrecked and broken and desperate. "but ‘m so fuckin’ weak for you, baby, please, please, need you to cum on me, wanna feel you, angel- "

and then she’s gone. her whole body tenses, shudders, melts, whining as her head drops forward, letting butch use her like a fucktoy, her knees giving out.

“oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, f- "

"that’s my girl," the butch groans, wrapping an arm around her waist, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the back of her neck. "so pretty when you cum for me, bunny"

[expectiations]

The Doctor does NOT and has NEVER loved River Song (And If You Think Otherwise, You Must Be Watching a Different Show)

Listen, folks. It’s time to face the facts. The Doctor has NEVER loved River Song. Not even a little bit. And I have 17 rock-solid, completely canonical, absolutely not contradictory reasons to prove it:

He only took her to Calderon Beta to show her the starriest night in the universe on her first night in space jail, which was also their honeymoon night. A night that is literally impossible to replicate with anyone else ever again. But no, not romantic. At. All. Just two people who happen to be married, spending a totally meaningless night under the stars.

He only stuck around for the mystery of her and once it was solved, he… checks notes …continued planning elaborate dates, risked his life for her, wrote her poetry, spent centuries in her company, and doing domestics with her. But yeah. Definitely just a phase.

He kept an entire diary to track their time together. But that’s normal, right? Just an intergalactic, timey-wimey version of a Google Calendar for the woman he definitely does not feel any sort of romance for.

He was willing to let all of time and space collapse just so they could have a linear married life. You know, because that’s what you do for a woman you have no strong romantic feelings for whatsoever.

He planned intricate dates just for her, dressed up for the occasion despite usually looking like a sentient pile of laundry, and bought her custom-tailored outfits so they could match. You know, just friendly little outings. Buddies. Chums. Mates.

Whenever she calls, he comes. No matter the situation, no matter how much danger he’s in, he drops everything and rushes to her side. He’s probably just really into checking his voicemail.

He wrote her love poetry. But, like, strictly in a platonic way. Just some totally neutral iambic pentameter for the fun of it.

Despite being universally known for his terrible time management, he is always perfectly on time for her. Which, of course, doesn’t mean anything. He just suddenly became a scheduling genius when she was around.

He keeps asking her to travel with him. Like, repeatedly. Like, he can’t take the hint that she has a life outside of running around in space. Almost like he wants her there. But that would be ridiculous.

The entire universe knows that the easiest way to lure the Doctor into a trap is to put River in danger. Because he will always come for her. But that’s not love. That’s just… reflexes.

He “only” took her to Darillium because he was lonely. And then, in an act of sheer, meaningless, absolutely not-love-driven desperation, he spent 24 years (and more) being domestic with her. Just hanging out. Not a big deal.

He built a whole planet just so they could have a little more time together. You know, because nothing says "total indifference" like terraforming an entire celestial body.

An entire archipelago, famously known as "The Lovers Dreaming Island", exists where the islands literally form the shape of their intertwined bodies. That’s just standard planet-building, really. All geography is accidental.

He physically defied the laws of the universe to hold onto her data ghost. The whole "ghosts can’t be touched" thing? He literally said, "Mmm, no thanks" then proceeded to french kiss her goodbye. But that’s really just the kind of farewell you give to someone you were forced to be with.

He keeps a spare TARDIS key inside a book called The Time Traveler’s Wife. No significance whatsoever. Probably just the only book lying around.

Her words gave him hope when nothing else could. Her voice became his mantra. But no, not love. Just, you know, some lady saying things.

But yeah, sure, he never loved her. The universe must be wrong. The Doctor must be wrong. The literal geography of an archipelago must be wrong. The foundations of time itself must be wrong. Or… maybe the Doctor is just the most emotionally repressed idiot in the cosmos, and we’ve all spent years watching a romantic tragedy disguised as sci-fi nonsense.

Final Conclusion: The Doctor absolutely, 100%, definitively does not love River Song. And if you believe that, I have a prime piece of real estate in the Medusa Cascade to sell you.

[cute-firelight]

Wow! I am impressed to see how much the Caitlyn discourse is still burning in Tumblr, X and most of the arcane platforms.

I kinda just want to say that what makes me frustrated is that nowadays characters cannot fail or be gray anymore, not even redeem. People need to be able to label good/bad/antagonist and for a lot of people the redemption will never be enough.

Good intended people can do bad things, and for me this was Caitlyn in Arcane.

Some people that argue that what she did with the gas wasn’t as wrong as other things she could do have a point, but still, the gas thing was still pretty bad thing in my opinion. As a method to subdue the chems.

However, there is nuance in that decision. Seeing how she undo what her mother achieved to revenge her and to avoid a war that was going to be way worse than that, was a pretty ironic and tough decision at the same time. So at the end, what I want to say is that you can understand her thought process here even if you agree or not.

In her mind some things were combined: justify a bad deed to prevent a worse fate, and at the same time, use that to look for revenge. What was the decision that weighted more on her? We don’t know.

Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason?

Is it bad that I making friends with my demons

Living by a couple deadly sins

Just to make sure I finish what you began

These are the questions raised by this lines in the song.

I feel that people misunderstood soo much Caitlyn and Jynx conversation, and that conversation is hugely important to understand all of this.

Deep down Caitlyn hated herself and she felt responsible for creating the war.

At the end, she recognizes to Jynx that their shortcomings and failures caused everything and that both of them can’t do nothing to undo each of their crimes. But, they can learn and improve from now on and to do that they need to let everything go.

People justify Jynx more because she suffered more being an oppressed person. But please; she had an agency. All characters in Arcane have agency and are a product of their upbringings, and of course, Jynx upbringings and trauma is devastating and worse but guys, this is true irl too!

You will be charged for your crimes equally, no matter who you are and no matter if your trauma is worse than the guy in the cell next to you; and is also true that if you are a privileged person probably nobody will ask accountability from you, or you can buy your way out of jail. Piltover is not painted in the show as a perfect society and I hope you grasp that.

Arcane’s narrative centers more on the consequences, not much in the accountability of each character and consequences never forgive anyone. No matter how privileged or not you are, your actions will or can have consequences and you’ll have to live with the weight of them.

Arcane focus is not to align with a side, is more to show both contrasts and to create a nuanced story about each of the characters, their motivations, failures and struggles. Once you realize this Arcane becomes a good experience, trust me.

Making Caitlyn a flawless person wouldn’t make for a dramatic scale social class conflict and I am so glad that Arcane creators didn’t feared to do this. It would be boooring, it wouldn’t show how in real life this happens all the time. Caitlyn wasn’t prepared to do that role and wasn’t in a mental condition to do it but felt forced to. Because of her dad, because of how everyone else was behaving towards it, because in her eyes SHE caused it, and oh boy, since she had that much power and was so misguided she influenced everything for the worse…

We should center more in what Arcane has to say with Caitlyn and less in if she is good or bad. For me, she is a naive person for her upbringing that got caught up in something she wasn’t prepared for, and ended doing a lot of mistakes that caused a huge amount of damage that she regretted deeply but couldn’t undo.

[wonyqt]

CINDY LOU WHO PT2

summary It's been two months since you saw him at the party and tried to forget him. You’ve been doing okay, laughing more and not checking your phone for messages that won’t come. But tonight, you run into Jungkook at the convenience store, and your heart stops.

ugh thank u guys sm for liking this short little story! here’s a pt2 my luvs💐

—

it’s been two months since that night at the party. two months since you saw him, since you heard his voice, since you forced yourself to forget the way he made you feel. and for the most part, you’ve been okay. maybe not completely, maybe there are still nights where you find yourself staring at the ceiling, wondering what could have been, but you’re happier now. you laugh more. you smile without forcing it. you don’t check your phone expecting a message that’ll never come. you’ve started to let go.

and then, its like the universe is playing some sick joke on you

you’ve heard the rumors—everyone has.

jungkook and jiu broke up.

only lasted two months. something about things not working out. you don’t know how to feel about it. part of you wants to be relieved, the other part just feels empty. it doesn’t matter anyway. he made his choice. and you made yours. you blocked him. cut him off completely.

tonight, though, you’re starving. it’s late, and you don’t have any snacks in your dorm, so you throw on a hoodie, slip on your slides, and head to the convenience store down the street. the air is cold, and the streets are quiet, the only sounds coming from the occasional car passing by.

the store is mostly empty when you get there. you grab a few snacks, something to drink, and pay quickly, eager to get back. you push open the door, stepping out into the night, and as you’re scrolling through your phone, not paying attention, you bump into someone.

your heart stops.

jungkook.

he’s standing there, staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. and for a second, neither of you move. neither of you say anything. your breath catches in your throat, and you hate the way your heart betrays you, speeding up at the sight of him.

you quickly bend down, picking up the few things you dropped, ready to leave, ready to pretend this never happened, but before you can, he grabs your wrist.

“wait.”

your fingers tighten around your bag. “jungkook, i have to go.”

“can we talk?” his voice is softer than you remember. almost hesitant. almost careful.

you shake your head. “i can’t.”

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “please. i just… i miss you.”

three words. three stupid words that shouldn’t affect you but do. you hate him for that. for still having this hold on you. for still making you feel something even when you don’t want to.

you sigh, pressing your lips together. “fine. just for a little bit.”

so you walk. back toward the dorms, side by side but not close enough to touch. the conversation is light at first—how have you been, how’s school, the kind of small talk that feels almost unnatural between the two of you. but then there’s silence. heavy and lingering.

you break it first. “i heard you and jiu broke up.”

jungkook nods, looking straight ahead. “yeah.”

“i’m sorry.” you don’t know why you say it. maybe because it feels like the right thing to do.

he lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “don’t be.”

you hesitate. “what happened?”

by now, you’ve reached the front of your dorm building. he stops walking, turning to face you fully. there’s something different in his eyes, something you can’t quite place.

“i realized she wasn’t you,” he admits. “the more time i spent with her, the more i missed you.”

you swallow the lump in your throat.

he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know i broke your heart. and i hate myself for that. i really do. i thought i was doing the right thing, but all i did was ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” he looks at you then, really looks at you, and his next words make your breath hitch. “i still love you.”

your vision blurs. because it took him two months to say this. two months to realize what he did was wrong. two months to regret everything.

you shake your head, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. “i would’ve done anything for you.” your voice cracks, and you don’t care. “i loved you more than i loved myself, jungkook. all i ever wanted was for you to love me back. but you—” you inhale sharply, your hands trembling. “you threw it all away. for her.”

his hands find yours, squeezing tightly. “i know,” he whispers. “i know, and i was so fucking stupid. but i can’t do this anymore. i can’t be without you. i love you.”

and then he’s kissing you.

and for a moment, you let him. for a moment, you forget. because God, you missed him. missed the way he feels, missed the way he makes your heart race.

but then reality crashes down on you, and you pull away, tears streaking your face.

“no,” you whisper. “you never loved me.”

he freezes.

“if you did, you never would’ve left.”

his lips part, like he wants to say something, like he wants to fix this, but it’s too late.

because as much as you want to, you can’t take him back.

[myinterestsvary-writes]

eve talks, thinks, and acts too much like a psychology major. thanks, britta perry.

beware: rant below

the teenaged romantic relationships are not messy enough to be interesting. there’s a fine line among annoyingly boring - messy - and annoyingly messy. invincible, write your characters like fucking humans. they talk way too much with each other in a healthy way, there’s a lack of emotion that makes it feel bland. sure, we didn’t need cheating but i need more of an actual portrayal of complicated feelings among the cast. not just telling us, the audience, that it’s complicated. maybe it’s nice to the writers in contrast to amber and mark’s relationship to have a relationship without true obstacles to overcome, who just fit perfectly together. however, mark and amber were compelling with chemistry because their interactions related to one of the central themes and was tense because of external conflicts they had to face head on, and not just talk through. plus, they had chemistry because they got along among other reasons, so you get the sense in another life they’d still be together which hits harder and sits with you better.

another thing, mark and eve don’t just work as a couple because they’re superheroes. this was the perfect time to demonstrate the dynamic the two will have, to sell them as a couple worth screentime and ultimately endgame. it’s obvious as fuck the show is written around the two to be together from eve’s special, to their parallels, similar values and goals, and the fact that the audience could catch onto their chemistry that was apparent from the first season (and shockingly lacking later). mark and amber never felt like endgame to me yet them having more chemistry, tension, and intrigue so far is frustrating. (yes, I know their story is complete but imagine if mark and eve weren’t portrayed as teens just casually trying to date each other like they are in the third season. their feelings for each other do not feel profound at all as i feel it should be and like they’re truly destined and that a force they can’t truly comprehend brings them together blah blah blah. like they’re truly birds of a feather who understands one another on a whole other level. it’s so fucking wack.)

explore more of mark’s melancholy that his last relationship ended because he didn’t want his gf to get hurt. show more of mark’s avoidance of eve and him being nervous and reserved around her but also evidently contemplative and wistful. show more of their attraction to each other.

show more of eve’s reasonable understanding of healthy boundaries but also her disappointment in mark avoiding her, feeling insecure about it (because the one who should be insecure about stuff like this should be eve, who has dated a serial cheater as her first love). have eve be wary of mark not only because of the future eve dilemma that wasn’t even that big a deal unfortunately, so wack, such a missed opportunity but also because she’s been cheated on before, and that her dad does not like her so she’s insecure about her taste in men and doesn’t know why mark would like her. have them tiptoe around the other but make the tension palpable, not played almost entirely for comedy and quickly resolved with barely a microcosm of interpersonal conflict. have eve feel guilt when she confronts her feelings for mark, mainly because she’s friends with amber and mark too! show eve is way too healthy of a communicator and it freaks me out. she doesn’t even have to be completely like her comic counterpart, just make her feel young and human like they all were in the first and second season, making mistakes and acting on impulses.

build up the emotion to where when important beats happen, it feels significant and satisfying. like them getting together for the first time, or kissing, dating, making love etc. that way we as an audience connect with them more on an emotional level when something bad happens hint hint and it won’t feel like you’re trying to force it out of me. make us want to root for them and not lazily put them together based on a history the two share that wasn’t even mainly focused on in favour of another love interest. make us understand truly why they want and love each other instead of making it feel as casual as it does.

i would’ve loved a semi-love triangle/square/pentagon with mark, amber, eve, rex, and/or rae. anything to spice things up!

[xspeter]

episode three: holly, jolly

˚✧˚. summary: your mom seems to be losing her mind, you should really stay away from gas stations, Jonathon lives out his photography dreams, and the one thing you prayed wouldn’t happen, happens.

w.c: 6.5k

m.list

notes: sooo, someone made it super clear to me that i have been spelling jonathAns name wrong. please know that this is the last chapter where that will happen! anyway, i put a poll out asking if people wants an update scheldue or for me to just post them as i finish, and most people said as i finish, so that’s what ill be doing! now, if that means you’ll be getting back to back updates or waiting two months, i don’t know!

“Whatever, it’s not like Will is home alone, Jon is there! And, I mean, seriously, I feel bad leaving you here alone, Conny.”

Conner shakes his head, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Why would you feel bad? It’s not the first time you’ve left me to close on my own.”

You sigh, fiddling with the hem of your uniform. “I know that. It’s just…”

Conner smiles, and it’s then that you notice his brown eyes are dark. So dark that they’re practically black, which is a stark contrast to their usual honey brown. “Besides, we both know it’s your fault what happened to me.”

“What?”

The neutral look on his face doesn’t change, not even a blink. “You left me here alone, even though you knew something horrible was going to happen. Doesn’t that make you guilty?”

Your lash line becomes filled with tears, your throat constricting more and more by the second. “Conner, what—”

Conner barks out a laugh, beginning to walk closer to you. “Not to mention Will!” You instinctively back away from him, but it’s difficult when it feels like he’s getting bigger. Practically consuming you with every step you take. “You killed us. It’s your fault we’re gone. Your fault, your fault, your fault-”

You awake with a start, your heart beating rapidly in your chest and skin glistening with sweat. Your eyes dart around the room as your hand shoots to grip the fabric above your heart, your hand rising and falling with your chest.

You never really had nightmares, at least not as much as Will. Sure, when you were younger you’d have the occasional bad dream, but you can’t remember the last time you had one that actually woke you from your sleep. After a moment you manage to catch your breath and force the image of Conner’s black eyes out of your mind.

Your thoughts don’t linger on it for too much longer, because you can hear your moms soft mumbling coming from the room next to you. You’re not surprised that she’s up before you, to be honest you don’t even know if she ever went to sleep after her massive freak out last night.

You scoot off of your bed, your feet padding across the carpeted floor of your bedroom as you exit into the hallway.

Jonathon must’ve had the same idea as you, because he opens his bedroom door at the same time you do, forcing the both of you face to face since your fight last night. You both just stare at each other for a moment, before Jonathon huffs and walks down the hall to Will's room. You just cross your arms over your chest and follow him. If he was going to be petty, so would you.

“Mom?” Jonathon mumbles, and your breath hitches softly when Will's room enters your line of sight. Your mom is sitting on your younger brother's bed, rocking back and forth and surrounded by every lamp you have in the house.

It takes her a moment to even register you and Jonathon’s presence, but she does her best to give you both a smile when she does. It makes your skin crawl uncomfortably. “Kids, come here.” She waves you over frantically, “Come here.”

You share a glance with Jonathon, and begin to attempt to make your way through the maze of lamps without breaking any of them. ”What’s going on?” You mumble.

She grabs your hand and pulls you down next to her, Jonathon sliding into the spot on the other side of her. She sniffles, and you can’t help but notice the way her hand trembles, like it’s having some kind of seizure. “It’s- It’s Will. He’s trying to talk to me.”

Jonathon deflates, blinking a few times in disbelief. “He’s trying to talk to you?” He says, his tone harsher than you think it needs to be.

She shivers, her eyes darting from the both of you onto the lamps. “Yes, through- through the lights.”

“Mom-”

She puts out her hand, “I know, okay, I know. Just- just watch.” She clears her throat, giving your hand a squeeze. “Will, your brother and sister are here. Can- Can you show them what you showed me, baby?”

You can feel your stomach become a bottomless pit, the sight of your Mom begging Will to speak to her through the lights nearly making you break down. Though you hadn’t lost your Mom physically, it felt like you were losing who she was little by little every day.

One of the light bulbs flashes for a split second before turning back off, and she gasps, pointing to it frantically. “Did you see that?”

Jonathon shakes his head, “It’s the electricity! It’s- It’s the same thing that fried the phone!”

Your mom throws her hands up, gesturing wildly around the room. “It’s Will! Last night, with the wall-”

Jonathon scoffs, “The wall? First the lights, now the wall?” He reaches out and places his hands on each of your moms biceps, effectively holding her in place. “Will is just lost! He’s lost. And this- you losing yourself like this- is not helping.”

She nods, squeezing her eyes shut as she runs a hand over her face. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

You swallow, running a hand through her tangly hair as gently as you can. “Can you just try to get some sleep?” You practically beg her. She nods, using her wrist to wipe at her nose. “I will. I promise. I just need to sit here for a minute, okay?”

You frown, but neither you or Jonathon have the energy to fight with her anymore. Softly, you peck the side of her head, following Jonathon as he walks out of the room.

You’d been debating whether or not you felt up for school today, but after this, you think it’s probably best if you just went. At least for a little bit. Getting at least some normalcy back into your life might help you.

By the time you finish getting ready, your mom still hasn’t left Will’s room and you can smell the eggs Jonathon’s making. To be honest, they smelled amazing, just like they usually did. But, you really didn’t feel like facing him right now, not after what you’d said to him last night. You know you weren’t being fair to him, and that you were just taking all of your emotions out on your brother, but… maybe there was some truth to what you had said.

It felt like Jonathon didn’t even have any hope that Will was alive. He treated him like he was already dead, like you were just searching for a body. That could be true, you know that, but you wouldn’t believe it until his body was laid in front of you.

You throw your backpack over your shoulder, grabbing your car keys off of the dining room table just as Jonathon sets down a plate in your usual seat. You glance at the food, ignoring the rumbling in your stomach. “I’m not hungry.” You mumble. Jonathon raises a brow, “Are you going to school?”

You nod, “Might as well.” Jonathon glances at the food on the table, but he doesn’t push you to eat it. It makes you feel bad, especially since you know this is Jonathon’s way of apologizing and trying to act like everything was normal, but you can’t bring yourself to sit with him right now.

He swallows, wrapping his arms around himself. “I’ll go with you. Just let me get dressed.” He says, turning to head towards his room, but you stop him.

“Jon,” You sigh out, a small frown on your lips. “I…” You don’t know how to say to him no, I don’t want to be with you right now, without sounding like a total asshole.

But, Jonathan understands. He always does. “Okay.” He mutters, “I’ll see you there?”

You nod, “Sure.”

—

On your way to school, you have to make a quick pit stop at the gas station. Your stubbornness wouldn’t let you eat the food Jonathon made, so now you were sure you’d pass out if you didn’t eat at least something. You know gas stations have an abundance of snacks, so you're sure you’ll be able to find something for cheap.

The store is relatively empty for it being eight in the morning, but you assume most people have already made their way to work or school.

After only a few minutes you’re able to secure a granola bar and head to the counter to pay, but your eyes narrow when you see who’s talking to the cashier.

Steve Harrington, in all of his shameless glory, is flirting with the cashier. He flashes the older woman a pearly smile, and you nearly gag as you watch her cheeks get red. You can’t help but roll your eyes. Wasn’t he seeing Nancy? And, last you checked, he didn’t need to flirt his way to cheaper gas. He had more than enough money thanks to his daddy. Plus, did this woman actually think so low of herself that a teenager half her age flirting with her is flattering?

“Well… I guess a few cents wouldn’t hurt.” The cashier, a brunette woman who must be around her late 30’s, says. She tugs on a piece of her wavy brown hair girlishly, and you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine.

Steve leans onto the counter, the smile never leaving his face. “You are just amazing…” He glances at her name tag, “Helen.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“No, really, you are.”

You can see this going on for longer than it needs to, so you make an effort to clear your throat particularly loud. Steve swivels his head around, and his eyebrows raise when he sets his sights on you. “Byers, we’ve really gotta stop running into each other here.”

You scrunch your nose, tightening your grip on the granola bar. “Ha, funny. Now, are you done snubbing free gas or are you just gonna sit here and flirt for the next half hour?”

Steve smirks, his brown eyes showing nothing but pride in his accomplishment. He sighs dramatically, letting his shoulders droop when he turns back to Helen. “Sorry, Hel, but not everyone appreciates me holding up the line.”

She pouts, but doesn’t say anything more to him as he gives her a wink and makes his way back to his car.

You warily place your granola bar onto the counter, tapping your fingers on the hard plastic top. “So, Helen,” you grin, “Don’t suppose I could get some sort of deal on this too, could I?”

Helen narrows her eyes at you, like she’s offended you would even think to ask that after you ruined her chance with The King of Hawkins High himself. “No.”

You huff out a puff of air, handing her the original cash price and collecting your bar. You can't say you’re too surprised, but it really isn’t fair since you don’t have the same advantage that Steve has. With all his hair and his sickeningly perfect smile.

The cold wind instantly hits your face when you step outside, turning your nose and cheeks a bright shade of red. The bar crinkles as you open the wrapper, biting off a chunk as you approach your car.

You notice Steve’s car still hasn’t left the parking lot, but you don’t think too hard about it. He probably got distracted staring at himself in the mirror or something like that.

Look, you didn’t directly have any problems with Steve himself, it was mostly those two goons he chose to hang out with. It was hard to see him as a separate person when they seemed to do all the talking for him.

And you knew Steve could be an asshole all on his own, you’d seen it with your own two eyes. The way he treats girls, using them and then throwing them away when he gets bored. Making anyone who even slightly makes their dislike for him known lives miserable.

Maybe you did have problems with Steve.

You pull your car door open, clambering into the vehicle with familiar ease. You pull the visor down, double checking that you don’t have any random crumbs on your face, and begin to pull out of the parking lot.

Unfortunately, you make the rookie mistake of not checking behind you beforehand, and a sudden cry makes you slam your foot on the break. You jolt forward, squeezing your eyes shut as your knuckles tighten around the wheel.

There was no way this was happening. Did you actually just hit someone with your car? Oh my god, you were going to jail. You were going to jail for assault or- or manslaughter, and you’d never be able to find Will, and your life would be over and-

A knock on the window pulls you out of your thoughts, and you cautiously peak open one of your eyes. To your absolute horror, Steve Harrington is staring back at you, using his finger to gesture for you to roll down the window. You hesitate for a moment, but ultimately comply.

“So, do you usually make an effort to attack people in this parking lot or do I just keep catching you at the wrong time?” He asks, crossing his arms on the window ledge and peering at the mess of cassettes on your passenger seat. “You a big David Bowie fan?”

You don’t answer, partially because you’re beyond embarrassed and partially because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. “I’m sorry,” You manage to force out, nodding towards your trunk, “For almost hitting you.”

Steve chuckles, shrugging it off like it’s an everyday occurrence. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to run me down. Besides, I’m made of tougher stuff.”

You swallow, trying to ignore the way his voice nearly makes a shiver run down your spine. You glance to him, then to your practically white knuckles as you grip the steering wheel. “Well, if you’re okay, then could you maybe get off of my car?” You manage to ask.

Steve immediately complies, putting his hands up in surrender. “Shit, sorry. Wouldn’t wanna get my fingers smashed like Tommy, y’know?” He snickers, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That was pretty badass by the way.” He adds casually.

You raise a brow, lips turning down in utter confusion. Badass? You smashing his friends fingers in your car door was badass to him? “What?” Is all you manage to croak out.

He shrugs, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah. I mean, he was being a complete asshole talking about your brothers like that. I would’ve done the same thing if I were you. Maybe even worse.”

You blink at him, trying to wrap your head around everything he’s saying, but it feels impossible. Steve Harrington thinks that his best friend deserved to have his fingers smashed in your car door. How crazy was that? “Um,” You wet your lips, “Thanks. I guess?”

Steve shakes his head, beginning to walk backwards to his own car. “Don’t mention it. And, uh, I hope you guys find Will soon!”

You nod dumbly, watching as he disappears into his own car and drives out of the parking lot.

No, you don’t have any problems with Steve Harrington.

—

You manage to get through most of the day okay. As long as you ignored the whispers and pitiful glances people gave you, you could manage to pretend today was just like any other day.

Lunch is a different story though. Usually, you and Conner shared a table in the back of the cafeteria, away from the judgement of other students. Now, Conner isn’t here, leaving you to sit and eat your food alone.

You can’t help the way you feel just a little bitter, but you know it isn’t his fault that he was missing. It was the bad mens according to El. You wondered if Mrs Wheeler had caught her yet and sent her back to wherever she came from. Your stomach drops at the idea. She seemed really scared of those of whoever she was running from, so sending her back to them would just be heartbreaking.

You glanced around the cafeteria as you ate, just people watching. The swim team sat together at their usual lunch table, minus Captain Steve Harrington. Steve sat at a table a few feet ahead of them with Tommy and Carol, and now Nancy Wheeler.

Tommy and Carol are laughing at something, though you can’t hear what. Steve seems to find it amusing, but Nancy just looks plain uncomfortable. The look on her face makes her boyfriend shut down whatever it is Tommy and Carol are doing, and the four continue to have normal conversation.

Unsurprisingly, you don’t see Jonathon anywhere. Even before any of this happened you normally didn’t see him in the cafeteria, knowing he chose to spend his time developing whatever photos he’d taken during the week.

Your anger at your brother has definitely died down since last night and this morning, and you’re practically itching to talk to him. You don’t think now is the time for you to be fighting with the only family you had at the moment. Your mom was… out of commission, your dad had left a long time ago, and Will was lost. Jonathon was all you had left. You should at least tell him you’re sorry for what you said.

Swiftly, you throw your lunch away and exit the cafeteria. You search through the halls for your brother, but come up short at all of his usual places. He’s not in the photography room, the library, or the cafeteria. The only other place you assume he could be was his car, or maybe he just decided to stay home today.

Either way, as a last ditch effort to find him, you exit the school and make your way to his usual parking spot. Luckily, you can see his car. Unluckily, he’s there. With Steve Harrington. You pick up your pace, practically jogging to get to them. You’re slightly confused on how Steve Harrington got out here before you did, and why, but you don’t have much time to dwell on it.

By the time you’re in ear range, you’re able to pick up the tail end of Steve’s sentence. “…as connoisseurs of art.” Okay, something was really wrong for Steve Harrington to be using such big words.

“What the hell is going on?” You question, standing protectively in front of your brother. You’d been like a defensive line for Jonathon since you were little kids, always standing up for him when he couldn’t do it himself.

The group's attention turns to you, and you don’t miss the way Tommy is practically glaring holes into your skull. “Seems both of the Byers freaks decided to show up today.”

The term doesn’t bother you, but you can see the way it makes Jonathon flinch. You cross your arms over your chest, your lips curing into a grin. “Still butthurt after you got your fingers smashed in?”

Tommy immediately starts towards you like he’s going to hit you, but Steve puts an arm out to stop him. “Hey, calm down, man. She's not the one we’re here for.”

Tommy smacks his lips together, his fingers balling into fists at his sides, but he listens. Just like the good dog he is.

Steve turns his attention back to Jonathon. “Anyway, we’d just like to have a look, y’know.”

Jonathon swallows, his eyes falling down to the floor as he avoids eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mutters, attempting to push past the group, but Tommy uses the movement to swipe his bag away from him.

You don’t miss the way Jonathon’s breath hitches. “Please, give me my bag.” He pleads, reaching for it, but Tommy throws it to Steve who catches it with ease. You know that you should step in, but you're curious to know what was so bad that Jonathon was nearly losing his mind at the thought of it being found.

Steve snorts, “Oh, he’s, like, totally trembling. Must really have something to hide.” He snorts, placing the bag into the trunk of Jonathon’s car and emptying it.

You use the moment to turn to Jonathon, “What is it?” You question, but he doesn’t say anything. Seems he’s once again going mute.

“Ah, here we go.” Steve sighs, pulling out an array of photos that Jonathon must’ve recently developed. You’re confused at what they are at first, until you look closer and realize they’re photos of Steve and his friends from what you assume was last night. Your eyebrows furrow as you watch them get worse and worse, your stomach dropping for what feels like the hundredth time this week. You pull your eyes away from them, finally managing to make eye contact with your brother. “You said you were out looking for Will.” You say, hurt obvious in your tone.

Jonathon’s eyes flash with a mix of hurt and anxiousness. “Y/N, I- I was—”

Steve tsks, “So you’re a perv and a liar? Honestly, I expected more from you, Byers. You know this is called stalking, right?”

Carol pops her gum, “This is totally not creepy at all.” She says sarcastically.

Nancy approaches with a confused smile on her face, her eyes flickering from Steve, to you, to Jonathon. “What’s going on?” She asks.

“Here’s the starring lady!” Someone says, but you’ve got too many emotions swirling around your head to focus on who.

She furrows her eyebrows and lets out an anxious laugh, “What?”

You're not listening as Carol and Tommy explain to Nancy what’s going on, too focused on the pictures. The first few are fine, relatively cute really. But then they get creepier and more disgusting as they go on. Pictures of Nancy undressing, of her and Steve kissing, ones of her naked.

It makes you want to gag.

To think you were coming out here to apologize to him for last night, when he’d been blatantly lying to your face the whole time? And taking pervy pictures of people you know?

Jonathon attempts to reach out for you, but you pull away, unable to even look him in the eye right now. “Don’t.” Is all you can manage out. Steve looks at you with pity, but you don’t even care. You can’t process that your brother- the one person you’d trusted with your life- could do something this horribly disgusting.

Steve sighs, stacking all the pictures together and slapping them against the trunk. He clicks his tongue, “See, you can tell that he knows he was wrong, but that’s the thing with perverts. It’s hard wired into them, y’know? They just can’t help themselves.

He begins to rip up the photos, and you watch as Jonathon looks at you with shame and guilt twisted onto his face, just like he had last night. You force your eyes onto the ground.

Ultimately, you agree with everything Steve has said and done, even if it pains you to do so. That is, until he brings out the camera.

Two months before your dad had left, he’d given Jonathon that camera. Neither of you understood why at the time, you just assumed it was your dad giving his son a nice gift. Now, years after your dad had gone, Jonathon loved the thing like it was his child. No matter how mad you were at him, you wouldn’t let anything happen to it.

“That’s enough.” You say, shoving past Carol and Tommy, but Tommy grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls you back. “Careful there, wouldn’t wanna do something you regret.” He says lowly into your ear.

You scoff, ripping yourself from his grip, but it’s too late. Steve drops the camera onto the ground and it shatters with a sickening crash.

Jonathon instantly falls to the ground, doing his best to pick up the pieces, but you know it’s of no use. Still, hesitantly, you crouch down next to him. To your surprise, so does Nancy. You glance at her, shame evident in her face, though you don’t know what she has to be ashamed about.

Steve walks over the rubble, not even sparing any of you a glance as he calls Nancy to him. Swiftly, she collects the ripped up photos on the ground and goes to him.

After a few minutes of shakily picking up the pieces, you give up, unable to stand to be in Jonathon’s presence anymore. You stand and begin to walk away, but Jonathon catches your wrist and turns you back to him.

“Just, let me explain-” He attempts, his voice shaky, but you shove a hand in his face to shut him up.

“You know, I was coming out here to apologize to you for what I said last night.” You explain, your voice wavering from hurt to anger. “And then I find out you lied to me? And not only that, but you-” You can’t seem to make yourself say it. “You took those awful pictures.”

Jonathon shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that!”

You scoff out a laugh, “Really? Then what was it like? Did you slip and then suddenly the pictures were there? Is that it?”

Jonathon stammers out a reply, “W-Well no, but—”

“Not to mention that you used Will to lie to me and mom. Did you even actually go see dad or was that another lie too?”

Jonathon swallows, “If you’d just let me explain—”

You snort, “Trust me, I’ve heard enough explanations from you for a long time. I mean, I honestly just can’t wrap my head around this. Why would you do this? What made you think it was ever a good idea?”

For the first time, Jonathon doesn’t seem to have an explanation. His mouth opens and closes like he knows what he wants to say, but he’s forgotten how to speak.

“And what about Will? And mom? What about me? Did you not think about how this would affect us when we found out? Mom- she’s already falling apart without Will, so for you to pull this is just absolutely unbelievable.”

He shakes his head, unable to pull his eyes away from the pavement. “I wasn’t thinking. It just happened.” He mutters shamefully under his breath, so quiet you can barely hear it.

You're itching to get away from him, which before this week, was something you’d never really experienced. Jon had always been your best friend- your twin. But the past two days… it feels like you don’t even know him. “That isn’t something that just happens, Jonathon. You and I both know that.”

You’re not sure you can bear to look at him any longer. You need to go. You need to drive and you need to listen to your song and then everything will be okay. Everything has to be okay.

Jonathons hands flex at his sides, his eyebrows furrowing as his pent up anger releases on you. “What about you, huh? Why is everything on me?”

Your jaw drops in shock. In what world was he going to turn this on you? You didn’t force that camera into his hands. You didn’t force the lie into his mouth. “Are you being serious?” You spit.

“You don’t even care how I’m doing! You don’t- don’t ask. You only care about yourself, Y/N. How you’re feeling. Not anyone else.”

His words feel like a stab to the chest, because there’s a part of you that knows it’s true. When was the last time you asked Jonathon how he was, or took the time to just sit with your mom? You’d been so consumed with how you’re feeling, how Will and Conner's disappearances were affecting you, that you hadn’t even took the time to think about how Jonathon was feeling either.

That didn’t justify what Jonathon did, though. Just because you hadn’t taken the time out of your day to ask him how he was wasn’t an excuse for him to take terrible photos.

Jonathon sighs at your silence and runs a hand through his hair. “Look, Y/N—”

You shake your head, effectively cutting him off. “I have to go.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself and walking away from him.

Jonathon watches as you leave, itching to call out to you and apologize, but he doesn’t. He just lets you go with a frown.

—

You don’t see how this day could get any worse. First you almost hit Steve with your car, then you get into the worst fight you’d ever had with your brother. Next you were probably going to get eaten by a giant sinkhole. Honestly, that wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen to you this week.

Your hands grip the wheel so tight your knuckles are nearly snow white. Jonathon’s words keep replaying in your head, stabbing you over and over. You knew he was right, and that’s what made it all even worse. A sob breaks through your lips as you drive, your whole body trembling with it.

How could everything turn so upside down in just two days?

Will and Conner were gone, your mom was honestly losing her mind, and you could feel Jonathon slipping away from you with every second that passed.

You sobbed again as the realization that you were completely alone dawned over you.

The last time you’d felt this way was in seventh grade when Missy Adler and Carol Perkins decided you’d become too weird to hang out with them. They’d called you out in front of the entire lunch room, pointing and laughing at you like you were some circus animal.

You’d ran until your legs couldn’t run anymore, eventually collapsing under the football bleachers. You’d sobbed into your hands, breathing in short gasps until suddenly it felt like they weren’t coming at all.

Your vision had turned blurry, limbs practically numb yet every sense you had felt like it had jumped to a million percent. You’d wanted to scream, but nothing would come out.

When Conner eventually found you, you were rocking back and forth, cradling your head in your hands as if you were trying to block out the world.

That was the first and only time you’d ever had a panic attack. Conner had wrapped his arms around you so tight that you were forced to crash back down to reality, and he reminded you that no matter what those idiot middle school girls said you’d always have him.

“Carol and Missy are gonna end up stuck in Hawkins forever. But me and you? We’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna live our lives, we’ve just gotta get through middle school first.” He’d said, grabbing your hand and giving it three squeezes.

You’d laughed, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Yeah.” You’d murmured, “We’re gonna get out of here.”

Now, as you sit in your car in your own driveway, your chest getting tight and your breaths becoming shorter, Conner isn’t there to save you. And you didn’t know if he ever would be again. You were alone, and this time ‘getting through middle school’ wasn’t going to help you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your forehead resting against the steering wheel. You force your breathing to even, taking in gulps of air to the best of your ability.

“No, no, this is where he lives. He’s missing from here. Understand?”

The sound of voices force you to look up, your nose wrinkling when you spot Mike, Lucas, Dustin, and El lurking outside your house. Quickly, you pull down the visor and do your best to make it look like you weren’t in the middle of a panic attack.

When you finally step out of the car, they all zip their heads around to you. Dustin grins when he sees you, glancing between his three friends and pointing to you. “Y/N! We were- are you okay?”

You sniffle, wiping your eyes once again with a shrug. “I’m fine. What are you guys doing here?”

Dustin twists his lips, and you can tell that none of them believe you, but you don’t really care right now. Last you checked, you told them not to go looking for Will unless they called you first.

Mike sighs and nods towards El. “She said Will is here.”

You furrow your brows, “Trust me, he’s not. If he was, I think we would’ve found him by now.”

“I told her that!”

Dustin rolls his eyes, “I swear if we walked all the way out here for nothing—”

Lucas shoves past him, aggressively pointing at the strange girl. “That's exactly what we did! I told you she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about.”

You walk closer to them, placing a hand on El’s shoulder. “Why did you bring them here?” You ask softly. She looks up at you with wide brown eyes, her jaw opening and closing as she tries to explain. “I- I-”

Lucas scoffs, “Don't waste your time with her.”

“Lucas.” You warn. You understand he’s frustrated, but he doesn’t need to be blatantly rude to El. Especially when she was clearly just trying to help.

Mike sighs, his shoulders sagging the tiniest bit. “What do you wanna do then?” He asks Lucas.

“Call the cops like we should’ve done in the first place!”

There’s a distant sound of sirens in the distance, but you don’t think anything of it. “Nobody is calling the cops!” You say, nearly in disbelief that he would even suggest that.

“Hey, guys.”

The boys continue arguing, and none of you notice as Dustin begins to walk away from the group, his eyes wide and his body stiff. “Guys!”

You finally look towards him, your stomach dropping when you see dozens of police cars and ambulances all headed for the quarry. You swallowed harshly. It was probably nothing, right?

“Will…” Mike says lowly, the four of them immediately darting to their bikes and following the vehicles.

And you know you should stay home, but you don’t. You grab your old bike from the garage and peddle as fast as your legs will let you.

Please don’t be Will, please don’t be Will, please don’t be Will.

You feel like you arrive at the pond in record time, but you’re not even out of breath. The boys and El scramble behind a firetruck, and you know you should tell them to go home. That they don’t need to see this, whatever the hell it was, but you can’t move. Because the jacket that comes out of the water is one you recognize.

Your hand slaps over your mouth, tears immediately filling your eyes. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He was supposed to just be lost.

“It’s not Will. It can’t be.” Mike mutters, gripping the pole of the firetruck tightly. You immediately spring into action, doing your best to herd the boys away from the pond. “We need to go.” You say, hoping none of them notice how your voice cracks.

They ignore you, none of them seemingly able to tear their eyes away from the little boy in the pond. “It’s Will,” Lucas sighs out. “It’s really Will.”

You can’t help the sob that wracks through you when he says that, but you’re quick to stifle it with the back of your hand. “We need to go.” You repeat, louder this time. Still, none of them even spare you a glance.

El reaches out for Mike, her voice trembling and hands shaking. “Mike…” She says softly. He slaps her away, lips down turning into a snark. “Mike?” He scoffs, “Mike what? You were supposed to help us find him alive! You said he was alive!” His eyes begin to fill with tears as he works his way through the shock. “Why did you lie to us? What is wrong with you?”

Dustin slams into you, his head smushed into your abdomen and soaking your shirt. You immediately hug him back, your own tears flowing freely at this point. “Mike…” You attempt, but the boy is hearing none of it.

His anger turns to you, “No! She’s a liar, and we should’ve never taken her home when we found her! This- this-” He breaks down, the tears flowing out before he can even attempt to stop them.

You try to pull him to you, but he shoves you off. Hopping onto his bike and pedaling away from you. “Mike!” Lucas calls out, but he’s already gone.

El whimpers, tears beginning to run down her own face. You feel sorry for the girl, knowing that no matter what everyone was feeling right now, this wasn’t her fault.

She was only trying to help, there was no way she could’ve known Will was… dead. She was just like the rest of you, holding onto the hope that somehow, someway, Will was out there and waiting to be found.

You gesture to her to join in on the hug, but she just shakes her head, turning around and walking back into the woods.

You want to go after her, but then Lucas wraps around your other side and you realize where your priorities lie. With your boys.

—

You walk your bike the whole way home, your legs feeling more like jello than anything else. You're struggling to wrap your head around what’s happened. What this means for you. For your family. For Conner.

Headlights light up the way from behind you, and you don’t even register someone calling your name until they’re right next to you. “Y/N? What're you doing?”

You turn, watching as Jonathon clambers out of his car. Neither of you seem to care that you’re stopped in the middle of the road, because all it takes is for Jonathon to give you one look before he knows.

He hesitates, his voice shaking when he finally says. “Is it Will?”

Your bottom lip wobbles as you break down into tears again, your legs nearly giving out under you, but Jonathon wraps you up into a bear hug and holds you against him. The both of you stand there sobbing for Will, for the life you’d never get to have again, for the future.

A shriek forces you to look up, and you’re shocked to see your mom basically running for her life. From what, you’re not entirely sure, but you don’t think it’s very important right now.

“Mom?” Jonathon calls, confusion obvious on his face. She pants, looking around frantically before her eyes land in the two of you. “W-What-?” She stutters.

“Mom, what happened? Jonathon asks, but she’s unable to answer, seemingly to in shock to form any kind of words.

You grab her hand and force her into the hug, which she graciously accepts, wrapping her arms around the two of you as you cried.

You don’t know how long the three of you stay like that, but what you do know is that it’s exactly what you need. You and Jonathon still needed to sort out your differences, and it would take a while for your mom to get back to her normal self, but for now this was enough. This would have to be enough.

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