#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳bubblegum wrappers

[smindersonfan]

No, Ireland threw it away so Belgium could be the SpongeBob to Ireland's Squidward and find better uses for the bubblegum wrapper that is the potato.

For the longest time I opted on the side of "no coffee, potatoes, etc" in fantasy writing, on the argument that if I was writing a pseudo-european medieval story, featuring elements brought to Europe by colonialism would imply the existence of colonialism, and if I was going to include that kind of elements, I could not just mention them casually, it would have to be a major theme of the story.

Then I scrolled past a post on tumblr specifically about "can you have potatoes in a fantasy setting for no reason" that had pics of Peruvian potato farmers and asked "are you really too much of a coward to not write these people into your stories?" (the tone was probably not that accusative, I paraphrase from my own perspective of this), and something clicked in my head, and this epiphany manifested in my head as Gordon Ramsay yelling

"IT WAS NOT THE FUCKING COLONIALISM THAT INVENTED THE FUCKING POTATO."

[kirbyfigure]

🌾🌼🌙🐤 dum dum wrapperz

[keylimeguy]

these things are yoom. to me

[beetlebongos]

ok i did my taxes <3

[taxi-davis]

[trainerdawn]

feeling more normal about things now and also the lady did ask me what i think “makes a scientist” and after my minute of rambling about “curiosity for the natural world” she said “that is spot-on! that’s why we’re all here. we like to ask questions” chat can that save me

[crow-ter]

south africa is taking notes from the tiktok psychic

Nglkdjcjsnicndngkcuuf dont give them any more ideas!

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🗣️ ✩ three hundred assorted dialogue prompts

¹⁾ “it’s too early for this.”

²⁾ “say that again, but take all the words bigger than two syllables out for me.”

³⁾ “you never came to bed last night.”

⁴⁾ “ibuprofen and a red bull is not breakfast.”

⁵⁾ “where the fuck have you been?!”

⁶⁾ “i can’t believe you told him.”

⁷⁾ “look, all i’m trying to tell you i- oh god, no, please don’t cry.”

⁸⁾ “taxi- taxi!”

⁹⁾ “i broke it off last night.”

¹⁰⁾ “no way that’s true.”

¹¹⁾ “i’m not letting you sleep on the couch in your own house.”

¹²⁾ “red’s definitely your colour.”

¹³⁾ “i don’t even want to know how the glitter got there.”

¹⁴⁾ “second time the electric’s been cut off so far.”

¹⁵⁾ “come on, the water’s fine!”

¹⁶⁾ “i’m so mad at you for this, but i’m angrier at myself for knowing i’ll forgive you for it.”

¹⁷⁾ “nice tan lines.”

¹⁸⁾ “christ, i don’t know how you drink that shit.”

¹⁹⁾ “that was the best meal i’ve eaten in years.”

²⁰⁾ “i got fired yesterday.”

²¹⁾ “are those handcuffs?!”

²²⁾ “hell of defense to put on for someone you say you don’t care about anymore.”

²³⁾ “i love you, i swear it, but not enough to watch another western.”

²⁴⁾ “just hold the ladder, and i’ll do the rest.”

²⁵⁾ “is there any chilli powder left in the cupboard, or is it all on my plate?!”

²⁶⁾ “i know what exes are, and i know you two aren’t them.”

²⁷⁾ “please, please just leave me alone.”

²⁸⁾ “neither of us are leaving this room until you tell me how you got that shiner.”

²⁹⁾ “fucking liar.”

³⁰⁾ “scooch over, i’m about to fall off.”

³¹⁾ “i nicked your shirt on my way out- i hope you don’t mind.”

³²⁾ “the cold will kill us before they can if we don’t find shelter.”

³³⁾ “just- please, can’t you see she’s in pain?!”

³⁴⁾ “a pint of coors and a passionfruit martini, plea- no, i told you, i’m not calling it that!”

³⁶⁾ “only you could crochet in a time like this.”

³⁷⁾ “they know i hate boats!”

³⁸⁾ “your mother called.”

³⁹⁾ “i can smell vodka and bubblegum toothpaste on your breath, and i’m totally sure which concerns me more.”

⁴⁰⁾ “it’s midnight, please turn off the jazz.”

⁴¹⁾ “i didn’t read that book, but i slept behind [name] in bed every night for a week while they did.”

⁴²⁾ “please, we need a doctor!”

⁴³⁾ “you’ve done shitty things to me before but you’ve never been cruel.”

⁴⁴⁾ “normally i can get behind your stress baking because of how much i benefit from it, but come on. it’s two in the night; what is a red velvet cake going to fix that some sleep won’t?”

⁴⁵⁾ “i found an earring under the passenger seat.”

⁴⁶⁾ “please, if the choice is between ice cream for breakfast or whiskey, choose the fucking ice cream.”

⁴⁷⁾ “you’re still bleeding- stop and let me look at it.”

⁴⁸⁾ “we’ve been broken up for a year now. you’ve got no right to look at me like that.”

⁴⁹⁾ “mama will be home soon, promise.”

⁵⁰⁾ “in the name of the father- “

⁵¹⁾ “i’m going to lose them either way. better they hate me and live, than love me and die.”

⁵²⁾ “you have a son?!”

⁵³⁾ “boss wants to see you.”

⁵⁴⁾ “i figured we were close, i just didn’t think it was “call me at two in the morning from a police station” kind of close.”

⁵⁵⁾ “are we just going to ignore that massive rock on your finger?”

⁵⁶⁾ “you of all people don’t get to question my parenting skills.”

⁵⁷⁾ “is that a fucking chicken?!”

⁵⁸⁾ “fuck- you’re hurting me!”

⁵⁹⁾ “mind the puddles.”

⁶⁰⁾ “you’re sick. you’re not going into work, end of story.”

⁶¹⁾ “what on earth are you wearing?!”

⁶²⁾ “she’s too old for you.”

⁶³⁾ “you play mario kart like it’s your first day on earth.”

⁶⁴⁾ “you’re gonna break an ankle walking in those heels.”

⁶⁵⁾ “if it was important, you would’ve remembered i don’t answer fucking calls!”

⁶⁶⁾ “late night?”

⁶⁷⁾ “i’m terrified.”

⁶⁸⁾ “i’ll call you when i land, yeah?”

⁶⁹⁾ “try and get some sleep, pet.”

⁷⁰⁾ “where is that blood coming from?!”

⁷¹⁾ “it is sheeps or sheepses?” 

⁷²⁾ “so you can fold a paper crane from a candy wrapper, but you don’t know your times tables.”

⁷³⁾ “clerk said they only have one room left.”

⁷⁴⁾ “why did you get an apartment on the eighth fucking floor?”

⁷��⁾ “it’s snowing!”

⁷⁶⁾ “when the shooting starts, stay down and only look at me, okay?”

⁷⁷⁾ “how fucking dare you- i am married.”

⁷⁸⁾ “we should be safe here.”

⁷⁹⁾ “i’m at the store, what kind of monster did you want again? and don’t say ultra violet, i’m not bringing that filth into the house.”

⁸⁰⁾ “the cat misses you.”

⁸¹⁾ “i’ve been having nightmares again.”

⁸²⁾ “i can practically hear your stomach growling. come fill up a plate.”

⁸³⁾ “i’m proud of you, kid.”

⁸⁴⁾ “are you sure you’re not mad at me?”

⁸⁵⁾ “please don’t tell me you lost it.”

⁸⁶⁾ “wanna pick the movie?”

⁸⁷⁾ “bit late for boxing, no?”

⁸⁸⁾ “i don’t care if it’s harmless, kill it!!”

⁸⁹⁾ “if you so much as look in their direction again, it will be the last thing you ever do.”

⁹⁰⁾ “do you wanna go out sometime?”

⁹¹⁾ “is- is that [name]’s shirt?”

⁹²⁾ “c’mon, sit with me a minute.”

⁹³⁾ “good boy!”

⁹⁴⁾ “no, fuck- i can’t swim!”

⁹⁵⁾ “your friends are unbearable.”

⁹⁶⁾ “oh, kill me now.”

⁹⁷⁾ “can i bum a light?”

⁹⁸⁾ “just listen to me for once in your life!”

⁹⁹⁾ “someone call an ambulance!”

¹⁰⁰⁾ “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you in pink before.”

¹⁰¹⁾ “i told you i was done talking about it.”

¹⁰²⁾ “the lock’s broken- i think someone’s inside.”

¹⁰³⁾ “you kept it.”

¹⁰⁴⁾ “i have somewhere to be; make it quick.”

¹⁰⁵⁾ “you’re unbelievable.”

¹⁰⁶⁾ “they never meant anything to you, did they?”

¹⁰⁷⁾ “is the point of giving me such bad advice to force me into seeing an actual therapist?”

¹⁰⁸⁾ “your smile makes my day.” 

¹⁰⁹⁾ “how do you remember where all my jewellery goes?”

¹¹⁰⁾ “… but you’re definitely nothing more than coworkers. sure.”

¹¹¹⁾ “i’ve been waiting for this my whole life.”

¹¹²⁾ “can i help with your hair?”

¹¹³⁾ “i always forget how pretty the city looks at night.”

¹¹⁴⁾ “the dog, for all his failings, did not do that and i’m taking it personally on his part that you’re trying to claim he did.”

¹¹⁵⁾ “you have many strengths; all i’m saying is that parallel parking is not one of them.”

¹¹⁶⁾ “let me drive you home.”

¹¹⁷⁾ “thanks for bringing me in on this ritual of yours.”

¹¹⁸⁾ “what time do you have to be at court?”

¹¹⁹⁾ “do you, uh- do you maybe wanna get dinner, sometime? like, with me?”

¹²⁰⁾ “i’m- *achoo* a-allergic to one kind of- *achoo* of flowers in the whole world, and you- *cough* really m-manage to pick them out for me?”

¹²¹⁾ “table for three, please.”

¹²²⁾ “you’re getting so grey. i’m kind of liking it.”

¹²³⁾ “of course i noticed.”

¹²⁴⁾ “hey, quit forcing yourself to talk before you lose your voice altogether.”

¹²⁵⁾ “please, please wake up.”

¹²⁶⁾ “was anything you said true?”

¹²⁷⁾ “get in the fucking car!”

¹²⁸⁾ “where’d you get that?”

¹²⁹⁾ “you put me through so much, and still all i can think about is how i’d do it all again if you asked me to.”

¹³⁰⁾ “i’ll stay while you sleep. nothing’s gonna happen while i’m here, okay?”

¹³¹⁾ “you said you wanted to talk it out but all you’re doing is shouting at me!”

¹³²⁾ “we broke up a few days ago. i guess i was too embarrassed to tell you after you warned me about them.”

¹³³⁾ “family don’t pull this kind of shit on each other.”

¹³⁴⁾ “i phoned in sick. i’m yours for the day, if you’ll have me.”

¹³⁵⁾ “i’ll make the reservation, you just worry about turning up looking half as good as you do right now.”

¹³⁶⁾ “that’s still how you take your tea, isn’t it?”

¹³⁷⁾ “stop throwing those damn paper planes at me!”

¹³⁸⁾ “i’m so c-cold.”

¹³⁹⁾ “… i can hear meowing.”

¹⁴⁰⁾ “want some?”

¹⁴¹⁾ “fuck all of them, anyway.”

¹⁴²⁾ “i could look at your tattoos all day.”

¹⁴³⁾ “ever considered sending me flowers without a keycard for a hotel room tucked inside?”

¹⁴⁴⁾ “i made coffee.”

¹⁴⁵⁾ “c’mon, sit with me a minute.”

¹⁴⁶⁾ “fuck, they’re gonna flank us- get someone on the south wall, now!”

¹⁴⁷⁾ “christ, get up.”

¹⁴⁸⁾ “put some pants on.”

¹⁴⁹⁾ “it’s over!”

¹⁵⁰⁾ “not another broken bed frame.”

¹⁵¹⁾ “that thong really brings out your eyes.”

¹⁵²⁾ “you’ve already stolen from me; don’t twist the knife by lying about it, too.”

¹⁵³⁾ “... i thought you locked the back door.”

¹⁵⁴⁾ “they were saying awful things about you. every last one of them had it coming.”

¹⁵⁵⁾ “so you had a can of monster and a pack of sour patch kids for breakfast eight hours ago, and you really don’t understand why you have a headache?”

¹⁵⁶⁾ “i think someone’s in the house.”

¹⁵⁷⁾ “walk me home?”

¹⁵⁸⁾ “this song reminds me of you.”

¹⁵⁹⁾ “can you pick up some eggs on your way home?”

¹⁶⁰⁾ “i’ve got a flat tire.”

¹⁶¹⁾ “you broke his fucking nose!”

¹⁶²⁾ “do you remember the room number?”

¹⁶³⁾ “i can’t see anything.”

¹⁶⁴⁾ “lab results are back.”

¹⁶⁵⁾ “is it really so hard to pick up the damn phone when i call?”

¹⁶⁶⁾ “don’t you dare run.”

¹⁶⁷⁾ “bulleit, please. neat.”

¹⁶⁸⁾ “will you marry me?”

¹⁶⁹⁾ “how did you get tickets?!”

¹��⁰⁾ “your tie’s all crooked.”

¹⁷¹⁾ “license and insurance, please.”

¹⁷²⁾ “i’ll get a nurse in to do your sutures, and then we’ll send you on your way.”

¹⁷³⁾ “you’re a dead man.”

¹⁷⁴⁾ “you’re the worst thing to ever happen to me.”

¹⁷⁵⁾ “no, this is her secretary. i can take a message, if you’d like?”

¹⁷⁶⁾ “the money’s gone.”

¹⁷⁷⁾ “yeah, but it’ll cost you.”

¹⁷⁸⁾ “we need to find that phone.”

¹⁷⁹⁾ “can i crash here tonight?”

¹⁸⁰⁾ “i, um… i saw you. online.”

¹⁸¹⁾ “what do you mean husband?!”

¹⁸²⁾ “the fire’s growing- we need to keep moving.”

¹⁸³⁾ “your lipstick’s all over me!”

¹⁸⁴⁾ “four broken ribs… fuck.”

¹⁸⁵⁾ “what happened in shanghai?”

¹⁸⁶⁾ “you and these awful horror movies!”

¹⁸⁷⁾ “next door’s cat is back. do you remember where i put the kibble?”

¹⁸⁸⁾ “glitter and faux fur. classy.”

¹⁸⁹⁾ “since when were you blonde?!”

¹⁹⁰⁾ “do i even want to know?”

¹⁹¹⁾ “we were by a river. that’s all i remember.”

¹⁹²⁾ “please, let me call you a cab.”

¹⁹³⁾ “my hands are killing me, get these damn zipties off.”

¹⁹⁴⁾ “you don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

¹⁹⁵⁾ “i read your last article. you’re not half bad at this shit.”

¹⁹⁶⁾ “is now a bad time to say i’m afraid of heights.”

¹⁹⁷⁾ “- quick, hide!”

¹⁹⁸⁾ “test came back negative.”

¹⁹⁹⁾ “say, ah.”

²⁰⁰⁾ “some friends they turned out to be.”

²⁰¹⁾  “you look oddly good in sequins.”

²⁰²⁾ “now there’s a headline: murder in mittens.”

²⁰³⁾ “we need to swab your hands for gunpowder residue.”

²⁰⁴⁾ “black, three sugars.” 

²⁰⁵⁾ “i need you to listen to me, okay? this cannot happen again. ever.”

²⁰⁶⁾ “we shouldn’t be here.”

²⁰⁷⁾ “if you’re going to be such a die-hard fan, could you please start picking better teams? for my sake?”

²⁰⁸⁾ “… did you make me a packed lunch?”

²⁰⁹⁾ “i got a little bit stabbed.”

²¹⁰⁾ “no, it’s too late; you’re not walking home alone.”

²¹¹⁾ “i don’t care if she’s ten, she cannot be led to believe that derek is an acceptable name for a cat!”

²¹²⁾ “they were just here.”

²¹³⁾ “oh captain, my captai- “

²¹⁴⁾ “come to my room in ten.”

²¹⁵⁾ “no part of this was in the training manual.”

²¹⁶⁾ “i think i’m gonna lie down for a bit.”

²¹⁷⁾ “i can’t come out tonight, i’ve got to re-pot my roses.”

²¹⁸⁾ “you kick like an ass in your sleep.” 

²¹⁹⁾ “i think we kissed.”

²²⁰⁾ “i never want to be a burden to you.”

²²¹⁾ “there’s someone in the trees.”

²²²⁾ “where’s that smoke coming from?”

²²³⁾ “my sheets smell like you.”

²²⁴⁾ “what did sarge say?”

²²⁵⁾ “the funeral’s at ten.”

²²⁶⁾ “she’s asystolic.” 

²²⁷⁾ “it’s too loud in here. i’m going to start biting people.”

²²⁸⁾ “give it back!”

²²⁹⁾ “don’t make me call the cops!”

²³⁰⁾ “we tried everything. i’m sorry.”

²³¹⁾ “another round?”

²³²⁾ “come on the carousel with me, and i’ll think about it.”

²³³⁾ “this is why we didn’t stay married.”

²³⁴⁾ “i like your hair.”

²³⁵⁾ “homicide are on the way.”

²³⁶⁾ “i just ran.”

²³⁷⁾ “want a drink?”

²³⁸⁾ “i’m scared of the things i feel for you.”

²³⁹⁾ “can you remember anything about last night?”

²⁴⁰⁾ “you left this at mine.”

²⁴¹⁾ “i made us a reservation.”

²⁴²⁾ “pass the goddamn ball!”

²⁴³⁾ “someone cut the brake lights.”

²⁴⁴⁾ “wanna come to vegas with me?”

²⁴⁵⁾ “… did you use my body wash?”

²⁴⁶⁾ “go shower, then we’ll talk.”

²⁴⁷⁾ “how dare you say something like that to me!”

²⁴⁸⁾ “there’s a letter for you.”

²⁴⁹⁾ “i need to see you. now.”

²⁵⁰⁾ “i’ll kick this fucking door open!”

²⁵¹⁾ “don’t look at me like that.”

²⁵²⁾ “i can’t do this anymore.”

²⁵³⁾ “got a light?”

²⁵⁴⁾ “i don’t care if we both get hypothermia, i’m not sharing a sleeping bag with you!”

²⁵⁵⁾ “do you hate me?”

²⁵⁶⁾ “please don’t leave.”

²⁵⁷⁾ “i’m sorry i missed dinner.”

²⁵⁸⁾ “i have a name, and it’s sure as hell not kid.”

²⁵⁹⁾ “you are a grown man, don’t pout.”

²⁶⁰⁾ “ah, look who’s awake.”

²⁶¹⁾ “if you’re after a ransom, i’m sorry to say you picked the wrong person.”

²⁶²⁾ “don’t you dare track all that sawdust in here! leave your boots at the door.”

²⁶³⁾ “if you’re not here to pay my tab, you can leave.”

²⁶⁴⁾ “you’re so warm.”

²⁶⁵⁾ “bit kinky for a monday morning, don’t you think?”

²⁶⁶⁾ “not again!”

²⁶⁷⁾ “i think i pulled something.”

²⁶⁸⁾ “kiss me.”

²⁶⁹⁾ “watcha reading?”

²⁷⁰⁾ “i ordered room service. possibly on your card.”

²⁷¹⁾ “this isn’t gonna work out.”

²⁷²⁾ “i saved you a seat.”

²⁷³⁾ “the dog got ahold of your scarf.”

²⁷⁴⁾ “i want to see my son.”

²⁷⁵⁾ “my friend’s an ass, i’m sorry.”

²⁷⁶⁾ “please, she could scare the balls off a brass monkey with a single look.”

²⁷⁷⁾ “you’re an almerciful pain the ass.”

²⁷⁸⁾ “give my compliments to the chef.”

²⁷⁹⁾ “wanna catch a movie at the weekend?”

²⁸⁰⁾ “you said i only had to stay for an hour- you got an hour and seven minutes! what more could you possibly want from me?!”

²⁸¹⁾ “i think i left my phone at the bar.”

²⁸²⁾ “... why is there a pool noodle in the hall?”

²⁸³⁾ “can you turn the lights off?”

²⁸⁴⁾ “was any of it real?”

²⁸⁵⁾ “do i want to know how you got that nickname.”

²⁸��⁾ “you’re like if an angel had a very severe ketamine problem.”

²⁸⁷⁾ “i think i fucked up my ankle last night.”

²⁸⁸⁾ “take the sunglasses off.”

²⁸⁹⁾ “i don’t know how i’m going to forgive you for this.”

²⁹⁰⁾ “i can’t believe i fell for this shit again.”

²⁹¹⁾ “morning, killer.”

²⁹²⁾ “who names a goldfish andrew?”

²⁹³⁾ “... i could’ve sworn you had too eyebrows last time we spoke.”

²⁹⁴⁾ “i’m scared shitless of dolls.”

²⁹⁵⁾ “how’d you get the shiner?”

²⁹⁶⁾ “here, let me help.”

²⁹⁷⁾ “look, my tomatoes are finally ripe!”

²⁹⁸⁾ “you can hold my hand, if it’d help.”

²⁹⁹⁾ “i brought you croissants. as like, um, an olive branch.”

³⁰⁰⁾ “do you trust me?”

[yaoibrainworms]

oh baby. oh mama. I love this au and I am cooking something.

Okay, I had a couple hours and I wanted to make a scenario for my last post

I like the thought of Fionna, Cake and Simon doing goofy little crossover missions that Prismo heavily suggests they go on but cant actually assign

I like to think he has 0 memory of being the actual Winter King. Then he regains them and decides to become Simon Petri-cough drop for the rest of his life

Please dont repost/reupload to other websites :)

[fluffyartbl0g]

FUCKED UP BEETLE

PROBLEM

So you're having a totally fine day by all accounts and then it instantly goes to shit just because you pass by a fucked up beetle hidden in the grass. You've seen bugs dead all the time, so what. So what if its torn up wings and cracked shell definitely mean that some random kids fucked it up before it died. So what if your dad was drunk and high all the time and screamed at you and you fucked C over and you fuck everything up. SO WHAT. No amount of therapy or 'healthy coping mechanisms' or 'unpacking of trauma' will ever erase the ultimate truth underneath. You are intrinsically, hopelessly fucked.

-3 Volition: Fucked in the head

SOLUTION

You're going to wake up the next morning totally fine again. In fact, Harry's probably going to put some extra effort into making breakfast nice to cheer you up--which will actually kind of annoy you, but in a way that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. Sure, you still get stuck in your head sometimes about sad shit, but you're dealing with it better and better, and the days where you actually feel like someone are beginning to far outnumber the days you don't. For now, you hug him a little bit tighter. You're safe now.

-1 Composure: Permanently a little bit fucked

+2 Volition: You're going to be okay

_

transcript under read more

VARIOUS CANDY WRAPPERS SPLAYED OUT ON THE TABLE: The label reads 'BLUE DREAM'. Unlike what its colour may suggest, it is not flavoured a blueberry or bubblegum, but vanilla.

[A red orb appears above Harry's head]

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] - The air has been shifted ever so slightly. He's trying to breathe correctly, but blurs of thought keep flickering through his mind. This continued for the entire thirteen minute trek home.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - A loud thunk rattles across the room as Cuno closes the door, he looks out of breath

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He's barely holding it together

CUNO - He looks up at you with a yelp, "Fuckin hell! Wasn't the pig supposed to be out investigating some shit?"

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - He didn't want you seeing him like this, answer his question, he'll leave if you ask him about it first.

1. "Did something happen?"

2. "You look like you ran a damn marathon kid, what's up?"

3. "I had to quickly come back to snag some important evidence for the case" (point to various candy wrappers)

CUNO - He scrunches his brow "That mean you're getting your ass outta Cuno's face soon?"

DRAMA [Easy: Fail] - Wow. He didn't even ask about the wrappers!

EMPATHY [Difficult: Success] - He doesn't want to be alone

1. "Did something happen?"

PERCEPTION [Difficult: Fail] - Cuno's hands tremble as he mumbles out a whisper of words you can't make out

1. Cuno?

[Harry reaches out to comfort him, but Cuno sees this and snaps at him]

CUNO - "NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED ALRIGHT? THINGS HAVE BEEN FUUUCKIN PEACHY TODAY"

"CUNO GOT A FUCKIN A ON HIS ESSAY, ABSOLUTELY WENT DOWN ON A DELICIOUS FUCKIN KEBAB YA HEAR?

CUNO - He pauses. "Nothin fuckin happened today. It's all me. Cuno's the one thats all fucked up"

He starts choking up by the end of that,

(a yellow orb is seen above Harry's head as he looks at cuno breaking down [it's reaction speed])

Harry hugs him

CUNO - "Fuck"

KUUNO - He hugs back tightly

[solbaby7]

Sugar Kisses

warnings: sexual themes (not really smut but def alludes to it) , swearing, oral fixations, poor poker descriptions, idkkk i just picture cassian to be soft and flustered on the outside when he’s down bad but lowkey obsessed asf on the inside 🙂‍↕️

summary: Cassian has a sweet tooth for you and the things you do.

—

Cassian had come to the conclusion that lust was a shapeshifter.

Tonight, it seemed to favor you—setting up shop in the curves of your body and easing into the strappy little tank tops you favored and those flowy lounge pants that accentuated the curve of your ass.

Such simplicity and yet Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Utterly hypnotized—fixated solely on your mouth and the bright pink gum stuck between pearly white teeth. The slightly obnoxious chewing is soothed by the slow swipe of your tongue flattening it out, full lips parted, cheeks slightly puffing and the fruity scent blows his way when the bubble pops prematurely.

Your nose wrinkles in displeasure, tongue retrieving the remnants and tucking it back in your mouth to restart the process.

He’s hooked. Fingers digging roughly into the leathers on his thighs, worn fabric straining under the pressure but it holds strong. “Can I have another one?” Cassian hears you ask, a grin growing on your face when Azriel complies without even sparing a glance away from his cards. He pulls another from his pocket, handing it over with nothing more than a ruffle of the wrapper.

Mor huffs from her spot beside you, possessively hiding her cards as the game finally starts getting good. Her leg crosses over the other, upper body sinking further into the soft cushions when she cuts her eyes to Az and the pocket of treats he’d been steadily loading you with the whole night. “You’ve given her two already—if I have to hear her jaw smacking through this whole game, then I quit.”

Azriel breaks a smile, peeking over seven cards. “Was that a formal forfeit?”

And so it begins, that familiar banter that filled the living space once a week when the entirety of the Inner Circle gathered for family game night. It had been Azriel’s turn to pick and he always chose poker—robbing the High Lord and Lady of more gold coins than they cared to admit before deciding to sit the next round out to nurse their drinks instead.

They’re all so lax; so casual. While Cassian’s heart thudded like a bass drum against his chest, unable to stop noticing the way you were draped across the couch, taunting him with your every move. Painted fingers peel away at the faded red parchment before another bright ball of bubblegum was popped in your mouth.

It takes two whole minutes for you to smoothen everything out, all three pieces combining into one giant blob. Your cheek bulges on the side you chew on, lips sticky and tongue tinted. “That’s disgusting,” Mor whines, muttering complaints about the affects so much sugar would have on your teeth.

You take it in stride, rolling your eyes playfully as you pull your feet from her lap to move elsewhere. “Fine,” The lingering scent of your body wash fills Cassian’s nose when you plop down beside him with no regard for personal space or knowledge of the complete filth running rampant in his brain. “I’ll be disgusting over here—you don’t mind, do you Cass?”

Wide eyes framed by thick lashes peer up at him. They’re glassy, a side affect of the whiskey no doubt and an easy smile grows across his cheeks, body shifting to make room for you. “Not at all,” He answers softly, hoping that you don’t notice the way he all but shoves a pillow into his lap before your head finds a home there.

It’s not unusual. You were always the most affectionate when you were a little tipsy; five times more inclined to settle into whatever warmth you could find no matter who it came from and usually Cassian wouldn’t have minded. But you’re all sprawled out, hair fanning messily down his thigh with your neck bared and cheeks rosy.

The perfect temptation just within arms reach.

Tunnel vision takes over, golden eyes catching on the flimsy dip of your neckline. The soft fat of your breasts spilling upwards and Cassian actually finds himself jealous of the shiny gold necklace that rests between them.

“Why aren’t you playing?” Your voice pulls him from the trance, dragging his gaze back up to your eyes and a distinct warmth creeps up the back of his neck. “Usually we have to drag you away from the table.”

“Saving my luck for something more special.”

Someone more special, was more like it.

You hum in acknowledgement, finger twirling around the gum until bright pink fades into dusky hues from the strain. “Like what?” Cassian follows the hypnotic wrapping of your finger in the sweet treat, the pretty color a stark contrast to the dark polish on your fingers. Hearty laughs and soft chatter weaves a comforting symphony in the background as ice cubes melt in crystal glasses, watering down aged booze and creating a ring of condensation on the polished wood table. “Did some pretty little thing catch your eye?” You mean it as a joke and yet even after a few drinks you’re still terrifyingly attuned to Cassian’s shift in body language. His mouth clamping shut, hazel eyes drifting off to anywhere else—and maybe it was the firelight but you were certain you’d caught soft peachy tones beginning to warm his cheeks.

“Maybe.”

A flicker of emotion darkens your eye but it’s gone before Cassian can name it. “Do tell—I can keep a secret.” The same finger wrapped in pink raises to your mouth, glossy lips wrapping around until it disappears down to the knuckle.

Moisture coats his tongue, golden eyes shadowed with desire directed towards you and you alone. Maybe it’s the distraction that has the truth spewing from his mouth as if he’d injected a truth serum. “She’s—“ The crackling heat from the firelight feels slightly less comfortable now and Cassian can’t resist the way his body adjusts, hips bucking to settle better into the cushions. “Sweet.”

“That’s it?” You deadpan, the gum chewing momentarily pausing. “Come on, Cassian. I know you can give me more than that.”

It was a poor choice of words, like fuel being added to an already blazing fire. Need burns under the surface of Cassian’s skin, singing away at his self-control and his fingers itch to swipe away the strands of hair that tease at your collarbones. “She tests my self-control,” He answers vaguely, listing superficial features to mask the way honeyed eyes melt from the warmth lacing every word. “Wears my patience thin but otherwise a total dream.”

A total dream.

Your lips part to reply when Mor shouts her displeasure, throwing her hand of cards to the table while Az greedily slides his winnings to his side, shadows swiftly stacking like coins in neat piles. “You have to be cheating!”

“Come on, Mor. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Her wine sloshes over the rim of her glass, bright red seeping into a similar shade on her dress but Mor doesn’t mind a bit. Pointing an accusatory finger your way, her cheeks flush in frustration. “He cheated and you were an accomplice with that stupid gum.”

“If that’s all it takes to distract you then shuffle the deck,” You muse, making a show of blowing bubbles through your teeth and Cassian has to hide his laughter behind his knuckles when Mor flinches at the sharp sound. “I’ve been eying a pair of earrings in town— it’ll be the sweetest treat to purchase them with your money.”

“Oh, you’re on. If I win, you’re going to buy those earrings and then you’re going to give them to me.” Her heels are kicked off, the hem of her dress bunched up to make enough room for her legs to cross comfortably on the couch. “But, you have to spit that shit out first.”

With an eye roll you comply, showing off your tongue in all its stained glory. “Happy now?”

“..you swallowed it?”

“Spitters are for quitters.” Azriel spares his brother a glance, noting his fixed stare and that barely restrained clench of his jaw. The grip on the throw pillow conveniently placed in Cassian’s lap tightens, though it doesn’t hide a thing with the spicy scent of arousal tinging the air. “And, I don’t like to lose.”

Mor pauses her shuffling, eyes a little bleary and hands shaky from the alcohol. “Hm, maybe I should just forfeit before you end up conning me into giving you my apartment.”

“I do love your balcony.” You mumbled thoughtfully. “Private and with a view.” Crisp cards rustle against one another while you adjust the unruly ones and split it in two to shuffle. “The things a girl could do.”

Now you’re just being cruel, Cassian thinks. Mind wandering to the picture you’ve painted. You dressed in some skimpy silks or see-through gossamer, the winds chill cooling sweat slick skin after the rigorous physical activity the General would make you endure.

He gets stuck fantasizing about flushed cheeks and unbound hair. Lacy panties left in a messy heap on the floor and duvet sheets that reek of sex. Breakfast in bed with a sappy sunrise illuminating mouth shaped bruises along your neck while hand feeding you chopped fruit.

A fools dream. A sinners fantasy. A need that refuses to go unfulfilled.

“We doing this or not?”

Complying ends up being Mor’s downfall, with every second that passes you conjure up some new way to goad her on—adding to the stakes and then grinning like a fool when sliding the earnings over to your side. A shiny gold key dangles from one of your fingers, palms cradling a pouch of coins, a triumphant glow gracing your cheeks. “I hate you,” Mor grumbles but it only makes you laugh harder, hips shimmying in a little victory dance. “I’m going to bed.”

“Enjoy my sheets,” You tease, jubilance evident in the grin you sport as you wave her goodbye and even Azriel can’t fight a smile at the antics, your joy too contagious. “I’ll definitely be enjoying yours!”

Cassian tracks your exit, grinning to himself about the pep in your step and once you’ve finally gotten out of earshot he faces his brother. Azriel’s already looking, a knowing expression lingering in his eye as he pockets his winnings. “She can’t winnow, you know.” Cass’ brows furrow in confusion. “It’s dark out,” Az continues, tone holding a restrained amusement. “And awfully late for a female to be out travelling alone.”

“I don’t know what you—“

“Take her home, Cass.” There’s an annoying amount of smugness settling into the line of Azriel’s shoulders. It festers in his stride, steps casual and lacking any real urgency as if he wasn’t unveiling the crush his brother has had on you for years. “I know you want to—whole room fucking stinks of it.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, fuck her. Seriously, the sexual tension is making dinners unbearable.”

Az leaves him there, lips parted in what appears to be shock but Cassian identifies the feeling that emerges rather quickly.

He knows he shouldn’t haven taken it the way he does.

Like permission.

As if the locks to his cage had been picked open, iron bars creaking agape; urging Cassian forward, crooning for him to seek out what he’d fixated on during the entirety of his imprisonment.

Colorful candies and the stain they leave behind. Sticky lips, sugar kisses and coy smiles. Strappy pajamas with pretty lace trim. Dainty gold jewelry. Unbound hair and soft skin that smells of cocoa butter and comfort.

A sweet thing that Cassian’s just dying to sink his teeth into. He barely notices the way he seeks you out, body moving on autopilot; nose greedily huffing in the trail of your perfume until he sets eyes on you and the duffle bag at your feet. “Make a wrong turn, General?”

“M’not that drunk.” He hides the greedy flinch of his fingers by grabbing your things instead, just barely grazing the curve of your ankle—he thinks his hand would make the perfect chain around it. All his. Locked in place; to do with as he pleased. “Just here playing escort.”

“Only playing? Could’ve sworn you were trying your luck on something sweet.”

That makes him double-take. A brow raising as he’s frozen in place, watching the swish of your hips while you walk down the hall.

He’s certain he’s imagined it; the teasing way you’ve dangled a hot meal before a starving animal. But he can smell the sustenance, swears he can feel a hearty supper filling his maw and settling in his belly. Watches the way you peer over at him through half-lidded eyes, tongue stained red when it wets supple lips. “Hurry now, Cassie.” The strap of your shirt dips down the curve of your shoulder, lashes fluttery and flirtatious when you lean against the doorway. “Luck runs out.”

[wisteria-lodge]

I know the Doylist answer for Neville's parents being at St. Mungos is because JKR wanted to show what had happened to them and didn't think Neville would just bring it up like he does in the movies, but what would the Watsonian answer be for why they are kept in St. Mungo's instead of at the Longbottom house? At this point it seems to be there is no hope for them getting better, so why keep them there? I don't think something like upsetting Neville would be enough for Augusta to not let them stay.

That's a really good question. And I think my Watsonian answer... is that it's not too upsetting for Neville, it's too upsetting for Augusta.

Like, here's how they both respond to Alice giving Neville a bubblegum wrapper:

“Very nice, dear,” said Neville’s grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder. But Neville said quietly, “Thanks Mum.”

Like... it's Augusta who's uncomfortable with this interaction, right? Neville seems fine. It's also Augusta who prompts Neville to throw the wrapper out after they leave the room.

In general, I just don't think Augusta is able to process what happened to her son, at all. It seems like she's coping (...sort of...) by telling herself that Neville *is* Frank, and punishing him whenever something challenges that narrative. She gives Neville Frank's wand to use - which massively sabotages his ability to do magic, to the degree that Neville calls himself "almost a squib." The Longbottoms have money too, this isn't a Weasley cost-cutting situation.

Augusta also tries to get Neville to take NEWT Transfiguration (even though he doesn't qualify), calling NEWT Charms a "soft option" and apparently not even mentioning his best subject, Herbology. Like he can't take Transfiguration, and she's still insisting that he sign up. It's sounding like willful delusion at this point.

This is what she says to Harry, Ron and Hermione the first time she meets them:

"He’s a good boy,” she said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, “but he hasn’t got his father’s talent, I’m afraid to say . . .”

Earlier in the same book Neville mentions that

"Gran’s always telling Professor Marchbanks [the NEWT proctor] I’m not as good as my dad."

McGonagall tells Augusta that she should be "proud of the grandson she's got, rather than the one she thinks she ought to have." Like has Augusta Longbottom brought this up with EVERY person she has ever met?

So that's my analysis. Augusta doesn't want Neville to be successful in school, she wants him to be Frank, and if he is successful in a way that Frank wasn't, then that's also a failure in her eyes. And having Frank at home would force her to confront the situation in a way she just isn't able to handle.

[stochastique-blog]

false

Fort Dodge gum, from Italy, c.1980

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…gumdrop!reader

gumdrop!reader…who has a consistent diet of coca cola and candy. she lives off of constant sugar rushes, and eats no proper meals because she’s lazy.

gumdrop!reader…who could be smart if she applied herself, but unfortunately does not. she hates studying more than she hates the kids at her school. so instead she settles for B’s and C+’s.

gumdrop!reader…who hates men so much, everyone assumes she’s some overly passionate feminist. but she’s not, because she hates the girls in her school as much as she hates men. she especially hates the one’s who pretend to be a girl’s girl, but are really fake. she prefers to just be outright in her hatred of others.

gumdrop!reader…who looks like a loner to everyone else, but is quite content with how she is. soda cans tossed around her dorm room, blankets all over the place and candy bar wrappers everywhere but the bin. no one shares a room with her, so who is she bothering?

gumdrop!reader…who gets dress coded by all the teachers, but only because she dresses like a five year old. she wears tops too tight for her, plucked out of god knows what store because they’ve got strawberry shortcake plastered all over it. she wears colourful tights and mismatched shit for the fun of it. it’s not that she likes how she dresses, she just doesn’t give a damn.

gumdrop!reader…who everyone thinks is super weird, a little geek who probably sounds like a regressed child when she opens her mouth. and then are in for the shock of their life when a sarcastic, monotonous drawl answers their jokes.

gumdrop!reader…who some kid once spat a paper ball at the back of her head in science class. she spent the entirety of lunch chewing bubblegum to stick over his locker, she went through a whole ten tubs.

gumdrop!reader…who hates the boys in the dorm next door. they blast loud music at night when she’s just trying to blow bubbles with her gum while hanging upside down on her bed.

gumdrop!reader…who zips up a bright orange zipper when she leaves her room at midnight to knock on their door. red rimmed eyes from a lack of sleep, not that them turning off the music would help with her insomnia.

gumdrop!reader…who’s so unfazed when she’s greeted by a 6” something frat boy, shirtless with low hanging sweatpants. she just demands, albeit dryly that he “turns the music down.”

gumdrop!reader…who doesn’t hesitate to push past him when all he does is chuckle, looking over his shoulder to his equally idiotic friends. she disconnects the speakers, barging past him again with the cord in her hand.

best paired with…fratboy!rafe (tw: drug & alcohol addiction)

fratboy!rafe…who lived off coke too. just not the same type as gumdrop!reader. he’d always show up to class high, maybe he even had sunglasses over his eyes to hide the red.

fratboy!rafe…who sat at the back of the class, and would shoot paper balls at the teachers when their heads were turned. or maybe he’d even shoot it at some of the weird kids. only one day, he went to his locker after class to find large masses of gum stuck all over it.

fratboy!rafe…who dislikes feeling alone, because it’s when his thoughts get loudest. so he hosts parties at his dorms every night, getting high and not having to think about his father’s expectations when there are girls waiting on him.

fratboy!rafe…who walks around campus like he owns it, probably because his dad could afford this whole place. he’d be in a better school if he had the grades for it, but he’s not smart enough and sees no reason to become smarter either.

fratboy!rafe…who gets attention from all types of girls. girls who believe they can fix him, try to give him study sessions and are too pure of heart to shoot a line with him. or girls who get dress-coded for their clothes, or lack thereof. girls who’d love to party, love to get drunk and high with him, and also would love to kiss another guy.

fratboy!rafe…who’s getting quickly sick of his life. every party leaves him empty, his friends look more and more like dicks each and every time he looks at them, and all the shit he does is just temporarily filling his hole.

fratboy!rafe…who doesn’t know if he’s offended or grateful when his neighbour barges past him and stops his party. on one hand, it’s an excuse to kick everyone out, on the other, he feels empty again.

fratboy!rafe…who spends the next few days wondering about the brief interaction. how you didn’t even look at him when there were girls climbing over him. how weirdly you were dressed all the time, how you didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of you. who only hums when his friends make some joke about you because of what happened that night. who decides to host his parties again, just to see if you’ll show up again, because he needs to know how you do it. how do you act so uncaring?

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Kaji Sharing His Candy

♡ SFW, suggestive, gn reader, boyfriend!Kaji, cursing, indirect kiss, hinted spit swapping ♡

note: he's been on my mind real bad y'all 😫 Kiryu as a piercer next? Mayhaps 🤭

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You and Kaji had only been dating for a few weeks when you noticed his little habit. Whenever he was frustrated he'd dig in his pocket, fishing out a lollipop. His sharp teeth ripping the wrapper off easily before he popped the sweet treat in his mouth, the white stick poking out from between his soft lips. It's not like you meant to stare at him for so long, you just couldn't help it. He was just so pretty, the picture of perfection in your eyes. His eyes shifted from his phone to you and he pulled his headphones down, the music blasting out of them.

"Is something wrong? You're staring pretty hard."

"Nah...everything's fine."

"That's bullshit and you know it."

A small smile forms on Kaji's lips, his hand grasping at the stick of the sucker, pulling it from his mouth with a soft pop.

"Want a taste?" He asks nonchalantly, leaning closer and pressing the moist lollipop against your lips.

It's a relatively innocent action, but it still has your heart racing and damn near popping out of your chest. You silently nod, parting your lips and letting him put the lollipop in your mouth. It's warm from the heat of his mouth and tastes just like bubblegum. You let the flavor settle on your tongue before he slowly pulls the lollipop from your lips and puts it back in his mouth.

"Good, right? I'll take you to the candy store I go to after class." He says softly, pulling his headphones back in place and resuming his music binge. All you can muster is a quiet 'mhm' as you try to hide how flustered you are. You swear he'll be the death of you, and you're perfectly okay with that.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe @southside-otaku @xxchthonicreaturexx @evergreen-endo @hanmaslilslut @dystop4in14nd @mysouleaten

[pricesgirl]

Headphones on

Lifeguard!Chloe/fem!reader

C.W: Substance use, sexual content

──────────────── ★ ────────────────

Chloe fucking hated summer.

The sweat, the noise, and especially the job David had foisted upon her.

Lifeguarding.

Arcadia Bay didn’t even need lifeguarding.

The sea was cold as shit to start with, guaranteeing anyone dumb enough to dive in would be scampering back to Two Whales to snatch up a hot coffee and pretend they hadn’t just signed up for hypothermia.

But hey, at least it kept business booming for her mom.

Most days, the only swimmers were a ragtag crew of stubborn kids, too innocent for their own good, and the occasional clueless tourist who clearly missed out reading the fine print on their itinerary for the day.

But alas, there she was, perched like a withered gargoyle on the teal-faded lifeguard chair, looking just about as lively as a wilted dandelion—just like David.

She immediately grimaced, that asshole’s ugly mug had the goddamn nerve to invade her brain again.

“For fuck’s sake,” she groaned low, lifting her head just as Elliot—hopeful and irritating as ever, came bounding up like a golden retriever chasing a damn squirrel.

His brown hair had morphed into some sort of sun-bleached mess, and his eyes were bright as a kid who'd just nicked the last piece of candy from the bowel.

“Hey, Chloe,” he said, leaning against the chair with that cocky hip pop that made Chloe want to roll her eyes so hard they’d get stuck.

“Oh, hey Elliot,” she grunted, voice rough and tired, forcing on a smile that could curdle milk.

Elliot brightened like a fucking lightbulb.

God. Did he think that was flirting?

Idiot.

“So…you coming in with me today? I swear, the water’s better than it looks.”

She snorted, flinging her head back against the sun-bleached wood. “Better than it looks? Yeah, only if you’re a fucking masochist.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, all confidence and so, so much audacity.

Definitely overcompensating for something.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you would. See you later, Ice Queen.”

That wiped the smile right off his face. He muttered something assy under his breath before scuttling off, deflated.

Good.

She tugged her lifeguard cap down low, head tipping back to look up at the glaring sun.

“Go flirt with a jellyfish next time, desperate little fuck.”

Suddenly, the sun became way less interesting.

Her scowl twitched, caught mid-eye-roll, as something—or rather, someone, moved into her peripheral vision.

A girl.

A rather hot girl at that.

Chloe squinted, pushing her cap back just enough to get a better look without looking like she actually a shit.

You were barefoot, pink shorts hanging low on your hips, and Chloe swore she caught a glimpse of a swimsuit that was for sure doing all your flirting for you—scandalous enough to make her choke on her own spit.

And then she clocked the rest of you.

Pink wired headphones dangling from your pocket to your ears, matching your shorts like you planned that shit.

How pretentious.

A cigarette was tucked between your fingers like you’d just walked off the set of some ostentatious indie flick.

You looked exactly like trouble wrapped in a pink bubblegum wrapper.

Chloe’s type. Unfortunately.

“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging her hand down her face.

You hadn’t even noticed her yet, or if you had, you were doing a damn good job pretending you hadn’t.

You lit the cigarette with one hand, the other stuffed in your pocket, head tilted back like you were taste-testing the sky.

Of course you were hot and pretentious.

Bloody brilliant.

Chloe shifted in her chair, arms folding over her chest like some kind of defense against the very concept of you.

Like maybe if she glared hard enough, you’d spontaneously combust or trip on a rock do something to shatter what must be a facade.

But no.

You just stood there, pink and smug and devastating.

And suddenly, Chloe hated summer a little less.

Just a little.

──────────────── ★ ────────────────

You’d been coming to the beach every day for a week.

Chloe noticed. Of course she fucking noticed.

It was hard not to, when you sauntered in like clockwork—same time, same place, same smoke curling between your fingers like you were too chic to breathe regular air.

At first, Chloe figured you were just another rich kid runaway doing the edgy-townie cosplay thing—probably with a trust fund the size of Oregon sitting at home and daddy issues to match.

But then you started watching her.

Not in that quick glance, bored-eyes-wandering kind of way. No. You watched her like it was intentional. Like it meant something.

You’d drape yourself across your towel with all the grace of a lazy housecat, sunglasses sliding halfway down your nose, or you'd lean against the railing just next to her chair.

And your gaze, without fail, always found her.

And stayed.

Chloe pretended not to notice. Some days she pretended not to care. It was easier that way—easier to act like her stomach didn’t tighten every time you looked at her like you were picking her apart with a scalpel made of sunlight.

She'd sit up straighter in her lifeguard chair. Fix her cap. Cross one leg over the other just because it made her look taller.

She didn’t know what the hell she was doing.

Just that you were watching.

And then today—of course today, you took it a step further.

You waved.

Not a shy little flick of the fingers. Not a tentative maybe-this-is-a-mistake kind of gesture.

No. You waved like you owned her attention, like the whole damn beach was your personal stage and Chloe was just another extra in your indie-dream sequence.

She blinked. Then she scowled, glanced behind her like maybe you were actually waving at someone else.

Nope.

It was her.

You. Were waving. At her.

Chloe froze, spine going rigid, her brain short-circuiting behind mirrored lenses. Her hand twitched like it was thinking about waving back, but she quickly turned it into a fake hair scratch.

Smooth. So fucking smooth.

Your smile was slow, like you were in on the joke. Like you’d seen the twitch.

Goddammit.

She looked away so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, eyes locking on some random fucking seagull like it had eternal wisdom of the universe.

Cool.

Chill.

Very not-flustered lifeguard behavior.

“Go drown in style, why don’t you,” she muttered under her breath, glaring so hard at the bird it seemingly took the hint and flew back over the sea.

But it was no use. You were still in her periphery. Still there, all pink and effortless and infuriating, like someone had dipped sin in sunscreen and dropped it directly into her line of sight.

And fuck—

Now you were walking over.

No. No no no. You weren’t walking—you were strutting, hips doing that little sway thing people do when they know eyes are on them.

Hers were.

Against her will.

Traitor eyes.

Chloe pushed her sunglasses higher up her nose, her teeth grinding slightly as you closed the distance between you. Her pulse was loud in her ears now, thudding like a warning sign—red alert, red alert, hot girl approaching, abort mission.

She didn’t move.

She didn’t even breathe.

You stopped just a few feet away, close enough for her to smell the mix of sunscreen and nicotine clinging to your skin as you leaned on the rail of her tower like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Hey,” you starter, voice all honey and ocean breeze.

Chloe blinked. Stared. Swallowed.

And then—

“Fuck off.”

It came out too fast, too harsh, too her—because if she didn’t say something now, she might say something nice, and that was not the brand.

Your smile didn’t even falter.

In fact, it widened, so much that she swore your face was about to split open like a ripe pomegranate.

Like you’d just found her adorable.

Which pissed her off.

And made her heart do a stupid flip.

“Cool,” you said, exhaling smoke out the side of your mouth. “I’ll try again tomorrow.”

──────────────── ★ ────────────────

And you did.

Not just tomorrow, but the day after. And the day after that.

Like clockwork,every single day at around 2 p.m—you showed up. Pink shorts, pink headphones and a cigarette in your hand, and that maddeningly soft smile that made Chloe’s insides twist in ways she refused to admit.

You were a presence. A pulse.

A problem.

And Chloe was done pretending she wasn’t noticing.

It had been seven days.

Seven days of stolen glances and heat rising beneath her skin.

Seven days of keeping her sunglasses on so her eyes wouldn’t betray her.

Seven days of trying—and failing—to ignore the way her stomach sank whenever you looked her way.

Seven. Fucking. Days.

Every morning, climbing into the lifeguard tower, she promised herself today would be different.

She’d tell you to stop hanging around. To stop making her job harder. To stop being so fucking pretty just out of reach.

The ocean’s glare bounced off her sunglasses as she squinted down the beach.

There you were. Again.

Same pink headphones. Same slow, half-smirk. Same cigarette balanced between your fingers like it was part of you.

She’d had enough.

Suddenly, she threw her clipboard onto the seat behind her and climbed down from her tower, feet sinking into the sand with purpose.

“You’re unbelievable,” she called, voice dry as salt.

You turned, cigarette raised, brow arched like you’d been waiting for this. “Afternoon to you too.”

"Do you get off on this or some shit?" she snapped, the heat crawling up her neck so fast it made her ears ring. "Because if not, you'll probably need to get checked for somethin'."

You plucked out your headphone, let it dangle on your chest, resting on the swell of your breast. “Sorry, what was that?”

Her eyes—those goddamn traitors—followed the headphone’s path like it was a magnet, tracing the curve of your chest through that swimsuit.

Holy shit.

Chloe’s mouth went dry. Her sunglasses couldn’t hide the way her pupils dilated. Couldn’t hide the way her teeth sank into her lower lip, already imaging the taste of your sun slick skin on her tongue.

“You’re making it really, really hard not to say fuck it and make a very poor decision.”

Your grin curved slowly. “So don’t.”

She glared. Or tried to. But the rose blooming on her neck and ears gave her away.

“Meet me in the lifeguard hut after my shift.”

You blinked, looking genuinely surprised, her comment throwing your otherwise curated, silk pressed image into a state of disarray.

Your cigarette hovered mid-air. Then lowered.

Chloe had never seen you thrown off before. Not once in seven days of slow, calculated torture.

But now, your eyes flicked over her face, searching. Confirming.

“…Seriously?” you asked, softer this time. Less teasing, more tentitivity.

Chloe didn’t blink, she'd had enough of the ridiculous game, the ridicule you’d been putting her through. “Dead.”

“…Alright,” you said, voice a little lower now. “After your shift.”

Her gaze held yours for a second longer than it should have. Daring you. Daring herself.

Chloe turned on her heel and walked away, the sand crunching underneath her feet, her shoulders tight and arms swinging stiffly at her sides.

You watched her.

You watched from behind your rose tinted sunglasses, lips parted slightly, cigarette forgotten between your fingers. The tension sat thick in the air, like a storm holding its breath.

You didn’t even smile this time.

You just exhaled smoke slow and steady, and whispered to no one, “Fuck.”

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The sun had slipped beneath the horizon like it was hiding something, leaving the sky bruised and the beach drenched in shadows.

You stood at the door to the lifeguard hut for a moment—just breathing. The ocean whispered behind you, like it knew what was about to happen and was trying to cool the heat bleeding under your skin.

When you opened the door, it gave a low creak before allowing you to step in.

Chloe was already inside.

She was near the back wall, shadowed, arms crossed like she was holding herself together. Her shoulders were bare, freckled and sun-kissed, her collarbone covered in a sheen of sweat.

Her sunglasses were gone—finally—and her eyes, stripped of armor, landed on you like a blow.

You didn’t speak. Neither did she.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, like two animals in the dark, both waiting for the other to move first.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” she said, her voice ragged around the edges, like a blade dragged too fast over stone.

You shut the door without turning and leaned against it, spine straight, voice soft. “You told me to.”

A scoff, almost a laugh, slipped from her lips, bitter and breathless. “I didn’t think you listened to anything that didn’t come out of your own damn mouth.”

“I listen.” You paused momentarily. “Especially when you’re flushed and bossy.”

That stopped her cold, her throat bobbed, her eyes flickering down your frame taking it in, the pink shorts, the linen shirt barely hiding your practically miniscule bikini.

“You think this is a joke?” she asked, stepping forward.

One step.

Two.

“You’ve been walking around here like you’ve got no idea what you’re doing. Like I haven’t spent a week choking on my own tongue every time you so much as breathe in my direction.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Her jaw clenched. “Then why—”

“Because I wanted you to snap first.”

That did it.

Her mouth opened—then closed, completely lost for words.

Then she surged forward, grabbed you by the fabric of your linen shirt and yanked you into her.

Her lips crashed against yours, the kiss too hard, too hot—not enough.

A startled noise escaped you, caught off guard. You’d expected her to snap, maybe even shove you, but this… this was something else.

She kissed you like she was furious at herself for wanting you this much.

Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, and she was there a breath later—pressing into you like she meant to carve herself into your silhouette. Her thigh slipped between yours, the muscle of it unyielding, demanding.

You gasped into her mouth, only for the sound to be swallowed down greedily by her lips.

Her hands found the hem of your shirt, fingers slipping underneath with a kind of reverence that didn’t match the harshness in her kiss.

Her touch was hot, feverish, some sort of self inflicted punishment for every second she hadn’t already been touching you.

Your lips parted against hers on instinct.

Letting her in.

Letting her take.

And she took—greedy, aching, relentless, tongue slipping into your mouth, teeth sinking into your lip, taking every piece of you that you laid out so prettily just for her.

Her mouth parted from yours and immediately found your jaw, placing open mouthed kisses onto the tender flesh. “You drive me fucking insane,” she whimpered, voice breaking against your skin. “Standing out there every day, looking like that…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to tease her for finally cracking, but all that spilled from your lips was a wrecked, “C–Chloe—”

God, she ached at the sound of her name in your voice—high and breathless and sticky with want.

She swore she could feel it in her chest.

“You have no idea,” she groaned, low and ruinous, as her hand slipped beneath your open linen shirt.

Her fingers found your breast through the thin fabric, thumb dragging over your hardened nipple with sinful intent. “What you've been doing to me.”

“I have somewhat of an idea,” you whispered, lips parted, eyes lidded, hips already arching up to meet her touch.

You looked like temptation dressed in sunshine—like the ocean had carved you specifically just to haunt her.

“Oh yeah?” she rasped, her knuckles brushing along the underside of your breast. “Then tell me, smartass—what am I thinking right now?”

You smirked your eyes dragging lazily over her face. “You’re thinking if I keep talking, you’re gonna forget all that lifeguard training and absolutely ruin me in your workplace.”

Her laugh broke out of her like something wrecked—breathless, ragged, more moan than mirth. “God, you’re so fucking infuriating.”

“Am I wrong?”

“...No.”

And then your lips crashed together again—messy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth—and her hands were already under your shirt, tearing it over your head like it offended her.

Fuck training.

Fuck rules.

And fuck you.

She yanked your bikini strap off your shoulder letting the fabric fall, eyes burning with satisfaction at every inch she uncovered.

Your bikini bunched uselessly at your ribs—and suddenly, you were bare.

Your breasts catching the last blush of dusk like they were meant to be seen in low light, soft and heaving.

Art made pornographic.

“Jesus,” she breathed, voice cracking, swim shorts suddenly feeling significantly damper—and not from the ocean.

You were obscene.

Perfect in the most unholy fucking way.

So flushed and pliant, your legs parted just enough, sitting there like you knew exactly just how ruined she was for you.

Chloe dropped to her knees like gravity yanked her down. The wooden planks were warm beneath her skin, the grit of sand biting into her flesh—but she hardly felt it.

Not with you like this.

Not with sin incarnate looking her dead in the eye.

Those pink shorts. Fuck. Those shorts had no right to still be on you.

“Lift,” she rasped, already digging her fingers into your hips.

The moment you shifted, hips rising just enough, she yanked them down, slowly, deliberately—those slutty pink shorts sliding off with your bikini bottoms in one wet pull, dragging slickness down your thighs.

Her mouth went dry.

You were dripping.

So wet it clung to your skin in strands—dripping for her like your cunt knew she was coming.

Her fingers traced up your inner thighs, “Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered, breath catching. “You’re soaked.”

“Don’t tease me,” you managed to say, voice wrecked and breaking apart.

Chloe just grinned, eyes still locked on your cunt like it held goddamn gravity. “You’ve been teasing me all fucking week, it’s only fair.”

Her mouth hit you like a punch, hot, hungry, and so damn desperate.

Her tongue dragged a filthy stripe up your slit before circling your clit with slow, almost mocking care.

You gasped, hips jolting. “F-Fuck—Chloe—”

She moaned into you like she was the one getting devoured. Her hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging in hard enough to purple blooming underneath.

One finger slipped forward, teasing the edge of your entrance, slick with your arousal.

“You’re dripping,” she muttered again, voice muffled by your cunt. “Messy fucking girl…”

And then, without warning—she sunk two fingers inside of you.

You choked on a moan, hips jerking, hands clawing at the edge of the counter for something to hold.

Chloe pumped her fingers fast, deep and purposeful—her knuckles brushing up against your heat with every thrust, curling just enough to make your vision flash white.

Her mouth never stopped working your clit, tongue flicking, then flattening, then sucking.

The noises were obscene—wet, filthy, constant.

Slap slap slap—her palm against your soaked folds.

Every thrust of her fingers forced more slick down her wrist, drenching her hand and coating her chin as she kept mouthing your clit like a girl possessed.

“Chloe! Chloe—I’m gonna—”

She groaned against you, picking up the pace, fingers plunging harder, tongue pressing down harder—and then you shattered.

Your whole body seized, back arching, a sob catching in your throat as pleasure ripped through you. You felt yourself clench around her fingers, pulsing, soaking her, the orgasm crashing down so hard it hurt.

Her fingers slowed, then stilled, still warm and slick inside you. She pulled back just enough to press soft, lingering kisses along your thighs, breath heavy but gentle.

You were trembling, chest rising and falling as the waves of your release slowly settled.

Sitting back on her heels, still between your legs she grinned.

One thing was for sure.

Chloe didn’t hate summer anymore.

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authors note: hiii, this is for the lovely pride month prompts i had such a blast writing this, it's my first time writing for "you" so i hope it isn't shit, happy pride month <3