#much to think about.... much to ponder......

[bballesbolol]

The Game we Play

Paige x Azzi boarding school roommates AU

Warnings: none

a/n: I’ve pretty much fully reworked this chapter from the original draft, so if you read the first one, trust me, you’ll think this is way better.

wc: 3.3k

Chapter 1

Paige:

Paige’s freshman year basketball season was perfect. She was the starting point guard at Hopkins High. She was recognized as a first team All-Star in her region. She led her team in scoring. She helped carry her high school team into the state tournament, one of it’s deepest runs yet. She was successful, no doubt. And she loved Hopkins, but she dreamed of playing basketball in college.

And not just at some mid-major university. She wanted real, all-American Division one basketball. She wanted to be the best. And to be the best, she had to play with the best.

And so came her hunt for a new school. One where she could really focus on developing her game.

Luckily, her skill was enough to draw scouts from some pretty elite private schools, all willing to throw scholarship money at her if she decided to play with them. Of course, she had found herself hoping to go to some big athletic school, somewhere like IMG: big and modern and basically a year round skills camp with a side of learning.

But her parents refused to let her, they thought that school should come first, a philosophy that Paige utterly despised. I mean, it was her basketball talent that got her into the school in the first place, and unless she wanted to play basketball at Harvard, her grades were really just background noise.

But according to her parents, “her future was undecided” and “she was only going into her sophomore year”, and “basketball wasn’t everything”. Obviously out of touch with reality.

She had never been an academic, and if her future unfolded how she hoped, she definitely wouldn’t be one anytime soon. So it was a given that seeking out a school known for athletics and academics was a nightmare. After months of emails, phone calls, and a never ending push pull with her parents, Paige had finally reached a compromise.

Montverde Academy. A school near Orlando with a standout basketball team and “excellent” academics.

Her athletic scholarship covered the whole year, room and board and all. The coach’s selling points were simple. She was filling the program with the best young basketball players she could recruit. Paige would get maximum exposure to the colleges the coach not-so-subtly bragged about attending each game. It would run like college. Two a days. Weights and skills and conditioning and competition.

A dream. That’s what it sounded like. And Paige was ready for it all. To get out of Minnesota. To compete. To be seen. To win. To excel.

It all sounded amazing a week ago.

But now, she found herself sitting on her bedroom floor, phone open to the Montverde Athletics instagram page, pondering a key aspect of school she had massively overlooked.

Roommate's.

It was a boarding school, so she would have to stay with another girl. a stupidly obvious fact that Paige had entirely forgotten in the flurry of committing. She had decided she wouldn’t settle for a random roommate. She couldn’t risk rooming with a NARP. And not just because she couldn’t stand some non-athletes. No, this was also for their sake. Her early morning trips to the gym, bottomless drawers of practice clothes, and over-the-top competitive personality were decidedly a disturbance she did not want to plague an unassuming student at Montverde with. So she settled on searching for a future teammate to reach out to.

This, however, was proving to be a bigger challenge than she expected.

She was naturally outgoing, of course, having grown up playing basketball she had to be. Loud. Funny. Confident, almost to a fault. She fit in with new AAU teams like she’d been playing with them for years. Honestly, her outgoing personality might be more standout than her basketball at times.

But, for some reason, her chest tightened at the idea of going to this new boarding school. Florida was a long ways away from Minnesota, and these girls she was going to school with were all so new, and so good.

Scrolling through the tagged posts on the academy’s website felt like snooping through a college scouts clipboard. These girls weren’t just going to be teammates she’d see for two hours a day. Actually, she was pretty sure they would be lucky to get two hours apart. They were going to be living together. 24/7. An entire school year. And for some reason, the thought was nerve wracking.

What if they’re rude? Or stuck up? Or what if they're all rich preppy girls and I can’t stand them? It is a private school after all…

Scrolling through the page felt like she was swiping through tinder.

Too nice.

Scroll

To intimidating.

Scroll

Too…blonde?

Scroll

She let her head sink deeper into the hood of her sweatshirt as she let out a frustrated sigh, scrolling past a post for some international player from Croatia. That was when one post caught her eye.

Azzi Fudd.

She had posted her commitment a few days ago, her post was a simple picture of her on campus with a wide grin and a thumbs up, captioned with some “i’m so grateful” speech. She knew she’d definitely heard the name before, but she could have sworn she’d seen the girl before. Maybe at AAU?

She clicked on the girl's profile, and was met with a flurry of pictures of Azzi. She was tanned, with toned muscles (that paige wasn’t jealous of at all), dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a slightly wonky smile that made her feel…less intimidating? She let herself dig deeper into her posts, In which she found that:

1. Azzi was a year younger than herself

2. She played for Saint John’s in Virginia

3. She was definitely dedicated to basketball

Check, check, and check. This girl was building a pretty good case for herself.

she came across a post from an AAU tournament, with a gym that was eerily familiar to her. Then it clicked. She had never met Azzi—like formally, handshake kinda meeting—but she had played her. The details were fuzzy, but she remembered bits and pieces. Azzi was a guard. She wasn’t super shifty, but she could definitely run. She wasn’t loud. Not cocky either. And she could shoot—like really shoot.

She let herself stare at the picture a little longer. Ran back through her very exclusive future roomate mental checklist.

Girl?

check.

Athlete?

check.

Looks nice enough?

check.

And she had to get bonus points for being in the same room as herself at least once in her life.

Overall, she was a good prospect—well, good enough to end the 3 hour roommate spiral she had been falling into.

So she drafted a message. Actually, it was more of an introduction. Sickly sweet and definitely fake and all very un-Paige.

She read it back to herself, holding back the full body cringe that threatened to take over as she looked over her text.

I know we haven’t really properly met, but like, I saw that your going to Montverde this year and I just wanted to reach out and say hi, yk ‘cause there aren’t a lot of people my age committed for this year? soooo hi

soooo, hi? Soooo I’m actually gagging. About 3 too many o’s and oozing with cautious kindness.

Paige snickered at how cautiously sweet her message was. But she hit send anyway, watched message deliver.

Her problem was that it stayed on delivered. For an hour. Then two. Then three. What could this girl even be up to?? it’s 9:45 at night, she should be home by now, is she really just just gonna ignore me?

She let a frustrated groan escape her lips. whatever. She turned off her phone and plugged it in on her dresser. she wasn’t going to wait on this reply like her whole year depended on it, worse comes to worse, she would just room with another teammate. Or even just another athlete. Either way, she could easily find someone else, right?

an exasperated sigh slipped from somewhere deep behind her ribs.

Right.

She slipped into bed and turned off her light. She would check back in the morning, and if she didn’t respond she would just ask someone else. Easy.

Azzi:

Azzi had already gotten to the gym late. She was stressed out, the school year was ending soon, and she had just fought through a day of finals and weeks of stress about her new school. Long day to say the least, and Azzi needed to decompress.

The summer was coming up quickly, with it—unfortunately for her—came the thought of moving into a new school, in a new state, with an entirely new team.

The problem was she had played with the same girls since she was in diapers, and befriending an entirely new team intimidated her to say the least.

She had posted her commitment to Monverde 2 days ago, and had received a few comments from juniors and seniors on the team congratulating her, but nobody her age had really reached out personally. Maybe that was the norm. Or maybe they could smell fear. Either way, she was stuck with barren DM’s and one pressing, unresolved problem.

Roommate's. More specifically her lack thereof.

Unfortunately, Azzi was not the type to reach out herself. so, obviously, she decided she would let herself suffer through random roommate selection and pray that the team took a liking to her when she finally met them on campus. Did the thought of it freak her out?—yeah, she would be living with some random girl for a whole school year—but it seemed simple and less life threatening than hunting for a roommate. And it was certainly less humiliating than asking and getting rejected. She would just have to leave her sanity this year up to chance by some roommate lottery.

Hence the late night gym trip. Basketball was a way for her to destress, she could turn her brain off and shoot for hours, it was an easy way to clear her mind. But fuck, today it wasn’t helping.

tween, cross, brick.

“Come on Az, that’s your shot!” Azzi dad called out, snatching the rebound and snapping the ball back to her at the top of the key. Azzi scrambled to grab the pass, but it hit her chest before dropping into her hands. Dropping back into triple threat, she sucked in a breath, tried to quiet her mind, and tried again.

tween, cross, brick.

Her mind wasn’t any quieter. Actually, it felt like the gym was making it louder. Like her thoughts had slipped through her skull and were now rattling through the rafters. Azzi let a frustrated groan slip from her lips as she used the hem of her shirt to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead. This was her shot, it always was, but tonight she just couldn’t fucking hit it.

“Azzi, you're goin’ to a better school next year, you’re good, but these kids are better. this isn’t gonna be like home, if you want to compete-“ her’s voice added to the noise she was so desperately trying to ignore.

Azzi rolled her eyes. Her dad had always been her coach, but he had ramped up the whole tough love thing after she committed to the academy. She needed it, of course, but jesus, tonight she just couldn’t deal with it. She had already been in the gym for an hour, and her arms and legs felt like jelly. That, combined with the worries about her new school made the normally effortless task of making a shot feel like an impossible feat. She felt like sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill—except her boulder just happened to be an all-to-familiar orange ball. Her frustration with herself had already boiled over, and she could feel herself accidentally letting it slip out as she responded to her dad.

“I know I know, if I want to compete I need to outwork these girls. I’m too young, I'm not experienced, these girls are basically olympians compared to me right?” Her dad looked surprised at the tone she snapped back at him with. He shook his head, sighing as he passed her back the rebound from her missed shot.

“Look, in here I’m your coach, not your dad, and I'm not gonna go easy on you. I’m just preparing you for what you’re gonna deal with at this school. they’re are big recruits going there, and if you want to see the floor you need to make these shots” Azzi looked away from her dad with a huff, dropping the ball to her waist as she prepared to shoot again

tween, cross, sidestep, and surprise!

brick.

The sound of the rim recoiling as the ball clanged off of the side rattled through the gym.

Her dad sighed and rubbed his temples. “y’know what? I'm gonna go wait in the car, you clearly need some space. Just meet me in the parking lot when you’re done.” and with that her dad turned and walked away. Azzi could sense his disappointment, but pushed down the feeling, turning her eyes back to the stupid hoop and her thoughts to her stupid broken jumper.

She stomped towards the hoop in pursuit of her rebound, grabbing it and taking one hard dribble before walking the ball back to the three point line. She lifted the ball again, about to shoot, when she suddenly became aware of how tense she was. Her traps were wound tight, her shoulders felt like they could touch her ears, and she hadn’t taken a breath—like a real, deep breath—the whole time she’d been there.

She took a second to be still. She let her shoulders drop, shaking them out for just a second. One breath, then another. A third. The category 5 mental spiral slowly died down, even if it was only to a category 4.

You’re just frustrated, c’mon you do this every day, just forget about school for a second and chill.

She prayed what little self-soothing she tried would work, because honestly? If this ball didn’t go through the hoop, its next stop would be through a window.

she took one last deep breath and repeated the move, slower this time:

tween,

cross,

swish.

A sigh of relief escaped from her she chased the rebound, moving to another spot on the floor before shooting again.

swish.

Every shot that fell helped pull her—inch by inch—out of her head. Off of school, off of finals, off of room—

off of that. She could feel herself slowly falling back into rhythm. Smooth. Comfortable. Mindless. The gym was quiet, only interrupted by the faint swoosh of the net as she fired up shots one after another. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she was satisfied with how many she had made. By the time she looked up at the clock it was 8:45, and she could feel a slight sheen of sweat coating her skin, sticky and hot. Her body was practically screaming for her to put down the ball and crawl into bed.

She decided to wrap up with free throws before she re-racked her ball and sat down to untie her shoes. She slipped them off, tucking them into her basketball duffel before slinging it over her shoulder and slipping on an old pair of slides.

Opening the door to the gym offered little relief from the heat of the gym. She was met by a gust of Virginia heat, making her feel sticky after her hours of shooting. Her dad had pulled around to the front of the gym and was parked near the doors, and she silently thanked him as she jogged to the car to escape the heat.

She sighed with relief when she opened the door and was met with the AC blowing a cool 65.

“you figure it out kid?” her dad looked over to her expectantly. he must’ve noticed the change in her demeanor, because his tone wasn’t cautious. Not like he was talking to the ticking-time-azzi she was before he left.

“yeah, I just needed to not think about that school, y’know?” she responded, a weak smile on her face, until she was rudely interrupted by a yawn breaking free from her lips.

“mhm, glad you could stop stressin’ over it, but next time, try and figure it out before you get to the gym, don’t wanna be leavin’ at 9 pm every night” he jabbed at her shoulder, eliciting a giggle from Azzi as she leaned back and looked out the window.

“yeah yeah, whatever” she buckled in and pulled out her phone as the car pulled out of the lot. Azzi scanned through her notifications and let out an absentminded “hm” as one in particular caught her eye.

A dm from Paige Bueckers.

She’d seen her in posts before, an effortless—maybe slightly cocky smile permanently plastered on her face, like she couldn’t feel the cameras on her. She’d been posted almost everywhere you could imagine basketball, on Overtime, Bleacher report, USA Basketball, her schools page, and recently, had seen her commitment post to Montverde.

She’s played against her before too, once. some AAU tournament. And she could understand why Paige was going to Montverde. She was talented, of course, almost impossible to pick up on D, but that wasn’t what made her stand out. It was her confidence. It was the kind of self assurance that Azzi wished she had. A noisy, and sometimes cocky aura that screamed “I know I’m good, and you’re gonna know it too”.

she clicked on the notification, opening up instagram and reading her message.

paigebueckers:

I know we haven’t really met, but like, I saw that you're going to Montverde this year and I just wanted to reach out and say hi, yk ‘cause there aren’t a lot of people my age committed for this year? soooo hi

She tried her hardest to hold back the laugh trying to escape her chest, and failed. A sort of snort slipped out. Not at the idea of the message, but at the absurdity of how it came across.

No way she’s scared to reach out to me, she must be trying to make a good impression.

She was sure that the Paige she saw all over Overtime wouldn’t be so cautious, hell, she wasn’t this cautious on the court, that’s for sure. From what she’d heard, she wasn’t scared to speak her mind. And her “mind” never spit out kind words, let alone any so painfully awkward and cautious. She found herself wondering what Paige wanted, because clearly, it was something.

Her theorizing was interrupted by the car slowing as her dad pulled into their driveway. Eventually it rolled to a stop near the side of their house. Right now, all she cared about was getting out of this car and into the coldest shower she’d ever had, and then into the biggest, softest sweat set she owned. She grabbed her bag and hopped out of the car wordlessly, excused by her tired eyes, which had singly handedly told her dad that she was done talking for the night. She shuffled up her front steps and opened her door before kicking off her slides and slipping her bag off of her shoulder, dropping it where she stood before rushing up to her room. She was desperate for that cold shower, but decided it would be rude not to send Paige a quick reply, especially since she had reached out—shit—almost 4 hours ago. She quickly typed up her reply:

Hey Paige! Glad you reached out, tbh I’ve been worried that the first time I talk to anyone from that school would be orientation lol.

It was a short response, but it would have to be enough, she desperately needed to shower and her body was screaming for her to sleep. She chucked her phone onto her bed and set out for her bathroom, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her shower was quick and cold, but it made the dull ache in her muscles a little more bearable. She pulled on a pair of baggy plaid pj pants and a loose t-shirt and crawled into bed, relishing in the relief she felt at finally being horizontal. she reached out for her phone, checking instagram for a response from Paige. There was nothing, of course, it was nearly 10:30 and any respectable student-athlete would have long been asleep by now. She sighed, placed her phone back on her bedside table, and rolled over, letting sleep finally take over.

[max-draws-stuff]

i think this would be good for us as a society. we need to ponder more. all of lives questions can be answered in a couple of taps on a screen. that is to much power for us mortals. we should wonder more. we should ask ferrari and get a round about wage answer that doesn't help us at all. life would be more fun.

“I asked chatgpt” well I asked Ferrari and they said “we are checking”

[kawaiigirly21]

Our Little Soda Pop: Chapter 7

“P-pregnant? You? How? When? Who!?” Natasha watched as Abby tried to make sense of her ‘sudden’ pregnancy. As if the 5 of them hadn't been dicking her down for weeks at that point. Especially Jinu and Mystery. “Well, when a man and woman love each other very much-” Baby started with a smart alec tone making Abby hit him upside his head with an empty soda can with their faces on it. “Fucking dumbass.” He muttered. “Guys, read the fucking room. She's obviously scared about this.” Romance replied as he took Natasha's hand in his gently.

“Sweetie? Are you ok?” Jinu asked as he offered her a hot cup of tea. “I… I never got pregnant before. I never thought about it before..” That was a lie. She thought about it all the time. She always wanted to be a mother but she couldn't tell them that. They were young. They had their whole lives ahead of them. She couldn't ruin their youth by making them fathers so soon. “I think I'll-” “Can I listen?” Jinu asked. “Listen?” “The fluctuations of the soul… I've been able to listen to them now. Can I listen to it?” Nodding, Natasha lifted her shirt and watched as Jinu put his head to her stomach then after a minute, smiled.

“Oh it's strong. It's definitely a fighter.” He chuckled. “You're gonna be a mama. And we're gonna be dads.” Mystery smiled softly. “Who's the biological father though?” Abby pondered before grabbing a drink from the fridge. “Well we know it's not Jinu.” Baby smirked. “What!? Why couldn't it be me!?” Jinu asked offended as he moved his head from his lover's stomach. “We never seen you two fuck. What makes you think it is you?” Romance added with a teasing smile. Jinu suddenly pulled out his phone and pressed play on a recording he had made.

‘Oh fuck! Jinu! Deeper! Mm! Fuck me!!’ The recording was of him and Natasha in the recording studio. He had her bent over the table with one hand holding her head down while the other held her arms behind her back. ‘Good little minx. You just couldn't wait until I was done working could you?’ Baby then shrugged and held up his hands in a mock form of surrender. “My bad. I didn't know you was fucking her like that.” A tiny bit jealous, Mystery laid his head on Natasha's shoulder. “I hope it's mine…” He mumbled.

“Hey, if it's not, we still have plenty of time afterwards to impregnate her with our own seed.” Abby grinned. “Fertile soil provides the best fruits.” Romance replied. “Lest we tend the soil with care to bring a more astounding crop.” Mystery added nuzzling his head into Natasha's neck. “Why are you guys talking about me like I'm a garden!? And the baby is not produce!” The next day, as the others rested from their concert the night before, Jinu awoke early to find Natasha missing in bed. Then, a sweet delicious smell filled his nose and he inwardly groaned.

She was up cooking for them. Even after they told her they would make their own meals for the time being.

Yawning heavily, the man dragged himself to the kitchen, in which upon entering, his suspicions were correct. Natasha was cooking omelets in one skillet and rushing to scoop rice into bowls for them afterwards. “Sweetie…Come back to bed… you're supposed to be resting.” Jinu sighed. “I'm not showing yet and I've only thrown up 3 times this morning. I'm on a roll. I find keeping myself busy really helps with the morning sickness.” Natasha smiled brightly.

She looked to be full of energy, but looks could be deceiving. Her legs were trembling slightly and her caramel complexion looked slightly pale. She was pushing herself through her sickness to cook for her lovers. How sweet. And incredibly dumb. “Sweetie, let me take over. You need to at least sit down.” Jinu stepped forward to take the spatula from her hand. “What? No! I'm fine! I'm so f-fine. Like the both of you…” She mumbled. “Both? Oh no, you need to lay down. Now.” He scooped her up and placed her on the couch.

Draping a warm blanket over her and kissing her forehead. “I'll finish breakfast. You stay here. And I mean it.” He said in a serious tone before walking back to the kitchen. A few minutes later, Baby emerged from the bedroom. “Why are you up so damn early? Where's Natasha?” He was always a grump in the morning. “First off, it's 8:30 and second, she's on the couch. She decided to make breakfast. After we told her not to drain herself.” Jinu replied. “Damn babe. You must really like putting yourself through a bunch of unnecessary shit. On another note… your tits are fatter. I like.” Baby smirked as he laid on the couch next to her.

“Mm go away. My tits are a normal size…” Natasha mumbled as Baby pulled her on top of him. Her head laying on his chest. “Sure babe. Sure.” Not long after, the others soon arrived. “Damn I'm so hungry I could eat a horse.” Abby yawned. “Oh wow, love the savagery. It's so you.” Romance grumbled trying to wake up and still a little bitter about how Abby kept kicking him in his sleep. “Food please.” Mystery watched as Jinu set the table before taking his seat. Turning his head, he then scrambled out of his seat towards Natasha.

“Is she alright?” Baby nodded as he petted her head while she slept. “She's so cute. Makes you forget she's hundreds of years older than us and probably capable of killing us in just one strike.” Romance smiled softly. “I love her.” Mystery replied with such fondness leaving the rest in shock. They felt the same but to actually hear the words aloud… it was a feeling they couldn't describe. “Me too dude…” Abby spoke. “I love her as well.” Romance smiled. “Yea. I love her too. Hard not to.” Baby added. “We all love her. Deeply.” Jinu responded as he stood next to Abby.

Finding that they were too comfortable near the couch, the group decided to have breakfast in the living room while watching TV with the volume on low to not disturb Natasha. As Jinu's eyes drifted around the room, he smiled to himself. This was home. This was family. And he would die before anyone would try to destroy it.

[snoopyclarkey]

audio erotica (2)

george clarke x reader <3

summary: you find yourself in a bit of a predicament one night out at a pub when you finally match the voice of your favorite audio erotica creator to his face.

a/n: audio erotica app mentioned is quinn and george is not a youtuber in this one!

wc: 1k

read part 1 here!

you had mulled it over for days, his comment running through your head over and over again, “but nah, still thinking about her.” george clarkey, voice actor for an audio porn site, was thinking about you. not only had you caught his eye at the pub that night, but you’d somehow gotten into his head long enough that he needed to record a whole audio about you.

the whole thing made you feel giddy, like you were a teenager again with your first real crush. but then things would all come crashing down when you remembered the reality of the whole situation. you were just a fan who happened to figure out who he was. nothing more. there was no moving forward with the situation, george would just have to stay in your fantasies.

life somehow always found a way though, because then the weekend rolled around and your friends, who had picked up on your downtrodden mood, organized another night out. when the pub from the other night was named as the designated spot for that night you had to tamp down any bubbling excitement you felt at the slightest possibility of seeing him again and instead thought about how smooth the cocktails had been and how many you were going to have tonight.

you and your friends weren’t able to the exact table you had occupied the weekend prior, but it was relatively close. your eyes trailed over to the table george and his mates had sat and felt a pang of disappointment at seeing another group of gals in their 20’s. it was for the best, you thought bitterly to yourself as you brought your cocktail glass to your lips.

when you got back to your flat, well beyond tipsy, your thoughts about the matter changed. you drunkenly stumble into your bedroom, kicking your shoes off clumsily and getting your hair out of your face with a claw clip. you find your laptop where you had left it on your bed before going out for the night. you had planned to play some music while half assedly taking off your makeup and applying your skincare, but a tab that you had left open caught your eye instead.

while you hadn’t listened to george’s audio all the way through, barely making it through the first full minute, you had kept the tab open. with your inhibitions lowered you scroll through the comments again, landing all the way back down to his. your fingers were pressing the keys, typing out a message you’d been thinking about sending for days. you weren’t that battered, but just battered enough that you could blame all of this on your inebriated state when you wake up in the morning.

“Hi George, you definitely don’t have to believe me, but I think I might be the woman from the pub!", you had workshopped the message in your head many, many times, unsure at first when to include. you didn’t want to to give too much information about yourself and you definitely did not want to reveal too much about george’s true identity. when you had first found george you may have done a social media search on him, just curious if there was anything about him public, but all you found was a carefully curated instagram page where he would post any time a new audio would drop on the website. nothing about the man himself.

the only thing you really knew about him was that he was 24 years old and based in london. you had even pondered for a while that his name may not have been george since he seemed to want to keep his identity private, but that night at the pub proved it really was his name.

after long consideration you finally decide on including the date and around what time you were at the pub. also, adding that you had been sat at a high top table with a group of your girlfriends while he had sat at a low top table with a group of his mates. you finally hit the post button and watch your comment appear on the page, quickly exiting out of the tab. even though you may not feel the same way in the morning, you couldn't help but feel giddy with what you’ve done.

you wake up the next morning groggy with a bit of an upset stomach, but nevertheless you’re in one piece. you treat yourself to some hungover takeaway and spread yourself out on the couch for a few hours, dreading the thought of having to go into work the next morning. you push yourself to stay preoccupied for the rest of the day though, washing up dirty dishes, folding laundry, and cleaning up anything you could until you found yourself back in bed for the night.

your fingers itched for your laptop and you relented, opening it up and quickly going to the audio erotica site again. you feel a mix of anxiety and exhilaration as you navigate to george’s page, going over the possible scenarios in your head. the most obvious outcome of your comment was it being left unanswered. george got dozens of comments on his audios and never responded to them, he most likely didn’t even read them. your comment was most likely sitting untouched and surrounded by the ramblings and praise of other horny women.

but when you click around to george’s newest audio and scroll through the comments your heart leaps in your throat. a reply from george. “Hmm… what were you wearing that night and what was I wearing?” you could scream in excitement, he replied. he actually replied.

you start typing your response with an almost maniacal grin on your face at the unbelievable turn of events. it was crazy and there was a big possibility that this wouldn’t go anywhere, but you weren’t thinking straight in the moment, too busy typing up your response. “…and you were wearing a brown hoodie over a white t shirt and a pair of jean shorts. you pull off jorts surprisingly well.”

you knew george liked banter based off of his audios, so you were hoping your back handed compliment would get a laugh out of him. you hit post, hoping that your descriptions would be enough to get another response from the men. before you could start ruminating over all of the choices you had made to get to this ridiculous moment in your life, you shut your laptop and turned in for the night.

[fatehbaz]

pondering some stuff on refrigeration. (just woke up and have to go straight to work [on what was supposed to be my one day off], so couldn't round-up all the other good stuff on refrigerated ocean liners and bananas/fruit, maritime shipping, canal in Panama, and other turn-of-the-century US plantation interests in Latin America. sorry. go check out some images of United Fruit Company print advertisements for luxury leisure cruise tours in the Caribbean aboard their Great White Fleet circa 1915 to 1930.)

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It took a lot of effort to get ice around the globe. […] This guy Frederic Tudor, he basically dominates the American ice trade across the nineteenth century. He develops technologies for insulating ice in the hulls of ships […]. So he’s harvesting pond water from the American northeast in Massachusetts and Maine. Typically, he’s using sawdust as just a byproduct of the Maine lumber industry […].

The majority of the ice trade goes to cool down sweltering British colonialists who are in Bombay and Calcutta and really desiring a nice cold drink. Speculative shipments go off to South America, to the Caribbean, to the American South. [...] But what really blows my mind about these particular shipments and these journeys is that you kind of think that they would be going through all of this effort to preserve something, right? To keep maybe a particular product cold and fresh on the way across. No. They were going there to make cocktails. […] So basically, it’s arriving speculatively. […] Tudor, when he first came up with this business idea, he was trying to send it down to places in the Caribbean, particularly Cuba. And sending it to, like, bars and saloons to be served. [...] So he had to bribe bartenders to automatically start putting it in peoples’ drinks [...]. So we have these ideas that, like, it’s inherently refreshing to have these things, but it was actually a learned social practice [...]. [T]he consumption of cold, alcoholic drinks really got attached to ideas of leisure and implicity, and adversely, race and labor. [...]

So ice kind of shows up to this particular social landscape of elite businessmen […]. So ice becomes shipped to Hawai’i in the 1850s and 1860s. […] And not very much time later, freezing and refrigeration technology starts to emerge. […] And then we’ve got these Western ideas of coldness and purity and refreshment. And so we have Native Hawaiian foods that are sour and salty. Room temperature kinds of things. And then we’ve got these Western prized tastes that are sweet and cold […]. We have annexation in 1898. A bunch of American military backed businessmen depose the queen in 1893 […]. And with annexation came the importation of a lot of American legal frameworks […]. So in 1906, we have the Wylie Act, which is the Pure Food and Drug Act, which essentially aimed at regulating product labeling […] in terms of ideas of purity, quality. Right? [...] [T]he US kind of had a little checklist of, “Is it ice cream? Is it not ice cream?” [...] [or] clos[ing] down all of the poi vendors in Honolulu [...]. One place that you can really track changing tastes is through institutions, right? Hospitals, schools, training centers, whatever it is that has a kind of food program, you can look at what's on the menu [...].

Words above from Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart. As interviewed by Jonathan Van Ness. “What’s The Cold, Hard Truth About Ice in Hawai’i? with Hi’ilei Julia Kawehipuaakahaopulani Hobart.” An episode of Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness. 7 December 2022.

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Fencing became a primary mode of seizure of […] land and resources for the benefit of individual ranching enterprises in the West. […] Estimates are that 100,000 bovine animals roamed Texas by 1830. Three decades later, on the eve of the Civil War, that number had increased to an estimated 3.5-5 million. […] In the boom years of the 1870s and 1880s, the cattle barons enjoyed “near hegemony” […]. Thus, part and parcel of the American colonial project was this type of land acquisition […]. As the railroads began to extend and connect to rural outposts in the Plains states, entrepreneurs in the new cow towns such as Abilene, Kansas, sought out Texas livestock trails […]. The most-well-known [...] [f]rom 1867 until 1871, the 1,000-mile-long Chisholm Trail was the main livestock trail from Texas, a trail that ran from San Antonio […] and ended at Abilene. […] They collectively drove 600,000-700,000 [cows] north from Texas during 1871 alone, all eventually bound for abattoirs in St. Louis and Chicago. […]

Infrastructural and technological developments at towns such as Abilene […] also represent a singularly important carceral phenomenon of the nineteenth-century United States innovations in transportation, specifically, the “cattle car” (and by 1869, the refrigerated car that hauled dead animal carcasses) […].

It was primarily British companies that played a major role in developing the transcontinental railroad in the 1870s and 1880s [...] and who eventually also shipped refrigerated cow carcasses to Britain in ocean steamers. […]

Railroad development actually included an array of ancillary infrastructural developments […] - railroad stations with telegraph facilities, supervisory personnel, and company-owned […] stockyards. […] The first twenty-car shipment of cows from Abilene to Chicago was in September of 1867. […] This north-south cattle complex expanded in the 1870s, as the demand for beef, tallow, and hides greatly expanded amid postwar [conditions]. Concomitantly, one of the most significant instruments […] was the revolutionary invention of wire fencing […]. Netz argues for the critical importance […] [of] the case of barbed wire [in] the violent enclosure […] during colonization of the American West. [J.G.] patented barbed wire in 1874 and opened a small manufacturing plant in DeKalb, Illinois, for its production, with large-scale production and sale eventually located to […] Massachusetts. More than 350 barbed wire patents were issued between 1875 and 1890, although it was the [J.G.] patent that came to monopolize the market […]. One rather infamous early adopter in the Texas Panhandle […] fenced in over 3 million acres of public range with illegal fences while others followed suit […]. Also in the Texas Panhandle, [a] Scottish-backed […] ranch pursued its own 3 million acre fencing project, operating on a grant from the state with an estimated 6,000 miles of fence. […] Such […] activities led to what has been called the “Fence Cutting Wars” […].

Text above by: Karen M. Morin. "Bovine Lives and the Making of a Nineteenth Century American Carceral Archipelago". In: Carceral Logics: Human Incarceration and Animal Captivity edited by Lori Gruen and Justin Marceau, pages 261-275, 2022. Online publication date April 2022. DOI: doi dot org slash 10.1017/9781108919210.018 [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[red-rott]

Do you ever think about Laurent riding his mare? When Auguste gave it to him, and he was so proud of his very fast pony. Finally riding like his brother did.

And when he was alone he'd tend to it, make sure everything's right with it. He'd learned all there was about it; to feed and nurture it propperly, taking responsibility seriously, like his brother did.

He'd have been so happy when his father, a man of strength, probably saw his determination and desire to thrive, he probably thought he made him proud, like his brother did.

He probably spent hours grooming it and talking to it, a confidant that could not use his words against him, as a child both Prince and prisoner in a hostile court. He maybe spent hours mindlessly brushing its mane thinking about the fact that the "protection" his Uncle gave him felt nothing like Auguste's. He'd maybe wash and brush and clean the stall just to ponder that his "attentions" never reassured him, not like his brother did.

Do you ever think about him as a teenager riding when he needed to think, like Jord said, as he watched the young prince ride away more and more often as his birthdays passed, coincidentally getting longer as his reputation was destroyed by the Regent? Laurent probably imagined Auguste riding alongside him in his own, much slower, pony. He'd close his eyes as the sun, yellow and warm like his brother's hair hit his face, it warmed his skin and settled his panicked bones, like his brother did.

Do you ever think of him riding the mare in a hunt, hitting its side hard to ride her at full speed, like he raced with his brother? Do you think for a moment Torveld, in his periphery, head obscured by the radiant yellow of the sun, looked a bit like Auguste? He probably, for a brief moment remembered, the races and laughs, and pats on the head. Until the smell of the mare's blood filled his nose. Do you think it brought memories of Marlas? He'd struck down a mark no matter the cost, like his brother did.

After performing a feat of victory in the hunt, do you think he thought of Auguste as he commanded the servant to cut down the mare, and watched it die by the sword, like his brother did?

[iveneverbeenhere]

💻Temporary Secretary💻

Summary: You’re the owner of a decently-sized law firm and your current secretary has gone on vacation. So, you hire Yeosang as your newest secretary.

Genre: Non-idol au, Yeosang x black! Fem! Reader, college au

Warning: Yeosang and reader are both on toxic nonsense lowkey, Yeosang is lowkey giving Yandere, power imbalance as she still is his boss, HORNY‼️‼️, dom/sub dynamics, lowkey inappropriate work place behavior from both of them, they wilding.

A/N: This is like an extended universe to my toxic! Sugar baby Hongjoong fics. As my mutual said about Yeosang in this fic, “He’s unhinged.”

You’re the owner of a large law firm, and your recent secretary has taken leave; so, you call up a friend to help you find a replacement.

“It’s just for a bit. A couple of months at most.” You explained casually on the phone.

“Alright, anything he needs to be?” She replied, a bit absentmindedly. For a woman who runs as successfully sordid a business as she does, she loves to act like a fool.

You ponder the question for a moment, rummaging in your suit pocket for your keys. Why are they being difficult?

“Strong and sweet.”

You hear her chuckle, bemused but entertained by your brazenness.

“I meant qualifications, girl. Like work experience.” She breathes out.

You breathe a hard sigh, rolling your eyes with your phone pressed to your ear. Finally, you’ve got the keys out, but the door is being uncooperative.

“I don’t know.” You struggle to unlock the door of your firm with an espresso in hand. The keys jiggle like a goddamn Christmas carol as you try unsuccessfully to get behind the locked door of your firm. Was it always this hard? You groan exasperated, “Jesus fucking–Can type. Talk. The usual.”

She giggles, clearly tickled at your frustration, like she isn’t the culprit of it.

“That’s not any real work experience, now is it?” You squall in frustration; on top of this door not opening, she’s being purposefully obtuse. You hold the phone roughly to your ear as if your bruising hold would transfer to her neck by cellular wavelengths. You growl,

“Girl, I don’t give a fuck. He could be a belly dancer, diplomat—hell, he can be a fucking neurosurgeon for all I care! As long as he can work 7-5 and doesn’t get on my nerves, I’ll take em’.”

She busts out laughing on the line as she hears your bothered tone.

“Alright, I gotchu, I’ll try and find him by—”

A screech of “Momma, who are you talking to?” interrupts her. It’s Hongjoong.

You roll your eyes playfully, but tired, as you hear her answer with a placating “It’s just a friend, Baby!” It’s your cue to leave.

“Well, I’m going to work. Tell Hongjoong I said hi.”

She nods, clearly in a rush to get back to him. They're both so obsessed it makes you sick.

“Yeah-Yeah, I’ll tell him, and I’ll find a secretary for you. Bye!” She stumbles out as she hangs up hurriedly. You sigh, putting your phone down. She better find you one; for her sake as well as hers.

A few weeks pass, and she sends you occasional applications. The boys are nice, but if you’re being shallow, they aren’t your type.

That is, until she sends you the application of a friend of Hongjoong’s.

His name is Kang Yeosang. A statuesque, lean-fitted boy who, according to Hongjoong, was “Good at school and working out, but not much else.”

You called her immediately.

“Girl.” you excitedly breathed out. He was gorgeous.

“I know, right? I do good fucking work.” She beams as she hears your enchanted voice on the phone; once you saw him, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had bewitched you without ever saying a word to you. You loved it.

You called him in for an interview. His voice was honey-esque, smooth and deep, begging you to fall in with its natural sweetness. Alas, his manner didn't match his cadence. Each word he spoke was stuttered, scrambled into a convoluted mixture of naive excitement and awkward nervousness. He was like a lost puppy; that excited you to no end.

He was always gonna pass the interview, no matter what. You had picked him, and there was no way he was getting out of it. He stuttered, paused awkwardly, and looked around at basically nothing the entire time. It was funny. This boy in a sharp black suit and pulled-back hair; the one you had been told was “practically a genius” seemed like a bimbo in your presence. How could you not hire him?

So, he began working with you. He was perfect; arriving at the office by 6:50 with your espresso in hand and greeting you with a husky “Good morning” that slid down to the pit of your stomach. It was like he had been working for you for years.

He got along well with everyone in the office. He was politely distant. A hello from about 6 feet away; lispy, “I can help with that.” That never turned into anything more than communal support. A small “No, thank you” whenever invited to social events. It was a far cry from his treatment of you.

Staying late when you stayed late; asking you general questions about the firm that morphed into "Do you like this suit?", "How should I dress?", "What dishes are your favorite?" They're hardly appropriate questions to ask your boss. Offering to do more work than necessary to stay longer. He seemed…eager to please. You didn’t mind; in fact, you liked it.

A soft, but firm knock comes at your office door as you read up on the newest case.

“Come in!” You yelled aggressively, unaware of your tone. You needed to find a way to make this work in your favor. Homicide can easily be covered up, right? Slowly, but surely, Yeosang gently strolls into your office carrying a small file of documents. He places them on your desk with the utmost care, looking at how your brows furrow and your mouth twists into a pseudo-frown from your concentration. You look like a vengeful goddess to him. He stares a beat too long, catching your attention. His eyes are darkly obedient compared to the meek, “Here you go.” that slips out his lips.

You look down at the documents, moaning out a relieved, “Yeosang, I could kiss you!” That stops him. His hands begin to clench and unclench on the end of his slim-fitted blazer. He looks at you like a starving dog, waiting for the scrap of food you graciously promised him. He feels himself run warm as he looks at you with an uncomfortable need. You stare at him devilishly with a goading smirk as you realize his plight. You decide to push it further with a drawn-out, “Good boy.”

He gulps as if swallowing a pack of sewing needles; slow and painful with the ghost of blood turning into a collective haunting in his throat. It's a phantom pain, one only caused by desires left unfulfilled. His mouth heaves out a pathetic, “Thank you.”

You look away from him, skimming through the documents with a satisfied hum as he stands there stiff like a doll you forgot to wind up. You look back at him with a pointed eyebrow raised. He's pathetic with his hummingbird heartbeat and dry mouth; you stare for a couple of beats, relishing in his piteous squirming. Eventually, you excuse him with a lighthearted scoff of “You’re excused, secretary Kang.” He swears you’re playing mind games with him as he walks out with trembling legs.

Yeosang is aware to a certain extent that he isn’t well; not as well as everyone else is. He’s always been a little lost; always in need of firm guidance and always a little too eager to please. He and everyone else in his life chalked it up to him being a pushover. Nothing too serious.

However, with you, it's like he can’t do anything. He doesn’t want to do anything without your guidance or validation.

He lives for your continuous praise; the light, almost condescending way you guide him. He’s like a dog on a leash being pushed and pulled by your loving hand. In his darkest moments, at company dinners when he’s too drunk–he imagines crawling on the floor, tan-colored file in his teeth as he makes it to your office.

Yeosang feels warm; the type of warmth felt when you've drunk too much and all your inhibitions have gone. You fed him drink after drink at the company dinner causing him to stumble his way into the office after hours. He innocently told you he had left his car keys at the front desk, being diplomatic, you lent him the firm's keys. He wobbles to his desk, opening drawers sloppily as he grabs a file. He knows he shouldn't, but he places the beige folder in his teeth; biting softly enough to keep it still, but not enough to leave a mark. He bends down to the floor getting on his hands and knees like a dog. He always fancied himself like a Doberman in his stocky build and pitch-black suit. He wonders if you like big dogs. He crawls tentatively, the thick carpet tickling under his flat palms. The knotted fiber scraps against his pants leaving a dull burn underneath the skin of his knees. He doesn't notice; too busy gritting his teeth, trying in vain to keep his disgusting spit from seeping into the documents. He keeps his piercing gaze on the locked door to your office, envisioning you behind it. His phone rings suddenly making him halt his movements to slurry answer,

"Hello?"

"Hey, Yeosang. You found your keys?" You politely inquire; he realizes he's been gone too long.

He rummages for them in his pants pocket, pulling them out to make them clack and jiggle together as he replies,

"Yes. I just found them."

"Good! Make sure to lock up and come straight back. I need those keys." You reiterated with a slight slur.

"Yes, Ma'am."

He looks at your sharp-toed red bottoms and envisions you placing them under his chin as you give him instructions. There’s not a day that he leaves work without a desperate need in his stomach and a hard-on.

He’s a deplorable pervert. He swore once that he saw the outline of your underwear in your pencil skirt and spent his break in the company bathroom, painting his hand white.

He finds it hard to breathe when you're in the room. The attention and the affection that you lavish on him; all make a dull ache within him. It makes him almost forget that he’s temporary.

So, it catches him off guard when your original secretary comes back.

Yeosang works steadily at his desk; making the agenda for the day while answering emails with swift politeness. That is until a man walks in. He's tall and lean with an air of annoying comfortability. A sweet small grin rests on his fair face as he looks around; not lost, but searching. Yeosang speaks up firmly.

“Hello. Can I help you?

The man saunters over with ease, analyzing Yeosang in a way that makes his jaw clench. He's so fucking smug. He speaks candidly, “Oh, you must be the new temp. I’m Soobin. Choi Soobin. ”

Yeosang responds pointedly, “Are you looking for someone, Mr. Choi?”

Soobin smiles condescendingly carefree as if to say “How cute.” with a click of “I’m here to see the owner.”

Yeosang stills, a bit silent. He doesn’t like Soobin and his aggressively cute way. His disgusting friendliness sits in the waiting room like black tar. He exasperatedly sighs out,

“She’s in a meeting at the moment. She won’t be taking any visitors until–”

“Oh my god! Is that Soobin?” You exclaim as you rush out of your office to hug the gangly giant in the waiting room. Yeosang has never seen you so much as briskly walk to anything; the sight of your excitement at this stranger makes his eye twitch faintly.

Loving exchanges of ‘Hi, how are you?’ ‘How was your break? And your mother?’ Turn his lip into a thin, hard line. You both giggle and poke fun at one another; meanwhile, Yeosang has never seen you do more than a smug scoff when someone trips or messes up their paperwork. He's never seen you with anything more than a vicious smirk or stone-resting face. The sight makes his blood boil. He cuts the lovely reunion with a sharp, “Excuse me, but who is this?”

You look over at him, a wide grin still on your face as you inform him casually; As if you can't see his clear discomfort.

“This is Soobin! He’s my original secretary."

He glares hard at Soobin as he interjects with a conceited, "I just got back from vacation."

He looks at you far too lightly for Yeosang's liking; giving you a toothy smile that displays his deep dimples. He hates even more how you coo and gush over him like an adorable child.

"And we're so glad to have you back!"

Soobin concurred with a borderline lovesick, "Glad to be back."

You chuckle gently as Soobin rubs the salt in the blistering wound that Yeosang's developed by declaring, "I should be able to come back by Monday."

You nod blissfully, chatting merrily at him; although, Yeosang doesn't catch sight of that. All he can recognize is the sly, malicious grin of satisfaction Soobin gives him; Yeosang grits his teeth. He won’t be replaced that easily.

Credit to @hayatoseyepatch for dividers!

[loreic]

You know, I envy those who really loved KARMA. To be honest, KARMA disappointed me a lot. In fact, the ALNST fandom disappointed me a little. How is it possible that a good part of the fandom hates Luka more than the damn aliens? The whole Luka situation right now is too much, in my opinion. And not in the "narratively good" kind, but in the "suffering porn" kind, where he's the ONLY one alone and enslaved (he doesn't even appear in that rocket scene where everyone is falling free). He was also a victim of the Alien Stage system, so losing Hyuna, getting beaten up and then being put back in the competitions is very unfair. Seriously, I understand that it's kind of a meme, but it's getting sinister the amount of people encouraging and making fun of it. I'd say that Luka is worse than any of the three right now, people forget that he's a victim and he's STILL a victim. And I won't even talk about how now Hyuna's death is even more senseless and how all of her and the Rebellion's efforts were thrown away because of Mizi. I genuinely hated how Vivmeng treated Hyuna, Hyunwoo, Hyuluka and, especially, Luka (who seems to now only exist to be miserable and seeing fans celebrating when Mizi beat him up for no reason in KARMA made me physically disgusted).

Hmmmm

Right, long ass take under the cut

First off, valid opinion anon.

Think it's perfectly okay be to be a little disappointed in Karma. I'd rate it visually 10/10, musically 9/10, narratively 7/10.

Don't get me wrong alnst had a good run and damn we are probably not gonna get anything else as good anytime soon (I say while staring at kpdh), but the ending might have been a little rushed (assuming this is really the end anyway) and yeah, they probably could have handled the whole Hyuna, Luka, Hyun-woo plot a little better.

Hyuna's death does seem pretty senseless, and that's probably the biggest gripe I have with the ending (since she and Luka are my favourites lol). Out of the three that are confirmed dead, her death definitely hits the hardest (Ivan died for Till, Till is free, Sua died for Mizi, Mizi is free-ish?/took her revenge, while Hyuna died and Luka is still in captivity + rebels' plan failing epically)

But I really don't think that was Hyuna's goal to begin with.

I think Mizi was pretty spot on with her using the rebels as an escape from reality. Girl never stopped running. She refused to face her past, refused to come to terms with the fact that it was Luka who was responsible for Hyun-woo's death, and refused accept the fact that she still loved him despite everything (stubborn queen fr), and only FINALLY decided let all of that go in her final moments.

Her death was meant to be a lesson to Luka (really bitter pill to swallow, and yeah it's pretty stupid when you look at it from a well adjusted perspective, but we've also established she's a trainwreck of a diva so), and I think in the end she did make her peace with it all. Luka being free wasn't the point, and yeah it sucks, but it does make sense. She died to teach him what it means to love, and I think she did succeed in that even if he is still captive.

It's a little convoluted but in the end I wouldn't say her death was entirely senseless (it just definitely seemed so to Mizi and us as the audience), she was doing it for Luka, same as Ivan and Sua for Till and Mizi (was their love perfect? Hell no, it's messy and all kinds of screwed up but that's the point)

As for Luka sighhhhhhhhhhh

Yeah Luka is 100% the victim here. They all are, but dude definitely got the short end of the stick of the three(?) that technically survived.

Him not being with the falling children I'd say is because A. (Mizi knew for a fact he was still alive at that moment) and B. (He is on the receiving end of Mizi's self-righteous karma). Luka's a victim but he's not entirely guiltless either and I think that's what makes him so so interest. If he really did survive the rocket crash he probably spent the next seven years pondering over everything. It was Hyuna's last puzzle for him, it's his penance for the pain he causes (unintentional or no) and yeah that's pretty fking miserable when you think about it.

Am I happy with that? Eh, not really.

I'd say there is a lot of wasted character growth potential here, but it's more or less in line with his overall arc of 'unapologetic sociopath who cannot understand human emotions learns love, lost and regret' so eh I'll take it.

And yeah there are some pretty unsavoury takes in the fandom when it comes to Luka, just because he is that complex and half the fandom doesn't understand him at all, but eh that's more or less expected given alnst target demography so don't worry about it. 괜찮아~ Just enjoy this cinematic masterpiece we somehow get to experience for free and possibly avoid the hell out of Twitter/X like I do lol (like seriously there are takes on there that gives me an aneurysm)

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

New You Gym - 22

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Despite her incredible orgasm riding Michael right before bed, Kylee had a much more difficult time falling asleep than her husband. Pinning Michael to the bed and fucking him while he told her how powerful she was was a rush, and drastically different then cumming in a poopy diaper while humping a teddy bear or while singing wheels on the bus and strapped into a child's car seat.

She wanted more than anything to replicate that experience. However, she wasn't certain how it was going to happen again given Julie's new requirement that Kylee start wetting the bed. Concern over her new life weighed heavily on Kylee.

As Kylee pondered her future, Michael started tossing and turning in his sleep, clearly having a nightmare. Her husband's distress gave Kylee a new idea.

As Michael slept next to Kylee, he started to moan and groan. Repeatedly, one clear word passed through his lips, "Mommy."

Kylee laid next to Michael, smiling as he wiggled uncomfortable in his dreams, repeatedly whining out the word, "Mommy" or the phrase "Mommy, no!"

Her husband's obvious distress made it clear to Kylee that her aggressive posture in their last sexual encounter had left an impression on him.

As Michael slept restlessly, Kylee smiled as she realized that, just maybe, if she played her cards right, she could both keep her promise to Julie to wet the bed and, maybe, keep asserting a little control over her husband for awhile.

So, with a full bladder, Kylee waited for her moment and started cuddling closer and closer to Michael.

She began by placing a hand on his chest and whispered in his ear, "Good boy.". This seemed to calm him.

Next, she pressed her full body against Michael's side. The large, slumbering man accepted the touch eagerly and even sighed out one word contentedly, "Mommy."

Kylee suppressed a giggle as she rubbed her hand on his chest and whispered, "Oh, does baby like this?" Michael's only response was to smile in his sleep.

Feeling emboldened, Kylee moved onto the next step of her plan. Delicately, she climbed on top of Michael's chest, carefully positioning her panty clad pussy directly over Michael's penis. Kylee moaned lightly as she felt Michael's dick grow rock hard as she lightly rubbed herself on it. The sleeping Michael began to moan and grind his engorged member into his wife's crotch as he slept.

"What a good baby!" Kylee whispered softly to Michael, causing her sleeping husband to moan again and hump her a little harder.

Kylee wanted to continue to play with the sleeping Michael, but new her time was short if she wanted to enact her plan. With her bladder full to bursting and her urethra placed over Michael's crotch, she undertook her last step.

Kylee let her bladder muscles relax and, with a rush of relief, began to piss on her husband's crotch. Kylee couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief as she relieved herself, content that her plan seemed to be working.

Kylee could feel her panties getting drenched, but hoped when Michael woke up and found the bed soaked, he would believe her when she blamed it on him do to the accidents location and his clear "Mommy" nightmare. Kylee smiled to herself as she peed, thinking about how, after this, maybe she could force Michael into a diaper rather than the other way around.

While Kylee was peeing on Michael, proudly thinking about all of the possibilities that could come from her new plan, Kylee didn't notice Michael's eyes open and stare at her with a look of shock and confusion that quickly turned to a look of rage as he realized what his wife was doing.

"Kylee! Are you pissing on me?" Michael roared.

The sudden confrontation caused Kylee to jump off of Michael midstream, continuing to spread her mess in the bed and making it clear where the urine originated.

"Baby, I, uh... It was..." Kylee stammered, backing away from Michael as she truly lost control of her bladder due to fear.

"Don't you 'baby' me, Little Miss Pissy Britches! I only see one baby here. Now answer me, did you just piss on my lap while I was sleeping?" Michael ordered his wife as he sat up in bed.

"Well, I, uh, fell asleep cuddling you, and, um, must of wet the bed?" Kylee said unconvincingly, knowing she was caught red-handed.

"That is NOT what I saw. What I saw was a disgusting, naughty little girl with a stupid grin on her face as she pissed her pants while laying on her Daddy when I woke up, am I wrong?" Michael said sternly while Kylee tried to make herself as small as possible.

"Um, no, I mean, maybe... I just thought, maybe, I could..." Kylee stammered like a naughty child before Michael cut her off.

"You just thought what? Maybe you could frame me for wetting the bed? Shift the power dynamic a little since you can't seem to control your little bladder anymore? Make yourself the 'Mommy' for a little bit until I inevitably figured out that YOU are the baby in this relationship?"

Kylee just hung her head in shame. She felt her cheeks grow hot with embarassment at the same time she felt her damp panties cool as her stream of urine cut off.

"That's what I fucking thought. What a manipulative little bitch! What the fuck am I going to do with such a disgusting, manipulative child of a wife like you?" Michael asked rhetorically.

Kylee just hung her head and started shaking in fear. How could her perfect plan have gone so wrong, she thought to herself as her husband got out of bed, his naked crotch still soaked in her urine as he started pacing the room.

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER | PART 3

AN OBX SMAU & IRL

synopsis: the summer after graduating highschool was the dream. after years of tedious hours at school and of nonsensical drama, you are finally an adult, but most importantly? free. or so you thought. after a tragic incident the night of midsummers, the four of you decided to never, ever speak of it again. everything was going to be okay because only those present that night knew the truth, right?

pairing: exbf!jj x kook!reader; rafe x kook!reader

cw: guys, it’s a slasher story so gore & angst (troubled family relationships, violence, breakups, etc.) comes without saying. if you’re not comfortable with that then don’t read, i totally understand.

a/n: I KNOW IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE AN SMAU but i might've gotten a little carried away with the written parts 🧍🏻‍♀️ THIS ONE IS LONG (6.3 k words...) DEAR GOD I AM SORRY

also english isn't my first language and i didn't proofread, but maybe later. i just want to post this lol

ANYWAYYYY i hope you guys appreciate my handwriting; i had originally done it on my ipad but i thought a notebook would make it feel more real🫥 i don't know why writing that was so embarassing, i need to chill tf out.

oh, and there's an extra at the end hehehe

i hope you guys like this one, i had so much fun <333

*ps this one starts immediately after part 2 sooo yeah

poor girl can't catch a break

friday, may 23, 2025

you stared at your ceiling as you lay on the floor with your cheeks tight from your previous crying session.

more like a mental breakdown but ok. whatever makes you sleep at night.

you didn’t know whether to say something to sarah about the messages or if it was best to keep them to yourself. part of you couldn’t believe that they were only targeted to you because why would they? if whoever was sending those messages knew of your involvement, they were bound to know about the other three. unless it was one of them but why?

you sat up abruptly and crawled to your desk, finding an old notebook. scribbling down everything you could in a rush as if everything would vanish the moment you took a break.

so that was fruitful, you thought as you looked at your "insightful" notes.

you took a picture just in case, because knowing you, it could very possibly disappear from sight.

you ponder at the possibility of it being one of the them. topper being the one doesn’t make much sense, sarah, well.

ugh. she did seem happy when you saw her, compared to how you were.

is that a crime now? jesus, get a grip.

besides, it wouldn’t make much sense if she were to act like you in front of her family, especially her dad. for one, ward was a wonderful father, to her anyway. his favoritism towards sarah was not exactly a secret. he did treat wheezie kindly but rafe on the other hand… yeah, that reminded you too much of your own parents. poor guy was the oldest but seemed more like the middle child. you frowned to yourself.

why the fuck am i thinking about them? oh, right.

you dispelled any thoughts of the camerons and racked your brain for any suspects but there was one you couldn’t bring yourself to think about. writing his name on your list had been painful enough.

so that left zero suspects. well, one suspect, if you counted the security guard but something about him being the one seemed too easy.

sure, topper was an asshole, but you didn’t believe he would be capable of harassing you, especially when you hadn’t seen nor talked to one another since that night. if anything, it would have begun shortly after, not a year later. sarah, seeming unbothered came to mind once again, but that was just how she was, her way of coping was by pretending everything was fine and that her life couldn’t be more perfect.

you remember when you learned that rose wasn’t her mother; you would never have thought her mother was gone if it were by the way she acted. the first time you had been to her house, you had seen a picture of a beautiful blonde woman on her nightstand, and, for a moment, you thought it was an aunt or another family member, but you were shocked when she told you it was her mother. that was the first time you had seen her so incredibly distressed, and you realized that her whole regina george persona was nothing but that. yeah, sarah cameron was a lot of things but being cruel – to you, at least – wasn’t one of them. why would she do that anyway? it wasn’t like it had been something you had done alone, the four of you were just as guilty. with a sigh, you lay back on the floor, holding the notebook to your chest.

great.

back to square one.

nice job, nancy drew.

after racking your brain for what seemed like an eternity you decided to just give up and go downstairs to spend some time with your parents. you mentally prepared for what would surely be a tense evening and decided to just get it over with, but not without a final read to the article you had received.

a name now stood out as you read the redfield piece written by none other than pope heyward. smiling softly to yourself, you realized that if there was anybody you wished you hadn’t left behind it was pope. he had always been a good friend to you, even when you’d fallen out with kiara. but it wasn’t his or her name that jumped out, but your ex-boyfriend’s. jj maybank. if there was something you would never have expected it was for him to be protesting, especially when the owner of the project’s son was a close friend to him. as far as you know, at least.

you remembered when you and he first got together, everyone in figure 8 was not so secretly against the relationship – especially your parents – sarah became a buffer between you and everybody else. after all, she was the kook princess and what she said was okay, well, everyone else be damned. nobody wanted to get on her bad side, so, naturally, topper had – reluctantly – come to terms with the pogue.

rafe, on the other hand, had been a bit harder to win over, especially when he wanted to be against anything his sister was involved in, no matter how small of an influence she’d had. he came around eventually though, especially when jj saved his ass regarding a coke deal that could’ve made him end up either severely injured, in jail or both.

so, seeing jj speaking against the redfield project struck you a bit as odd, but then again, he had been diplomatic with his answer. although you knew that if it came between kiara and the camerons, kiara would always come first. it didn’t matter how important you were in his life, when it came to her, pope, or john b, it was best to step aside or risk getting burned. you’d learned that the hard way.

you’re the love of my life.

you shook your head to dispel the memory of his words before clicking out of the article and throwing your phone on the bed. you didn’t need another reason to have a meltdown when it was barely your first day back.

you stayed on the floor for another ten minutes before getting up and taking a shower because those always made you feel better. afterwards, you put on the comfiest clothes you can find and to, once again, mentally prepare yourself for dinner with your family.

the hallway was cool from the air conditioning, a stark contrast from the sweltering heat of the outer banks. the staircase was located right in front of the entrance, like any other fancy house in a movie, the dining room to the left of the stairs. to your surprise the table was bare, the room void of any human presence aside from yours. you frowned at the sight, making your way into the kitchen, only to find it empty as well. the clock on the far wall was set at 6:00 pm. dinner time.

so why on earth was there no food getting prepared or anybody at the table?

something was off, clearly, but you concluded that maybe your mother had said something you hadn’t understood. or tuned out.

 “there isn’t a chef anymore.”

you yelped at the voice behind you, turning to see your mother with a burgundy robe and a glass of red wine in her right hand.

your heart sank at the sight but decided it was best not to comment on it.

“since when?” your voice came out with a crack, like that of an unsure child, making you to grimace internally.

“since august.” your mother made her way closer to you before sitting down on the service table.

“your father eats at work most days and i figured that because it was just me then i might as well save us the money.” her eyes avoided your gaze, and you knew she was hiding something.

jesus, get a grip. not everyone has a secret.

horror flooded you as you realized that you were beginning to sound like your mother. although maybe it was entirely unwarranted because she was never one to be money conscious, particularly when it came to the one being used for herself.

“are we in financial trouble?” your words came out before you could stop them, causing your mother to turn to you sharply.

“no. i just found it unnecessary.” she turned her attention to her glass of wine, avoiding your piercing gaze.

alright. i am my mother’s daughter and despite hating every time she accused me of hiding something she was always right. not that i would tell her that.

so, you knew she was, indeed, hiding something but you decided not to push it. after all, you had the whole summer to antagonize her, you could let her be for one evening. and yourself by default.

therefore, you simply hummed as if in understanding before turning towards the fridge and came up with absolutely nothing to eat. not because you didn’t like anything or were overwhelmed with the infinite number of choices but because there were none.

yup. no food, just an empty fridge.

ok, so maybe a peaceful evening was off the menu.

you turned to your mother with a bewildered expression, “why is the refrigerator empty? something is clearly going on.”

your tone had absolutely no effect on her, which was even more perplexing. normally, she would’ve begun scolding you for being rude or some shit but no. she simply sat there staring at her glass of wine.

oh, this is bad.

pulling the few feelings of affection you held towards your birth giver, you sat down by her side.

“mom. what is going on?” now that you were close enough to touch, you could see her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, her mouth turned down in a frown.

that explained the sunglasses this morning and her overly pushy attitude the last few days. you realized that you hadn’t seen any of your father’s belongings when you had arrived and the coldness that went beyond air conditioning now made more sense. he was gone.

her eyes were trained on you, seeing your whole thought process take place. she nodded, resigned, before tilting her head back, downing the remnants of her drink.

you were unsure what to say, especially when it came to your parents’ relationship. the thing was, they had never been overly affectionate in front of you, but you figured they loved each other. in their own way, at least. they seemed more like best friends than lovers your whole life, every aspect of romance had come from books and cinema, so you never knew what love was supposed to look like in reality. your relationship was hardly the best example of one.

and now you were starting to wonder if love was even real.

you had never been good with words, at least when it came to something pertaining to you, hence why you simply pulled your mother into a hug that felt forced but was the best you could do in the current situation.

she stiffened but relaxed and held your arm in an awkward hug.

“i’m so sorry, mom. im just confused. you don’t have to tell me what happened now, but i am here if you want to talk,” you surprised yourself with the warm caring but mostly understanding tone.

the irony of your current situation made you clench your jaw. your heart suddenly filled with bitterness when you remembered the way your parents, particularly your mother, had scolded you for being sad over your breakup with jj.

especially when she should’ve shown you a little support over your situation, and yet here you were. consoling her when she would never do the same for you.

yes, but this is different. they were married for years and they’re your parents.

“thank you, darling.” she pulls away and gestures for you to sit again. she wipes her tears with a manicured hand before clasping them before her in a serious manner.

“things are going to be different around here from now on. your father requested you to visit him at ocean manor as soon as you can. despite our problems as a married couple, i still hope that you have a good relationship with him and me. i know that i am not an easy mother, but i only want what is best for you and because of that i am setting some ground rules for this summer.

“first, i need you to have dinner with me at least once a week, we can choose the day later. second, if you are going to sleep over at one of your friends’ houses, i need to know who it is, and you must come home in the morning or at least let me know that you are alright either through a phone call or text message. and third, you will apply for a job, whichever one you choose but i do not want you to lay around as if this were a hotel. you are an adult and as such i expect you to behave like one in this household. apart from those rules, you are free to do as you please. any questions?”

you blinked at your mother, taken aback. your mother had never set rules for you, not even in high school, not even when you were dating a pogue. her requests weren’t unreasonable, but you felt like a child, which completely contradicted her final statements.

you’d never worked a day in your life so that was the most shocking of all, but you decided that maybe it was best. that way you would have your own money for school and to spend this summer. not that you would be hanging out much. you wanted nothing more than to hole up in your room and only come out when necessary. but now that you thought about it, being in the same house as your mother the entire summer would be excruciating, especially now that she had no one to control.

so, you found yourself shaking your head, “no questions.”

her expression flickered to one of surprise, but she then dissimulated it with a tight smile.

“perfect. we will decide on our dinner days as soon as you get your work schedule. that way we can organize ourselves better.”

you nodded, “fine by me. anyway, are you hungry? i was thinking of ordering food, and i could stop by the grocery store tomorrow?”

she looked up at you, “i ate earlier so don’t worry about me. and as for our groceries i will call heyward in the morning so he can bring them.”

pope. your heart skipped a beat at the thought of him bringing your groceries. as far as you knew, he was still the one that made the deliveries. you missed your friend and the thought of seeing him brought you joy but also made you uneasy. would he even be happy to see you or would he ignore you? or worse. what if he hated you for how things ended with his friends?

“is everything alright?” your mothers voice interrupting your train of thought.

you focused on her again and nodded, “yeah, i’m fine. just hungry and tired from the trip.”

she made a sound in understanding before getting up and kissing your forehead, wishing you goodnight.

you sat in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, and you decided that it was too late to order food plus your stomach was still a bit upset, so you made your way up the stairs.

finding your phone on the bed, you decide to just shut it off and deal with it in the morning. after showering and doing your nighttime routine, you went to bed early and leave this complicated day behind.

saturday, may 24, 2025

once you heard the honk ten minutes after sarah’s message you hurried down the stairs to avoid your mother and any questions she might have.

after locking the door quietly behind you, you turn to see a pastel blue mini cooper in the driveway. you couldn’t hold back your smile when you saw it. you ran to the passenger side of the car and once you were inside, you were hit with that new car scent and a hint of tropical fruits in the air.

sarah had a huge grin on her face and wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you so hard that you could barely breathe. you didn’t mind, though. it felt as if every broken part of you was pieced together by her sheer force and for a moment you felt whole.

she let go and kissed your cheek before wiping her eyes. you frowned when you realized she was crying, “hey, what is it? what happened?”

she let out a choked laugh before shaking her head, “i’m just so happy to see your smile again. i didn’t think you would ever smile again after last summer.” your vision got blurry and soon both of you were two crying messes hugging and trying to say words you knew could never express the amount of pain in your hearts.

after calming down a little, sarah looked down at her hands. “i know we already talked about this, but i wanted to say again that i am truly sorry for everything. i wish things were different but we both know that’s not how it works.”

you sighed, “sar, i know, ok? we all made mistakes, and i wasn’t exactly great last summer, and i was a horrible friend. but i also know that we are as close as sisters and sisters have fights and they hurt each other but at the end of the day, they know that they can count on one another.”

sarah chuckled, her sobs now merely hiccups. “remember when my dad locked us in a room so we could talk it out? i don’t even remember what the fight was about, but from that day on i knew that i could never be someone else’s best friend.”

you laughed at the vague memory, “yeah, i remember we made a plan to fool him into believing we were fine so he would let us go, but we ended up believing it ourselves.”

a mischievous expression colored sarahs face, “i have a confession to make. i am still pretending to be ok with you.”

you snort out a laugh, “ward wont be very happy to hear that.”

she shook her head, “he’ll say we betrayed his trust or something.”

you pretended to be frightened, “what if he locks us up again?”

she matched your expression and added trembling hands as she held your wrists, “he will kill us and he’ll then turn us into wax figures to exhibit it when people enter his office.”

you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore, “sarah, stop. i could totally see him doing that, though.”

she nodded seriously, “oh, definitely. guess we’ll have to keep up the farce in order to save our lives.”

you shrugged and sighed with resignation, “unfortunately.”

“hey!”

you chuckled and reached for her hand. “sar, i’m so glad we can be friends again. ive missed you terribly. this past year has been an absolute hell for me.”

her brows furrowed with concern, “im glad too, and youre not the only one that’s had a shitty year. although these past couple of months haven’t been so bad. ok, but we’ll talk about it at brunch because if not we’ll be here the entire day.”

she pressed her foot on the accelerator and the car jolted forward smoothly.

“by the way, when did you get this car? i know its been your dream car for years.” it couldn’t be older than a year because you hadn’t seen it before.

“i got it about five months ago. my dad bought it for me and rafe got so pissed because he’s been wanting a bike since forever and dad kept saying he would buy it for him but, you know.” she shrugged, doing nothing to hide the smugness in her voice.

you chuckled, “when is rafe going to learn you’re the favorite?”

she snorted, “the day i learn how to fly.”

the island club’s parking lot wasn’t full but not exactly empty either. too late for breakfast but too early for lunch so those that were still inside were probably just talking as if they could solve the world with a flick of their hand.

as soon as sarah was parked, you both got out with your sunglasses on and you saw a few people glance your way, realizing who you were.

oh, you could already hear the gossip: she’s back! and it looks like college life has not treated her too well. the kook princesses together again.

you rolled your eyes at the thought, and despite how cringe those words sounded, they weren’t even close to how they spoke in real life.

i mean, c’mon. who comes up with the terms kooks and pogues? fucking weirdos.

“you okay?” sarah’s concerned voice brought you out of your thoughts.

you managed a smile, “yeah, i’m just thinking how the gossip is already spreading.”

she rolled her eyes, “trust me, nothing beats what they’re saying about me.”

confused you asked, “what do you mean?”

she laughed awkwardly before going up to the host, a young man that seemed a little younger than you but not by much.

after he took you to your table you repeated your earlier question. sarah just told you to wait for the food because she didn’t want to be interrupted by a server but you had a feeling, she was building suspense to make you anxious.

trying to distract yourself you look around the club, seeing few familiar faces and a new one behind the bar cleaning up.

the girl put on an apron, took a small notebook before making her way to you. she grinned when she saw sarah, her cheeks adorned with dimples and you swore that was the brightest smile you had ever seen. once she was up close, you realized she was pretty.

and not pretty in like a cute way, but absolutely gorgeous and you couldn’t help but get a little self-conscious around such a pretty girl.

a part of you wanted to hate on her but it wasn’t her fault and besides, that was ridiculous and childish. her beauty didn’t take away from yours.

“hi, sarah!” she hugged sarah and then turned to you. “hello, i’m sofia. nice to meet you.”

you shook her extended hand with a polite smile before introducing yourself. her eyes widened a bit, but she quickly recovered, causing you to internally groan.

“well, i will be your server today. here are the menus, i will come back and see if you’re ready to order.” sofia left once you nodded, her short hair flowing with her.

you turned to sarah, “i’ve never seen her before. is she new to kildare?”

“no, she grew up on the cut. she’s rafe’s age so that’s probably why we never saw her. im surprised she’s our server because she’s the bartender here,” sarah shrugged while eyeing the menu. “maybe they’re short staffed today or she needs the money.”

you hummed but dropped the subject. after choosing something you liked from the menu, sofia came by again and was especially sweet to you which struck you as odd. it felt almost like… pity.

but why? she didn’t know the first thing about you, apart from being sarah’s friend, right? you clenched your jaw at the thought of people talking behind your back. no matter how usual it was for people to gossip, you never got used to it.

“do you mind if i post a pic for instagram?” sarah’s question interrupted your train of thought.

you sighed, uncomfortable but you knew that maybe if people saw you were eating together then the rumors would die down. so you nodded and posed.

“i deactivated my account so i don’t think it will come up if you try to tag me.”

she pouted, “oh cmon then activate it again! i want to tag you. pleaseeee.”

you threw your head back with a groan but agreed reluctance. it was best to just get it over with.

“fine. but don’t expect me to be super active, ok?”

she nodded excitedly and waited until you logged back in to tag you.

“can you post me too?” her grin could practically blinded you, and even though you didn’t want to, you decided to just humor her.

“fine, princess.”

“hey! but thanks, hehe,” she giggled while squeezing your hand.

a couple of minutes after sarah posted her story, her phone began buzzing but she looked at her phone with a frown before typing away quickly. when you asked what was wrong, she said it was her dad before getting up to go somewhere private.

huh. that’s weird. what if–

“y/n?” your body tensed at the sound of the voice behind you. you shut your eyes as if you could will them away from you but you knew it wouldn’t. a hand landed on your shoulder, and you jerked away before turning to them.

topper. he looked older and almost wore down.

“mind if i sit down?” he didn’t wait for an answer before lowering himself to sarah’s seat.

you stayed silent while he scrutinized your appearance.

“you don’t look so good,” his smile was bitter. “feels nice to know that someone feels the same.”

your gaze was unwavering, voice cold but every nerve in your body was screaming at you to run. “did you come here to berate me or–”

“topper!” a deep booming voice interrupted you, a tall, broad-shouldered man coming your way. the sun was shining behind him so you couldn’t quite make out who it was until he was right in front of you.

bright blue eyes flashed with recognition before a polite smile slid into place, “y/n, i didn’t know you were back. it’s nice to see you again.”

your smile was a bit tense from your encounter with topper, dropping it as soon as rafe looked away from you.

“top, grayson is outside waiting for us. you coming?” topper clenched his jaw before nodding with a sigh, getting up and turning away from you, but not without a hostile glance in your direction.

rafe rolled his eyes before saying goodbye, grabbing topper by the shoulder and steering him away from the table, towards the entrance that led to the golf course.

your gaze followed their figures, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you saw topper continue towards the golf course and rafe stop to hug sofia before kissing her cheek.

the screech of the chair across the table tore your eyes away from them, turning back to sarah who looked a little upset.

“is everything okay?” you asked.

she looked at you in silence, “yes. fine.”

you frowned in confusion at her clipped tone but decided not to push it. you wanted to bring up the weird text messages you had been receiving, yet something held you back.

distrust settled in your chest, followed by guilt.

maybe she is thinking the same thing about you.

after all, if she was also receiving those messages from around the time yours also began, she could think it had something to do with your return.

she ate in silence, contrasting how bubbly she had been earlier and that only confirmed your suspicions.

“topper came by when you left.”

sarah’s head jolted upwards before looking around as if he were standing behind her.

“what did he want?”

“what do you mean? aren’t you still together?” confusion colored your tone.

she laughed in disbelief, “god, no. i broke up with him last summer. he was starting to get really paranoid, and i couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“oh. i didn’t know.” you looked down at your plate, realizing you had barely eaten half of it but you knew that if you took one more bite it would come right back up.

“yeah, sorry. i’m with someone else now.” you lifted your gaze at that.

“yeah? with who?” you questioned, intrigued.

sarah took a deep breath, “john b.”

“what?!” you shrieked. a few of the other people eating at the club looked at you with annoyance but you couldn’t care less. sarah cameron was dating john b. routledge?!

WHAT THE FUCK???

out of all the people from kildare, the last person you expected her to date was john b. who was also a pogue.

she had given you so much shit for dating jj back in high school and now?

with an apologetic smile she said, “yeah. i know, but things are very different for me now.”

“no shit, sherlock.” you were pretty sure your mouth was hanging wide open so you tried your best to calm yourself down.

“wait, if you’re with john b., then that means you are friends with the rest of his group?” you were very careful to not mention his name but there was another one that also didn’t add up.

“kiara, you mean.” you were grateful she still knew you enough to not say his name out loud.

so you both pretended when you agreed.

“well, she wasn’t thrilled at first but, um, we sorted out our differences and she’s been a great friend to me this past year.” you knew that she was telling you the truth because the fondness for kiara in her voice could not be faked. a weird feeling caused your chest to ache.

“oh, well i am glad.” your attempt at sounding chill about it fell flat. your voice only came out strained and you were sure your poker face was gone.

you thought of how things went down when the three of you were friends. it all started about two months after you had begun school and had been partnered with kiara for the rest of the school year. on an otherwise normal tuesday, you had asked for permission to go to the bathroom–which was actually an excuse to just get out of class– and when you walked inside to check if there was something in your eye, a sob tore through the quiet bathroom. you turned around with worry and checked each one of the stalls until the last door didn’t budge. so you knocked and after minutes of convincing, the door opened.

sarah cameron. to any other person she would’ve looked normal and would’ve also fooled you with her calm expression, but her eyes were red-rimmed and, of course, you had heard her crying.

she wasn’t exactly rude to you at school, but she certainly didn’t go out of her way to make you feel included. honestly, she was indifferent towards your presence, or at least that was what you thought. it turned out that she knew your name and where you were from and that, of course, you were kiara’s friend.

when you’d asked her why she was crying, she said she was just having very bad period cramps and boy had you been there. luckily, she was also in your class period so you offered to give her pain killers once you were back and she had agreed.

obviously, it wasn’t like from that day on you were best friends but you saw each other and smile in the hallways and she would come up to you and say hi every once in a while, always leaving kiara with a confused expression.

about a month after the bathroom encounter, you stood by your locker, putting away your books, when kiara asked, “why are you so friendly with sarah cameron all of a sudden?”

you froze at the question but you were surprised she hadn’t brought it up sooner. “she’s nice and we talked in the bathroom once so i guess we decided to acknowledge one another.”

kiara frowned, “so? i’ve talked to people in the bathroom and i haven’t become besties with them.”

“she’s not my bestie, ok? we’re just classmates that don’t hate each other.”

your friend opened her mouth to respond but another voice beat her to it.

“hey, y/n. hi, kiara. i’m going to have a small get together at my place tonight if you guys want to come.” you hoped that she hadn’t listened to your conversation but something in her eyes told you she did.

you could see that kiara was going to tell her off but you held her back with a stern gaze before returning it back to sarah, “yeah, sure. we’d love to.”

sarah grinned, “cool. i’ll text you the details later. chao.” she wiggled her fingers goodbye causing kiara to mock her farewell with a higher pitched voice.

“why did you tell her yes?” by the way she was looking at you, you would’ve thought you had killed her dog or something.

“because, she’s being nice to us. she even invited you. i mean we can go and check it out but if we decide that it’s boring then we get up and leave. no harm done.”

kie sighed, “fine. but that doesn’t mean im going to be all smiles and laughter around her.”

you chuckled and booped her nose,  “didn’t ask for anything else.”

so that night you had gone to sarah’s house only for kiara to call you to tell you that she had thrown up her dinner and felt like shit.

naturally, you turned around to leave because no matter how nice sarah was to you, the other kooks weren’t guaranteed to feel the same. once you were almost out tannyhill’s entrance, a girl called your name.

“hey, wait up! where are you going?” sarah had come running after you and was breathing fast when she stopped in front of you with a cautious smile.

“oh, it’s just that kiara is sick so i figured it wouldn’t be fun without her.”

“oh." hurt flickered through sarah’s features, immediately causing your heart to clench with guilt.

you quickly tried to think of something so you wouldn’t make her feel worse. “no, i mean i’m sure it will be fun but you’ll be with your friends, and i don’t want to make you feel obligated to stay with me the entire time.”

oh my god, shut up. you sound like a fucking pick me, jesus fucking christ.

she laughed, “don’t be ridiculous. if i invited you, it’s because we are friends. if you want to be, of course.”

no one had ever said expressed their desire for your friendship so candidly before, which took you by surprise. warmth filled your chest, thinking that she was actually a very nice girl, so you decided to just give her a chance.

you better not regret this.

you mentally shooed the kiara conscience voice away and took sarah’s hand when she offered, holding it all the way back to her house.

maybe that was the day everything went wrong. if you had just left, you wouldn’t have become friends with sarah and then you wouldn’t have gotten on that car the night of midsummers and you wouldn’t be a murderer.

your world began to shake and you suddenly became increasingly aware of your surroundings.

sarah was shaking you and calling your name out, yelling at someone to call a doctor or something. you tried to open your mouth but you couldn’t and the edges of your vision were becoming blurry but you somehow didn’t faint.

you heard someone giving out instructions on what to do with you, and the words panic attack were being thrown around.

aquamarine colored eyes locked with yours, willing you to take deep breaths. you slowly began to do what they said.

breathe in for 4 seconds, hold your breath for 4 seconds, exhale for 4 seconds, do not breathe for 4 seconds.

eventually your heart beat settled down, and your vision became clearer, your hearing once again back to normal.

“are you ok?” the concerned tone in his voice almost made you cry. under any other circumstances you would’ve slapped yourself into oblivion for being so emotional. you heard a choked sound along with your body beginning to shake again before you realized it was you sobbing.

oh brother.

rafe’s arms wrapped around you as he shushed you, telling you that everything was okay and that you were okay and safe.

after what felt like an hour he let you go, only to be engulfed by another pair of arms, this time smaller and more delicate.

“i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry,” sarah’s guilt ridden voice sounded in your ear and you somehow became the one consoling her.

rafe noticed, “sarah c’mon. let her go, she’s fine but you shouldn’t push it.”

she apologized but let go.

“you should take her home,” someone said behind you but you were too far gone inside your own mind to recognize who it was.

next thing you know, you’re in sarah’s mini cooper, on your way to your house. she keeps glancing in your direction every two minutes but otherwise left you alone. the windows are down, the ocean air wrapping itself around you like a hug.

the gravel underneath the car’s tires made a satisfying crunch, grounding you to the present.

“i’m so sorry about today,” sarah apologized for the hundredth time and you assured her once again that it was fine and to not fret.

she reluctantly accepted, leaving once you shut the door behind you. leaning your head back against the door you concentrated in breathing in and out, in and out.

a bang sounded down the hallway. “mom?”

no answer. you went to see where you thought you had heard it the sound from, but the house was empty as far as you could tell.

what if? no. it was probably the wind or my imagination.

you made your way up the stairs, groggily and plopped on top of your bed once you were secure in your bedroom.

you sighed, “finally.”

taking your phone out of your bag, you saw five missed calls and 3 messages from sarah in the past five minutes.

a chill ran down your spine when another poem arrived.

you stared at your screen in horror.

it was you from last night.

extra:

sarah's phone: saturday, may 24, 2025.

so... what do we think? i lwk think i've ruined the story but LEMME KNOW

ALSO i was gonna make rafe be an asshole but @inthelibrarybtw said no so.... BLAME HER

no, im joking i asked for her help cuz esta que está aqui no puede tomar una decisión ni para salvar su vida.

also the way rafe had the sun behind him

get it? hahahah

HE'S OUR SUN ASDFHAJSHDFJ i fear i would faint a thousand times more just so he can help me breathe.

mouth to mouth should be included cuz wtf

no but in case the part where he helps is confusing, it's because the reader was out of it and panic came in because miss girl does not have one nonchalant bone in her body and spirals over anything.

she wasn't responding and sarah was screaming and he has known reader for years so of course he would be worried.

let's not forget he was/is friends with jj and topper *check their ig profiles (:

do we smell drama??? I DO

psa this was not the way i had outlined this story, they're taking a life of their own and it's lwk scary cuz now i don't know who to kill off...

dead bodies might start appearing soon, but not before more ANGST

what? who said that?

no but why do i want to spoil my own story?? IT'S SO HARD TO KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT i just want to put it out there already

but patience is key

also: i make it mandatory to listen to memoir of a sparklemuffin (deluxe) thank you.

it is the official soundtrack of this story and here is my face reveal as a reward:

i'm so cool y'all

sparklemuffins are peak feminism, seriously

look it up.

favorite album ngl and nonchalant represents me in every level LISTEN TO IT!!!

BTW memoir of a sparklemuffin is lwk canon cuz i saw that my fun was playing in s4 episode 8 of obx

dedicated to my sparklemuffins (i feel like it fits): @countryclubwhore @onlyangel-444 @papercranesandinkstains @inthelibrarybtw @cokewithcameron @jaes-last-words @rafesbabygirlx @ethanthequeefqueen @7-deadly-cats @ewwwitsel @rockkybbys @luvvly-lydia @jenna0rtegaswife

[boochwe]

Dream About Me

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Synopsis: There's a world you go to each night in your dreams, a reality between realities. That is where you find him. That is where you feel most at home.

She/Her pronouns used

Warnings: None that I can think of, this is pure fluff. Maybe just a small, small hint of angst but more melancholic in vibes than actually sad or upsetting.

Word Count: 784

Notes: First fic posted on a new blog. I wrote this a bit ago and never really thought about doing anything with it until now. No idea of what's to come from it, but I hope you guys enjoy. I listened to Anthems For A Seventeen Year Old-Girl by yeule on repeat while writing and half ass editing this.

“Do you dream of me?”

The question hung heavy in the air as Vernon turned his head to the side to look at her, brows furrowed as he pondered over her words. The answer was so obvious and yet she had him second guessing himself.

“Is that not what I’m doing right now? Dreaming of you?” He asked, wishing she’d turn her head so he could look her in the eye. She didn’t.

Instead, she leaned to fidget with the volume of the music they’d been listening to until it was adequately regarded as background noise for their conversation before returning to her original position. His fingers itched to pull her closer- to turn her head towards him so he could get a read on her- but he hesitated and let his hands stay by his sides, twitching with the need to touch her.

“I don’t think so. I think right now…right now we’re wide awake, and when we leave these moments- whatever they really are- that’s when we sleep. Does that make sense?” She asked though from the way her voice stayed quiet, barely audible over the music she’d already turned down, he knew that she wasn’t even sure if it made sense to herself.

Vernon let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as he dragged a hand through his dark hair, needing something to keep them occupied or else he was sure he wouldn’t be able to keep them away from her much longer.

He’d been finding himself in that situation a lot since this whole thing started, unable to stop his hands from finding their way towards her- her hands, her hair, the hem of her shirt. He could almost feel the soft fabric between his fingertips when she shook him out of his own thoughts.

“It doesn’t make sense,” She muttered as she finally turned to look at him, eyes squinting to fully make out his features as only moonlight illuminated the room. “I can’t explain it any better than that. I just can’t imagine that the world I’m awake in isn’t this one. Where you’re here, and you’re tangible, and I can always find you. I can’t have you out there but every night I have you right here beside me. I don’t want to believe you’re just a dream.”

Her words rolled down his body like condensation on a glass, starting in his mind and dripping all the way to his toes until his whole body was chilled and warm all at once. He didn’t give a damn about holding back anymore as he turned to lay on his side, one hand coming to rest on her waist as his large fingers tangled around the fabric of her shirt until it inched up enough for him to slip his hand down against her bare skin. His touch was hot but so was her skin, as if the pair were flushed head to toe just with the weight of their affections.

“I’m not,” he said, cheeks burning at how simple his statement seemed compared to her confession. “A dream I mean. I’m not a dream. I’m real out there and I’m real right here. And so are you.”

“But how are you sure? How can you know?”

Her eyebrows scrunched together, some semblance of a pout settling on her lips. He considered kissing it away for a moment before he forced the thought away. There would be plenty of time to kiss her later, but now he had to talk, he had to reassure them both.

For a moment, he pursed his own lips as his eyes darted away from hers and tried to find the right words among the millions of reasons rushing through his mind. She always did this- overwhelmed his brain with so many thoughts and words and feelings. He hated how much he loved it.

“I just know. I know it when I hear your favorite songs or when I see certain things. I could never dream up something like you.”

This time, it was her turn to lose herself within her thoughts because several moments passed by with nothing but the steady beat of a song that he was sure he could have fallen asleep to under normal circumstances.

Finally, as one song came to an end and the next began, she spoke.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she said as she turned onto her side and shifted so their noses were brushing.

“I know I’m in love with you,” Vernon responded and he leaned in to brush his lips against hers. Not quite a kiss, but not quite less. “So yes. I do dream of you.”

[stitch-away]

hug the cowboy

pairing: jack "agent whiskey" daniels x trans male reader

summary: after his trauma lead him to betray statesman, his re-instatement has left jack lonely. a new agent gives him a chance, a reminder that he's worth something

tags: MDNI, not smut just brief humping and making out, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of drugs (medication and illicit), ptsd, jack has a horrible self esteem bc lowkey everyone hates him, he's a sweetie pie who just needs a hug

word count: 1.6k

a/n: the final pedrito pride month fic. this is from an ask for jack x trans male reader. i was gonna make it horny but i got in my feels about mi vaquito so y'all got hurt comfort instead. i adore jack daniels angst, i think his trauma is overlooked a lot when people write him as a character- although that could just be from my consumption,, this isn't shade btw idgaf how ppl write characters, just how i write them

pride month masterlist

jack looks up from his glass of whiskey to the other agent lingering at the statesman bar. he’s been pondering talking to them for a solid 20 minutes at this point. to be completely truthful, he’s been wanting to talk to them since they arrived last month but he’s never gotten round to it. all his missions have been pretty much back to back assignments, leaving him without any downtime. the most he’s said the new agent is a hello at their introduction. 

you finish off your drink and as you order your next drink you catch jack’s eye. you give him a small smile and he tips his hat to you, trying to pretend like he hasn’t been staring. as the barman pours you out a shot of tequila, you notice jack finally makes a move. he stands up and saunters over to the seat next to you. 

“agent whiskey, jack daniels,” jack says, holding out his hand, “we haven’ been properly introduced. i’d like to apologise for that, champ’s been keepin’ me busy. almost like he don’ wan’ me around ‘ere.” jack chuckles but you can see a flash of real insecurity behinds his eyes. 

“i’m sure he just thinks you’re his best agent,” you smile, shaking his hand and offering your own name, “no other reason to keep you away.” jack scoffs, lightheartedly, slipping onto the seat beside you. 

“you’re new around ‘ere so i’m not gonna hold ya to that,” he says, gesturing to the bartender for another drink, “you’ll come to learn i ain’t the best company– at least accordin’ to most.” his tone is light but there’s a bitterness hidden underneath. 

jack doesn’t even know what he’s saying. his ego is usually perfectly intact, even a few drinks in. his recent debacle with trying to sabotage the statesman’s efforts to save the world from imminent death, via poisoned drugs, has left him on everyone’s bad side. no one trusts him anymore; he hardly trusts himself. champ had put him through statesman’s very own psychiatric evaluation, drugging him up with ssris and antipsychotics to try and block out as much of his ptsd as they can. the meds only do so much. he hasn’t considered betraying statesman again but the aching emptiness and the symptoms you can’t medicate away eat at him constantly. 

champ’s idea of putting him out in the field as much as possible only helped to distract him for as long as they lasted. the moment he rested his head on the pillow at night, the crushing loneliness still came to him. 

“don’t sell yourself short,” you say, giving him a soft smile, “i’m sure you’re not as bad as they say.” jack sighs, throwing back his drink. 

“i am,” he mutters, “i… i fucked up– bad. everyone knows. i did something– something awful and i can’t–” 

“hey,” you place a hand on his shoulder as his speech quickens and he begins to stumble over his words. he pauses, taking shaky breaths. he stares into his glass, almost hard enough to burn through it, before looking up at you. “you’re still here. whatever you did, champ believes you can fix it. you can’t let your past define you forever. it’s your present, what you’re doing now, that defines you.” 

“what? drinking my sorrows?” jack scoffs. you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“that’s not what i meant,” you say, taking the empty glass from him, “what you do now, each step you take in the right direction, no matter how hard it is, is what matters.” jack drops his cowboy hat onto the bar as he slumps on his stool and he looks up at you. his soft puppy dog eyes are glazed with a layer of tears he’s begging not to fall.

“now, why are you so insightful?” he chuckles, the squint of his eyes letting a tear slip. you wipe it away with your thumb before it curves down his cheekbone, your knuckles gracing his stubble softly. jack feels his heart stop in his chest, it only beating again when you laugh.

“i’ve had to deal with stuff that forced me to move forwards,” you admit, “stuff that helped me understand that, yes, your past makes you who you are, but it doesn’t have to define who you are or who you wanna be.” jack’s face softens, giving you a kind smile. 

“i see,” he says, nodding. there’s a level of authenticity to your interaction that warms his heart. this what he’s been missing for years now; someone to see him, to talk to him like he’s a person, not just a sex object or a vain asshole. “y’know, yer the first person t’ give me the time o’ day since i got here. i…i appreciate it.” 

“it’s no problem, really,” you smile, “you seem like you just need someone to care, someone to talk to, and i’m happy to be that someone.” tears well in jack’s eyes again, not from the crushing sadness that’s loomed over him recently, but from the unparalleled kindness you’re showing him. he sits up, wiping his eyes, and reaches out to cup your cheek. he smiles as his eyes drop to your lips.

“i wanna kiss you,” jack whispers, leaning forwards but waiting for you to tell him it’s okay, “can i?” you nod and his smile widens. 

he leans in, letting his nose brush against yours before pressing his whiskey flavoured lips to yours. his lips are soft and he moves them at a slow and gentle pace, not wanting to push you further than you’re ready for. being slow, taking his time, is not something he’s used to. 

when he pulls back, you see a sheepish smile on his lips and a giddy tension in his drunken muscles. his brow is upturned and his brown eyes are shiny with a light that wasn’t there before. 

“that– that was nice,” jack says, slightly lost still in the feeling of your lips against his, “i haven’ done that in a while– especially so softly. thank you.” 

“no need to thank me,” you chuckle, “i enjoyed kissing you. you have good taste in alcohol.” jack laughs and shakes his head. he grabs his hat and flips it back onto his head. 

“ya wanna come back t’ mine?” he asks, hopeful eyes drawing you in under the brim of his hat. 

“sure, why not.” 

♡♡♡♡

as the door shut behind you, jack pressed you up against it, letting you feel the hard bulge of his cock through his jeans. his lips stop their frantic movement against yours as he notices the lack of bulge in your own pants. he steps back, a hurt look on his face.

“do ya not wanna do this?” he asks, a sense of shame in his voice. 

“oh– no, no, i want to,” you say, chuckling a little. jack tilts his head in confusion. “that stuff i was talking about earlier, i’m transgender– i’m a man, i just wasn’t born with the right parts.” 

“ohhh,” jack nods. you can see the cogs turning in his head for a moment before leaning back in, his hands finding their way under your shirt. he slips it up over your head and then slips his his jacket off onto the floor. 

his lips are back on yours as he walks you back to his bed, unbuckling his jeans as he does. as you fall back onto his bed, you lay spread out, watching jack as he kicks off his jeans. you shimmy out of your own, jack’s eyes watching intently as you do, helping you tug them off. 

once you’re both in nothing but your boxers, jack joins you in the bed. he lays down between your legs, flipping you both over so you’re nestled on top of him. he takes his hat and places it on your head. 

“howdy cowboy,” he chuckles, leaning up to kiss you. you giggle, readjusting his hat on your head.

“since i’m wearing the hat, does that mean i have to ride the cowboy?” you tease, rolling your hips against jack’s. he lets a whimper slip, digging his fingers into your hips and pulling you down against his cock harder. 

“ya don’ have to do anything, gorgeous,” he breathes, “just as much as ya wan’.” 

the pair of you make out for a while in the quiet of his apartment, only soft whimpers and the rub of fabric together can be heard. neither of you have tried to make the next move, content to kiss and hump in the soft warmth of one another. 

“do ya wanna?” jack asks, breaking the kiss and cupping your face softly. you shrug.

“only if you want to.” jack shrugs.

“i just don’ wan’ ya t’ think that i don’ wanna fuck ya ‘cause yer trans,” he sighs, “that ain’ got nothin’ t’ do with it. it’s me– i haven’ done this in a while a–and i guess i–” 

“hey,” you smile, cupping his face in return, “there’s no need to explain. by the sounds of it, you’ve been dealing with a lot of shit. if you’re no longer in the mood for sex, we don’t have to do it, yeah? there’s no obligation, just like you said.” jack turns his head and presses a kiss into your palm. 

“yer an angel right out of heaven, aren’ ya, hot stuff?” he chuckles, pulling you down next to him and wrapping his arms around you, “an’ t’ think i was scared t’ talk t’ ya.” 

“why would you be scared?” you ask, hugging him in return, shuffling closer so your noses touch.

“y’know i ain’ mr. popular,” he smiles, “thought ya might o’ made yer mind up about me already.” 

“well, i didn’t,” you press a kiss to his nose, “and i’m glad i didn’t. i like you a lot, jack.” jack’s smile widens and he buries his face in your neck. 

“i like ya a lot too,” he mutters against your skin.

♡♡♡♡

tags: @perezososstuff @alfiestreacle @archive-of-ink

[jadegrey711]

Call me

(Bucky x Fem!phone sex operator)

A/N: This gif really got me thinking about how much fun a Fem!phone sex operator x Bucky oneshot would be. So here's my take, Bucky is like more still (winter solider) but like hitman for hire who doesn't work for any side. The end is a little dark but nothing too much. I don't think I'll be making a part two of this though so you'll have to let your imagination win with what happens after this. And as always;

Not my Gif *

If you like my stories you can check out my sideblog @jadegreywriting​​ to see all of them and my masterlist without filtering through my main blog.

I own all rights to this story and do not give permission for my stories to be published, translated or reposted anywhere else. The only places I have published my stories is here on Tumblr and on my AO3 account (LadyAuthor711) 

This story is for 18+ ONLY. It contains sexual themes that are not suited for younger audiences so if you’re under 18 my blog and this story is not for you. Please make sure to read at your own discretion and remember that you are solely responsible for your content intake.

You were surprised as you heard your phone ring with the familar ring tone of your favorite client, and eagerly grabbed the phone and went into your bedroom. Flopping onto bed and trying to calm your racing heart as you put on the familar persona of your phone sex operator voice and accepted the call.

"Hi darling." He greeted you in that familar, dark, rich voice.

"Hiya honey. I wasn't expecting your call tonight." you said honestly. You truly weren't expecting to hear from your favorite client tonight. His phone session usually held a standing reservation with you on Saturday night, usually around 10pm.

"I know darling, but work has been shit and I needed to hear from my sweet bunny."

"Oh yeah? You wanna tell me about it." You asked, as you made yourself more comfortable on the bed.

Bucky let out a let out a sigh. "Just politics darling. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about."

"Hey! I'm not just a pretty voice." You giggled. "I've got a pretty big brain behind this sultry voice, too."

"Oh. I know that bunny. That's why you're the only one I talk too."

"Well then tell me what's got you all worked up honey? That's usually my job." You chuckled and in return heard a deep chuckle on the other end of the line.

"I certainly enjoy getting worked up more from you than from anyone else."

"Well I'm glad to hear it. Means I'm providing an excellent service. Be sure to give me high stars at our end of call survey." You said cheekily, earning another deep chuckle from the other end of the line, before he let out a long deep sigh.

"I wasn't kidding when I said it was politics." He chuckled, when he heard a small gasp coming from you.

"Oh my! I've bagged myself a senator!" You said, fanning yourself even though he couldn't see you. "But, I've seen most of the senators on TV and none of them sound as hot as you honeypie."

"I never said I was a senator, Bunny."

"So, just randomly in politics?" You let out another little gasp. "Are you the man behind the curtain? The puppeter? The pied piper that leads all the rats?" You giggled, earning another laugh from him.

"No. Not in politics at all. More politics adjacent. I keep the wheels moving you could say."

You cocked your eyebrow at that, when a thought came into your mind. "Are you a hitman, Honey?"

The other end of the line was silent for a moment before he spoke.

"What if I was Bunny?"

You covered your side of the reciever and let out a scoff in disbelief, then chuckled. So, tonight is going to be role play? That's a first for your Honey.

"Well first I'd ask if you help the good guys or the bad guys?" You teased.

He took a moment to ponder this before he spoke. "Both. I'm what you would call a neutral party."

"Ah... so you vote Green party!"

You heard a louder laugh came from the line and smiled. It was rare to get your Honey to laugh that hard and when he did it was like music to your ears.

"No, Bunny."

"Are you dangerous?" You asked, your voice going low.

He stayed silent for a moment again, before answering with another question. "Would that scare you if I was?"

"I mean as long as you aren't planning on taking a hit out on me. Then I wouldn't mind. Hypothetically speaking, if you really are a hitman for hire."

"Never, Bunny." He said in a serious tone. "I might be dangerous to others, but not to you; never." He said matterof fact.

"So..." You drawed out. "What's got you all riled up from this job I'm assuming that you're on?"

He let out a sigh. "Just didn't go as I planned. Client is upset, but I couldn't give a fuck."

"Should I ask?"

"I wouldn't Bunny. These things don't need to reach your pretty ears. The only thing that needs to reach your pretty ears, is my voice telling you how much I want to bury myself in that pretty little pussy of yours."

You bit your bottom lip. There's my Honey, as agressive and verbal as ever.

"Would that make your day better? Burying that thick, hard cock in this sweet little pussy?"

He let out a low groan, and you knew he was touching himself. You never did this with other clients, but you found yourself reaching into your little pajama shorts in kind. Your Honey the only one who could pull this out of you; who could make you this wet, this fast.

"That would definitely brighten up my day Bunny."

"Hmm." You let out a low hum as you played with your clit. "I'd be more than happy to help you out with that. Working as hard as you do. The least I could do is greet you when you come home from a long day with my legs spread open for you. My pussy eager and waiting for that fat cock."

"I'd need your mouth first Bunny. It was an especially hard day."

"Of course Honeybunches. I'd love to be on my knees for you, my mouth wet and warm as it takes your big cock. Giving you a proper welcome home from a job."

You could hear him breathing harder on the other end of the line.

"You'd put your hands in my hair and fuck my mouth so good, wouldn't you honey?"

"Yeah baby." He panted.

"My pussy would get all wet just from me sucking your cock off. Just the thought of it right now has got me all sticky honeybunches. Would you let me play with myself as I sucked you off? Or would you be selfish?"

"Depends on if you've been a good girl for me Bunny."

You let out a mock gasp. "I'm always a good girl! You know that honey." you teased.

He let out a chuckle. "Yes you are Bunny. But you're a tease too."

"You love it when I tease you. I'd tease you even with your cock down my throat. I'd run my tongue up and down your fat cock, making sure to circle the top of your pretty cock with my tongue before sucking you back down. All the while, my fingers are buried deep in my pussy, wishing you were there too. I want to be filled completely by my Honey." You moaned out, your fingers finding that spot inside that just made your back arch.

"Fuck Bunny." He said and you knew he was close. "I'd fuck you good and hard, just like you need it."

"Yeah?" You moaned out and the you found he was flipping the script on you.

"Yeah Bunny. I grab that gorgeous hair of yours and wrap it around my fist, pulling you close to me as I pounded into you. Having you on your hands and knees, keeping you so close to me, there wouldn't be an inch of you that wasn't touched by me. And while I pounded into that perfect pussy of yours, my fingers would be busy playing with that clit, knowing that I couldn't and wouldn't cum until you came under me atleast three times."

"Three times?" You teased.

"That's just the appetizer." He whispered and you could practically feel the smirk that you knew was plastered on his face. "If I got my hands on you bunny. I'd ruin you with my cock. There would be no one else, that pussy would be molded and shaped by me; for me."

"Oh fuck." You moaned out dropping your persona for just a moment.

"You like that Bunny?"

"Yeah." You agreed your voice husky.

"My Bunny is just as possessive as I am."

"Oh Honey, yes." You moaned out.

"Is my Bunny touching herself?"

"Yeah Honey."

"That's my good girl. Does that pussy crave my cock as much as I do you?"

"Yes. I'm so empty without you buried deep inside, my honey."

The other side of the line stayed silent for a moment, just the sounds of his filthy moans were heard as you continued pumping your fingers in and out of you, truly wishing it was him inside you.

"Do you hear how wet my pussy is for you Honey? As I fuck my pussy with my fingers wishing it was you filling me up?"

You'd never met or even see your Honey, but you knew he was gorgeous and would be an absolute beast in bed; just by the sound of his voice. You knew he spoke true, he would ruin you just to put you back together and do all over again.

"Fuck Bunny. I'm going to take you away from everything and it's just going to be me and you."

This was different for your Honey, but you were too wrapped up in trying to reach your orgasm to care; so you played along like you usually do with your clients.

"You're going to take me away from my life honey? Treat me like the princess I am."

"Yes Bunny."

"Mmm." You hummed over the line at the thought of finally meeting your honey, the mysterious and so called hitman taking you away from your dreary life working three jobs; to a secluded island where he fucks you silly. "I think I like that idea, honey."

"Good. Now cum for me Bunny. I want to hear those moans and I want you to think of me pounding my cock into that soft and willing pussy."

"Oh fuck!" You moaned out as you felt yourself climax around your fingers, biting down on your lip as your orgasm crashed over you. All the while you heard the soft tell-tell groan of your honey, cumming with you.

You let out a small chuckle as you pulled your hands from your pj bottoms and felt your body calm, in its post-orgasm bliss. "Well you know your special honey 'cuz I don't cum for any of my other clients."

"Just me." He confirmed.

"Just you, honey."

He let out a low hum on the other end of the line. "I'm glad. I don't think I could handle you fingering that sweet pussy for any man but me."

You chuckled. "Oh no honey. It's all for you. But I'm sorry honey, our hour is up and I have to get some shut eye. Which will be much easier now that you've helped me get off. It's very appreciated."

"Anytime bunny. Good night."

"Good night honey." You said before ending the call and smiling to yourself as you plugged your phone in the charger and shut off the light.

As you drifted to sleep you imagined what your honey would look like, and you let your mind wonder to the idea of him whisking you away to some remote place, just the two of you.

And as you drifted, Bucky stood outside your apartment complex, staring up at your bedroom window and gathering the nerve to do just that.

[glitterrosesnzz]

it is now clear to me that the h/exenzirkel probably likes to mess with V/enti... and i can use that....

[cloudbends]

something I feel like isn't nearly appreciated enough about mob's arc in mp100 is that his background is... Completely normal. I see a lot of people interpreting mob's parents as neglectful or distant based on the few scenes we've seen of them, which greatly baffles me because their few scenes aim to establish his family life as.. completely normative. They have the normal, average quips of a normal family. And I think it's very unique and refreshing because it means mob's troubles and internal hardship isn't a product of his upbringing, it's a byproduct of a traumatic experience and of his own personality and how it coalesces with his psychic powers. And I personally think more media should acknowledge that some people, even with perfectly normative and healthy familial dynamics and circumstances, will still develop very complex internal issues and personal psychology. and on the same note, some people with perfectly normal upbringing won't feel comfortable to confide in their parents and seek an external authority figure to look up to, which doesn't necessarily mean them and their parents are estranged. I dont think mob's (or ritsu's) life have to be unhappy to legitimize or explain the fact he has the personal struggles he does. Embracing normalcy is the main theme of this series.

[itadooori]

all i draw these days is gi-hun tbh