#...it's not gonna give me that dignity I can tell already and it's only been half an hour or so since I finished eating

[dolibeauti]

bruh fuck school let’s go on a roadtrip with the LOV!!! really suggestive mdni NOT PROOFREAD DONT COME FOR ME

shigaraki x reader

the van you guys are riding in is way too small to fit everyone . . . unless someone sits on another’s lap. obviously, people like their personal space so it looked like one person had drop out of the trip or else the trip would be canceled. sadly, no one sacrificed themselves.

“ugh… c’mon guyss! i really want to go on this trip” toga whined next to double, squirming around like a child having a tantrum. you rolled your eyes in annoyance. she’s been complaining like this since yesterday. “i am NOT letting my dignity wash away by sitting on anyone else’s lap but their car seats.” you protested, making it clear that you wouldn’t give less than a shit if the trip was canceled.

dabi batted an eye at you with devious intentions (🤨) “are you implying that you’d rather have someone in your lap?” he rebuked your statement with a grin of victory, causing your face to contort in disgust. “no, i’m saying i’d rather not go, dipshit.” you shook your head before getting up to go to the other room. but not before overhearing him say that he guesses the trip will continue.

whatever.

ding

dabi :

js go man

toga wants you to

what if i told you you can sit alone

would you go

you :

ok

that’s not reassuring

but ok

where are you guys?

dabi :

we’re in the van bruh hurry up

you :

shut up

you assumed they already threw your stuff in the van because your luggage was nowhere to be seen. you walked up to the car and knocked on the heavily tinted windows before you heard the loud sliding of the door. greeted by dabi’s shit eating grin with his thumb pointing towards the back.

fuck - they tricked you.

you weren’t gonna sit alone, you were gonna sit on a lap. tomura shigaraki’s lap. out of everyone they chose AFO’s successor and the guy you had the hots for. “are you actually joking with me?” anger ran through your veins when you realized the situation but all your stuff was in that very luggage (that was in the van already) and no way in hell were they letting you get it back now.

“what? it’s just shiggy.”

that’s what happens when you trust a villain.

now you were sitting uncomfortably on tomura’s lap. it was miserable and you could tell he was too. the van had only one seat in the back with the rest of the space for luggage so you offered for yourself to sit on the floor surrounded by all the luggage in which he declined.

not that he was forbidding you to move but that it was okay for you to sit on him. he’d wrap his arms around you when you guys were on a bumpy trail, as if he was your very own seatbelt. you had to stop yourself from letting yourself indulge in your sinful thoughts when this happened so you distracted yourself by having conversation with everyone in the front where tomura occasionally joined in on.

so that’s why it was actually hell when everyone fell asleep (except kurogiri cuz he’s driving IDK KEAVE ME AKONE joke). the only people awake other than kurogiri were you and tomura because 1. you couldn’t sleep on his lap 2. he couldn’t sleep with someone on his lap.

“shigaraki… do you want me to move to the floor?” your turned your head to ask him in a quick whisper. he met your gaze with a shake of his head before hugging you from behind and resting his head on your back.

your eyes widened at the realization of what was happening right now. you were never that close to him before, only interacting through messages or meetings.

oh and you knew you were in for a ride (pun intended) when you felt something poke against your ass. he stayed silent, still in the same position as before, albeit with a tighter grip.

“shig.”

“sorry.”

[keilanana]

𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆

ɪɪɪ. sɪʙʟɪɴɢ ᴀᴄǫᴜɪʀᴇᴅ

You get a new addition to your family, and all is right with the world.

(Hopefully nothing from the next chapter ruins this for you haha.)

Watching Mum trip over herself to follow Mother around and tend to her every, little need was pretty funny at first.

But now you (unfortunately) have no right to laugh anymore, because as it turns out, learning that you're going to be an older sibling in just a few months really puts certain things into perspective, and now you're basically doing the same thing (although you at least had the dignity to be a lot more subtle about it, Mum.)

You don't know why, as you can't recall ever acting like this when your siblings from your first life came along, but everything just suddenly seems like a threat. For every sharp corner Mother passes by, you're quick to reach your hand over to cover it in case she gets close enough for contact. When you catch her going up or down the stairs, you're already rushing to her side to offer out a hand in support.

Yes, Mother of course laughs at all of this, and makes sure to tease you for doing the very things you laughed at your Mum for, but you can tell from the fondness in her smile and the bright twinkle in her eyes that she genuinely does appreciate all of the effort you and Mum were putting in to ensure her and the baby's comfort and safety—even if the measures Mum took could be pretty ... excessive.

("I can understand sanding down the corners of our dining table, but there is absolutely no way I'm letting you put carpets over the walls. I think Mother would actually kill me if I let you."

"You weren't there when it happened, [Y/n]! What if the next time she bumps into a wall, she pushes her baby bump back in?!"

"Mum of mine, I do not believe that is physically possible."

"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?!"

"MAYBE BECAUSE ONE OF US WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO INHERIT THE INTELLIGENCE I CLEARLY DIDN'T GET FROM YOU!")

Yeah, just thinking of all the times you've had to be the voice of reason between you and your Mum despite being the actual child between the two of you was enough to give you a headache. And the more Mother's stomach grows, the worse it gets.

At this point, I'm starting to believe that someone's gonna have to hold Mum's hand when the baby comes.

The thought makes you pause, ponder for a bit, and then cringe.

Poor nurse.

Other than Mum's (and admittedly, yours) overprotective tendencies, though, you're happy to report that Mother's pregnancy is going fairly well. From the visits your little family makes to the hospital every now and then, your younger sibling seems to be developing fine, and has been repeatedly reported as quite healthy, to your family's relief, pride, and joy.

What gets you all feeling really joyful, however, is the doctor revealing that the baby's gender can finally be determined.

"Wait!" Mother stops him before he can say anything else. "Don't tell us just yet! I want it to be a surprise!" she insists.

"Wha—a surprise?" Mum repeats, clearly confused. "You didn't want it to be a surprise last time!" she complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at the childish tone in her wife's voice and takes her hand. "I know, which is why I want it to be a surprise this time," she explains. "Besides, you wouldn't want to turn down a cake, would you?"

When Mum only answers with silence, it's pretty easy for you and the doctor to guess who won.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Three weeks of anticipation later, the gender reveal cake is delivered on your doorstep in a white box by a teenage girl with short, curly brown locks.

"Hope you folks like it," she says with a wink once the package is placed into your arms. "It took a whole lotta effort keeping it in tact, driving it all the way out here."

Her words cause a semi-guilty smile to grace your features. "Right. Sorry about that," you say, and you really do mean it; you couldn't imagine having to deliver a cake somewhere so far out in the country, especially with only a rusty old vespa as your noble steed.

The girl only laughs good-naturedly and ruffles your hair. "No need to apologize, kiddo. Hope ya'll enjoy the cake!" she says.

With that, she turns around to leave, but not before throwing back a quick, "Congratulations!" over her shoulder in reference of who exactly the cake was made for.

Thus, with the cake now in your possession, you bring it into the dining room, where Mother and Mum are already waiting in their designated seats at the table.

"She seemed nice," Mother comments, obviously referring to the delivery girl you'd just spoken to.

You hum, telling her, "She was," before setting the box down and opening it.

The cake is, as the delivery girl said, indeed in tact, and covered in frosting and all sorts of fruits to keep whatever flavor the cake itself was hidden.

"Oh, this is so exciting!" Mother says, clapping her hands with a giddy smile on her face. "Anyone already have any guesses?" she asks, looking over to her wife.

Mum hums and holds her chin in thought for a moment before eventually settling on: "Strawberry."

Nodding, Mother then turns to you and lifts her brows expectantly.

With an amused huff, you sit down in your own chair just as Mum rises out of her own to grab three plates and a knife. "You know what? I'm thinking strawberry, too," you decide.

Tilting her head curiously, Mother leans back in her seat and begins to caress her stomach. "May I ask why?" she inquires.

You shrug. "Just a feeling, I guess," you answer.

The conversation ends after that, as Mum is finally prepared to cut the cake.

"Alrighty, then," she begins once yours and Mother's attention is fully on her. "Here we go."

Setting the knife down for only a moment, Mum pulls the box's walls all the way down—not just to make cutting the cake easier, but to also give you and Mother a clear view of it from your positions, as well.

With that said and done, Mum picks the knife back up and inhales deeply, obviously hyping herself up for what's about to come. It feels a little silly, getting this anxious over a cake, but there's still this sort of tightness in your chest that makes it only a little hard to breathe. Is it anticipation? Dread of the inevitable? A mix of both?

In the end, it doesn't matter, because then a knife is slicing right through frosting and—

"Strawberry," Mum breathes, a triumphant grin slowly beginning to overtake her face. "Looks like we're gonna be welcoming a little girl into our family next."

You and Mother throw your hands into the air and cheer.

(Later that night, the bakery your cake had come from gets a call from you to let your delivery girl know that you folks did, indeed, enjoy the cake.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It is midnight when Mother's water breaks and Mum practically throws you into the car to drive you all off to the hospital.

It is about three in the morning when you get to leave the waiting room at last and see the labor (pun intended) of your Mother's work.

The baby is small—probably the smallest person you've ever seen—and, unlike you, takes a lot after Mum with her dark skin and soft tufts of platinum blonde hair.

"Oh," you say out loud without meaning to, eyes wide as you take in the infant held in Mother's arms. I'm an older sibling.

You knew you would be one for a while now, of course, and actually were one in your previous life, too. But ... there was just something about this moment: about seeing the little person that's been growing in Mother's stomach finally out and about in the real world, her eyes closed and her face all scrunched up, that had your chest exploding with an overwhelming warmth and your eyes threatening to flood with tears that you were desperately trying to keep in.

(Spoiler alert: you fail. Badly.)

"Hello, little love," Mother says, sounding so exhausted but still so happy at the same time. "Would you like to hold your baby sister?" she asks.

Still in shock at the sight of her, you can only manage a nod and then stare dumbly as the baby's handed over to rest in your arms.

"Um." You blink, mouth slightly agape. "Oh, wow."

(Across from you, Willow snorts.)

You watch, absolutely captivated, as the infant's chest rises and falls with each breath she takes. But then her face twitches, and your eyes automatically lift to watch as it scrunches up. It awes you, almost, the way she seems to struggle simply opening her eyes, but then her stare meets yours and it's like a puzzle clicks into place.

"Hey there, little sister," you greet, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so happy to meet you."

Your sister babbles, unable to properly respond, obviously, and reaches up. Almost instinctually, you lift her higher, allowing her to reach your face and pat her small palms wherever she can, still babbling like you can understand every noise and gurgle.

You laugh and nod along anyway and pretend not to notice the tears you'd failed to hide.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You're gonna rule the world someday."

Your newly acquired sister, Odette (named after one of Mother's favorite stories, Swan Lake) looks up at the sound of your voice and tilts her head. It's been two months since her birth, and in those short months, you've learned that although Ody (the nickname you proudly bestowed her with the moment you thought of it) takes a lot after Mum, she is most definitely every bit of Penelope's daughter just as you are without a doubt Willow's child.

While you had inherited most of Mum's, er ... impulsiveness, Odette had the good fortune of inheriting Mother's patented Stare of Judgement™, which you had the honor of seeing it in action yourself ... because Odette had focused it on you and Mum when you both attempted to do something stupid that was very safe, creative, and fun.

(That's what you tried telling Mother, at least.

She didn't fall for it for even a second and the two of you got sent to timeout in the living room again.)

Odette babbles, snapping you out of your train of thought, and you smile down at her as you start running your hand through the platinum cloud that's been growing atop her head.

"Man, look at all this," you say, curling a strand of Odette's already curly hair around your finger. "At this point, your hair's gonna end up bigger than your head," you joke.

Odette babbles again in response and takes your free hand in between her smaller ones to play with your fingers, making your smile grow into a grin.

"Oh yeah; definitely queen of the world material." You nod. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to be there with you every step of the way. Who else's hands are you supposed to play with?" you ask.

"Ababa?" Odette blinks up at you.

You nod once again. "Exactly!"

She stares at you for a moment, as if processing your words, and then looks away to return her full attention to your hand. You chuckle, amused by just how much personality Odette could convey despite not knowing how to properly speak yet.

"Man ..." Turning your head to gaze out the window, you smile as you watch the trees dance to the wind outside. "I didn't think it'd be possible, Ody, but I ... think I'm more than a little used to this life now, y'know?"

The infant blows a raspberry.

You laugh. "A wise queen, too!"

(Outside, the wind howls, and as it does, a single orange leaf falls to the forest floor.

So it appears, the seasons have finally begun to change.)

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Tag List: @randomgurl2326 @jassy-teaa @thatbird-fromrio @tsukishiro-yue2402 @littlesliceofcheese @smartiepants217 @smuuchies @valiantparadisezombie @rairakkikoseao @lovelorngirl @fictionalwhor3 @birdenthusiastez @wafflehousecowboy @waggoth @reynaqueen123

[siren0writer]

Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader I'm sorry

Summary: after flirting with Raquel, Mami shows you what happens when you make her jealous

Warnings: smut, mdni, AFAB!Reader, teasing, wlw, bratty reader, spanking, strap-on, mommy kink, edging, handcuffs, angry sex, choking

I knew Rhea was mad, I knew Zoey he'd gotten on her nerves recently, I knew Damian calling himself the leader pissed her off, and I knew that flirting with Raquel would make her even angrier. My plan wasn't to piss her off for the hell of it, but if be lying if I said it wasn't fun.

As soon as we get back to our hotel room Rhea grabs me by the collar of my shirt and pins me to the wall, her muscular arms flexing as she does so. "You think you can flirt with my rival and not get punished" I look at the ground, knowing this is exactly what I wanted. "Answer me Y/N, you did this just to piss me off didn't you, you knew I'd get mad and punish you" I continue to look at my feet until she grabs my chin and moves my head to face her, and I know that making her wait will only make her angrier than she already is.

"I'm sorry mommy" I mumble, she laughs in my face at my timidness "Good for you, but that doesn't answer my question, we're you flirting with her solely to piss me off?" I don't respond, I don't know whether to lie or tell the truth, but Rhea has always been impatient. "You wanna disobey me without any consequences, your in for a rude awakening sweetheart" as she picks me up with ease and walks us to the hotel bed and sets me down surprisingly gently.

Rhea takes off my shirt and shorts, leaving me in my bra and panties. "God how are you already so wet, I've barely even touched you slut". She unclasps my bra and turns me to lay on my stomach on top of her legs. "remember slut, you asked for this" she says before spanking me roughly, making me cry out in surprise.

"Mommy pl-" My cries for mercy were cut off by another spanking, slightly harder than the last. "Mommy please, I'll be good I swear" I plead with Rhea, hoping she'll take it easy on me. "Oh please sweetheart, we both know that's a lie, and liars have to be punished," another spanking significantly harder than the last punctuates her sentence.

She picks me up and turns me to lie on my back. She peels off my panties and I gasp as the cool air of the hotel room hits my dripping-wet cunt. She laughs in my face as she moves to her bag and grabs the handcuffs. "Baby we both know I didn't wanna have to do this, but you left me no other choice." She fastens the handcuffs around my wrists, held above my head by the bedpost. Rhea walks away to her bag once again, grabs her strap, and begins to undress. She walks back to me, grabbing my face and kissing me as she, without warning, begins to insert her strap in my cunt.

"That's right, I wanna hear you scream my name baby, " she states as she roughly continues to pound into me, leaving me a moaning mess. "Fuck feels so good mommy!" She continues with her ruthless pace, and soon I feel the knot in my stomach tighten. "Mommy please I'm gonna-" Before I can finish my sentence she pulls out and gives me a devilish grin.

"Do you really think you deserve to cum after the stunt you pulled today, you think you were good enough to cum?" I cry out pathetically, feeling the need to cum overtake my dignity. Rhea continues to edge me until I'm crying. "if you didn't want this then why were you flirting with her, what can she give to you that I can't!" rhea raises her voice, something she doesn't do often with me. She moves her right hand dragging it up my body, cupping one of my boobs, but swiftly moving up to my throat to choke me.

Her left hand moves down to her strap to guide it to my hole. As she finally enters me I scream at the lack of time given to adjust to the size as she bottoms out inside me. Rhea begins to thrust inside me, her pace slightly slower than before, still fast enough to make me scream, however. Rhea smiles at me as my back arches, laughing as I pull at the handcuffs around my wrists.

"You wanna cum baby, I think I've teased you enough, go ahead baby you can cum" As she finishes her words I feel the knot in my stomach tighten until I finally cum. "What a good girl, such a good girl for me, are you okay, was I too rough?" I let out a sigh of relief as Rhea took the handcuffs off of me. "You weren't too rough Mommy," Rhea kisses me softly. She picked me up easily and carried me to the shower to wash off, and we fell asleep in each other's arms.

[bonkywobble]

Kinktober ‘22 - Day 5

Day 5 - Sex Pollen with Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 1056

Warnings: Language, fluff, angst, love confessions, sexual content (18+ only): male masturbation, unprotected sex, dubious consent (due to sex pollen).

Disclaimer: Please heed the warnings - if this makes you uncomfortable then click away. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.  I do not give anyone permission to take, repost, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with it are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

A/N: Day 5! Tagging @cryptidcasanova. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.

Kinktober ‘22 Masterlist

“With all due respect, what the fuck were you thinking Harrington?”

Steve’s tongue feels heavy as he responds, “Kinda was thinking about how telling you was a bad idea.”

Pressing the bag of frozen peas to his forehead you kneel beside him, suppressing your anger to the best of your ability. “You’re lucky that I was nearby and saw you pull that shit. Next time you wanna investigate a possible portal to the Upside Down by yourself, don’t.”

Taking the time to examine your friend in the following silence, you notice despite the budding bruise under the cloth there don’t appear to be any other injuries. It should ease the anxiety swirling in your gut but it doesn’t, because then there’s no explanation for his erratic breathing or flushed face; the way his eyes are screwed shut as if he’s in pain, or the constant shuffling of his legs- Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington is hiding something from you.

“Steve?”

There’s a slight tilt of his head and drifting of glazed eyes, but otherwise, you get no reply.

Your tone is firmer, more insistent. “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you encounter anything… weird in there?” You continue, weaving your fingers through loose locks of chestnut hair as you push them away, “Anything that we haven’t already seen before?”

Steve sighs at your touch, instinctually pressing himself into it as his hot palm lands on the back of your hand. “No,” he mutters, “just the usually creepy and murderous tentacle vines. Some freaky red flowers were growing on them this time. Maybe Vecna wants to be a florist and grow his own- look, I’m sorry, but are you wearing a new perfume?”

The question throws you for a moment. “Uh, no?”

He smiles at you, your stomach filling with butterflies and confusion, “Seriously? You smell great. Like, really fucking great.”

A pained groan erupts from him as he doubles over in agony, his hands clutching you in desperation. You drop the frozen goods and catch his face, calling out his name in panic.

“It hurts, it’s not enough-”

“You’re freaking me out. I’m gonna call Nancy and the rest of the gang-”

“No!” Steve gasps, fingers digging into your denim jacket. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to get help,” you plead.

There’s a glazed but focused look in his eyes like you are a balm to his wounds - a rare and beautiful salvation. He pulls you closer until your foreheads are touching, “This is helping me. Touching you like this is making it bearable. Just- don’t go, okay baby?”

Your heart gives a sad little flip, wishing he’d been in any other state of mind. “Okay.”

Nostrils flaring he looks you up and down before removing his shirt, mud from it leaving dark stains on the bathroom tiles. Immediately you avert your eyes, wanting to offer the former king of Hawkins High some degree of dignity or modesty. Steve isn’t himself right now, you reason.

That reasoning flies out the window when his fingers start to fumble with his belt buckle.

“Jesus Steve!”

The young man licks his lips. “You can either help or not. S’too damn hot.”

When his belt and fly are finally undone you’re surprised that he keeps his pants on. Your eyes about bulge out of your head when he thrusts a hand in, however, and throws his head against the wall in relief, seemingly getting a reprieve from whatever’s afflicting him. Stroking himself furiously, the whimpers bubble in his throat when he realises you’re not touching him anymore.

“I change my mind,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Shit, stop staring and give me a hand.”

The offer tempts you briefly. A friendship of over two years flashes before you, panic mutating into dread as you imagine the end of it. What if this ruins everything? If this is how you lose him, is your crush even worth it?

“I can’t. I can’t do this.”

It’s impressive how Steve manages to gain just enough control to stall his movements, sweat beading on his forehead. Despite the sight you keep going, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do, Steve. So please,” you beg, “don’t ask me-”

Warm, lazy, sweet. It’s how you can describe your first kiss with Steve Harrington as he reaches up and presses his lips to yours, cutting you off. He kisses you like a man starved but full of hope. Like his declaration is long overdue, Steve moves against you in a way that has your toes curling in your sneakers. 

The tears escape and so does the desire you’ve buried for so long. You don’t hesitate to return his affections, your fingers returning once more to bury themselves in his hair while you gently pry his desperate mouth apart with your tongue. And he has and always will do, Steve lets you in.

Begrudgingly, you eventually pull away, the smile you wear causing your cheeks to ache. Steve’s disposition matches yours, his gaze glossy and euphoric. “I know it’s not super appropriate, but I was wanting to ask the girl I love if it’s okay that she rides me into the sunset before I take her out on our first date?”

You snort, never happier that Steve Harrington is so terrible with women.

“You sure, Harrington?”

“Damn sure, babe.”

Smiling, you stand up and it takes less than a minute for you to strip to nothing, hoping to stave off more of his sudden cramps the faster you go. The sight of ‘Pretty Boy’ Harrington looking up at you with wide eyes, mouth parted hungrily as a thumb rolls over the tip of his cock - it definitely distracts you a little.

And now you understand that everything about Steve is pretty.

Gazes locked on each other, you lower yourself onto his angry length, nails tracing the thick veins as you line him up and pump once, twice. Cursed moans leave you both as his cock pushes past your wet folds, feelings of blissful heat roaring to life in your abdomen.

“Gotta be honest, dingus,” you purr, clenching your hips as your pussy pulsates, “I’d love for you to fuck me before we go to the movies.”

Steve’s hips jerk in response. “Movies, huh?” He breathlessly asks, “I can do that, baby.”

[laiiaaa]

ONE NIGHT ONLY — JJ MAYBANK

summary: JJ has never really liked your boyfriend, but you're not all that fond of him either.

contains: angst, substance use, smut, unprotected sex, cheating, a teeny tiny smidgen of fluff that is quickly destroyed

length: 5.6k

note: Be advised that both Reader and JJ are...pretty terrible! I do not condone their actions—I just live for the drama!

Three shots deep, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re perfectly tipsy—lights just a little brighter, music just a little louder, a buzz thrumming through you that makes everything fun again. Bonfire air warm against you, somehow not enough to fight off a chill that keeps JJ at your side. His body molded to yours, spilling open a pool in your gut you know you’ll mull over when tomorrow comes, tank top disheveled and hair tangled.

Sarah takes a sip of her beer and nods in your direction. “I’ve been wondering, where’s Noah tonight?”

You’d been hoping his name wouldn’t come up.

“Hm, funny that that little boy toy didn’t show up—we scare him off or something? So fast?” John B seems smug at that, maybe a little resentful for your attempt at bringing someone new into the loop.

You fumble over your answer, hoping to piece together something half coherent. “He had to work tonight, I think—or maybe it was babysitting?” You’re halfway to biting your tongue when you let it slip: “Not like I’m missing the company.”

You can feel JJ peering down at you, the way his body freezes. 

Kie’s eyebrows shoot up on instinct. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, glancing at JJ to your left. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Never said it was paradise,” you shrug. You’re almost glad JJ’s so close to you, because it lets you speak freely to him without having to look at him as you do it. “I like him, I really do, but he’s just—I don’t know. I think he thinks you guys don’t like him.”

JJ scoffs.

“And that makes him all awkward when we’re all together,” you continue, ignoring him and trailing off. Your buzz is starting to make you ramble on, and the rest of the pogues look from one another as if they’ve already come to their own unanimous conclusion about the boy.

“I think he’s sweet,” Sarah says, smiling in support.

Pope adds more wood to the fire. “He’s a decent guy. He’ll come around. You’ve been together, what, two months now?”

“Almost three,” JJ cuts in, bitter as the beer he’s been downing since before the sun set. His arm stays warped around you, but his fingers have stopped tracing patterns into your skin.

“Almost three,” Pope continues, “And that’s not a lot of time, right? It’ll work itself out.”

You wish you could say you were content with Pope’s conclusion, but you give him a thankful smile anyway. 

No one else seems to have anything to add until JJ throws his empty bottle off to the side, ignoring the table. He huffs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve seen him surf, though. Now that, that will never work itself out. The guy looks helpless out there.” He nods in the general direction of nowhere in particular, and you know he means more than he’s led on. 

The others look at one another. John B sips slowly from his bottle in silent communication with Sarah; Pope and Kie exchange a knowing glance. 

Yet he continues, “And I just don’t like the guy. What does he know about our lives?”

You sit up as his arm slips from its position on your shoulder, and you turn to face him. “JJ,” you interrupt, guilt bubbling in your gut as your throat runs dry.

“As far as we know, he’s an almost-kook just looking for pathetic pogue life to make him feel better about himself.” He turns to you directly, and if that weren’t a big enough knife to your chest, he drives it deeper still. “He’s full of himself, Peach, and nobody’s gonna tell you that but me. To him we’re filthy, and so are you—”

“JJ!” John B snaps, trying to salvage what he could of your dignity.

Try as he might, that couldn’t stop a near-silent cry from slipping past your lips. Tears welled, your vision fuzzed, and a hand shot to your mouth, shakily, as JJ stared back at you, his lips in a taught, indignant line.

You swipe tears from your eyes before they can fully realize. “I think I’m gonna…” you start, not even fully aware of the best way to exit. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick, get some water…” You stand up from your chair wearily, turning your back on the group as you walk toward the Chateau.

Sarah mutters an Oh, shit under her breath as she discards her beer and stands up, Kie right in front of her calling out your name.

You slam the door shut behind you, sobs fully escaping you now. You’ve never known this side of JJ—at least not personally, with his vitriol aimed at you. Funny how things have unfolded this way. And to think how not even half a year ago you’d shared a bed with him, barely clothed with tangled limbs and fleeting kisses to exposed skin, his lips against yours as you drank from one another all you had to give and then some more for good measure. To think how that tight-lipped stare was once a contagious smile in the crook of your neck, muttering sweet nothings of your beauty and his adoration. To think how that elation was short-lived beyond comprehension, all that ecstasy in just one night only.

It doesn’t take long before you find the proper stash of the hard stuff and start sipping it straight. The burn down your throat has never felt so good, cathartic even. Sarah and Kie find you in the kitchen, back turned before bottoms up, and they rush over to you, Kie slipping the bottle from your hands.

“Hey,” Sarah says, taking your face in her palms, thumbs brushing tears from your cheeks. “You need to stay as sober as possible, okay? Because we both know JJ well enough to know he’s gonna come in here, and you’re gonna have to talk to him.”

You brush her hands away from you. “Fuck off,” you start, and you wince at your tone. She can smell the alcohol on your breath. The bottle clanks behind you as Kie stows it away once again, and you curse the two girls for only letting you get another shot and a half in your system.

You settle yourself on the couch, Sarah and Kie sitting on either side of you. The room is dark and quiet and for just a moment you feel your head clear up, the only sound you hear being the bass from the music outside and what might as well be no more than laughter among the boys.

“JJ sucks,” Kie sighs, plainly.

“Yeah.” You feel her turn toward you before you answer, “He can be a real dick.”

“What he said to you was terrible,” Sarah adds, brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m sorry we didn’t say anything to shut him up.”

You lend her a smile, as if it could repair everything. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Kie insists. She hugs you to her chest for the first time in a long time. “We shouldn’t have let him go so far with it. He was mean, really mean, and—it shouldn’t be that way. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I feel bad for Noah. How am I supposed to look at him again knowing that’s how people think of him?”

“JJ’s the only one who hates him.” Sarah piles herself onto the hug and in that moment, the three of you know you’ll be okay. “The rest of us like him, and I promise you that. John B seems to approve.”

Kie laughs quietly. “And I can assure you, Pope is glad to have someone else around with at least half a brain. We just want you to be happy, okay?”

“JJ doesn’t seem to agree,” you huff.

“Well—” Kie starts, struggling to find the words— “He doesn’t like change.”

“He’ll come around,” Sarah sighs. “He just needs a minute to act like a brat for the time being.”

The three of you stay that way—a pile of subtle tears and breathless giggles—until the squeaky door cuts into the conversation. With it comes John B’s voice: “Can we interrupt?”

Sarah lifts her head and sees first John B, followed by a now quiet, more timid JJ, and Pope left in the doorway. She glances at you and stands while motioning for Kie to follow, and the two girls gather at the door. Everyone in the room except you and JJ can’t help but notice the way his attention gravitates toward you, the way his body flows closer to yours without him giving it more than half a thought. 

“Can we talk?” he asks, and he says it like it’s taboo: eyes pointed at the ground, hat in his hands.

He cuts into your chest once more, but you shift toward one end of the couch anyway to welcome him in. The others take their cue to exit, leaving you and JJ alone again, unfortunately not for the first time. The couch cushion sinks under his weight. You start to follow suit under the weight of your shared silence.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally, and it doesn’t even begin to be enough.

You tuck your knees to your chest, your whole body turned toward him as he only keeps facing forward. It’s always been like this: you, giving him your all; and him, fighting not to do the same. You stay silent, more as a result of your inability to respond than an active choice.

“I went too far, and I—it was fucked up.”

When you take a deep breath, you’re wobbly in your chest. The moonlight slipping through the windows lets you see his face just enough to remind yourself of the curve of his nose, the soft skin of his cheek—as if you hadn’t already memorized it by now. 

“What did Noah ever do to you, Jay? He’s only ever been kind to you, I—I thought you would’ve at least tolerated him, but—” You stop yourself before tears start to spill.

JJ finally turns to face you when he thinks you’ve started to cry. He’s got a new shiner now, you realize, a busted lip. If you weren’t part of the reason behind it, you’d ask whether John B’s left hook has gotten any better. Maybe it hasn’t, and he only thought he deserved a beating.

“He didn’t do anything, alright—he’s just—I just don’t like him, I don’t think he’s right for you.” His hands fidgeting, his eyes dancing everywhere but in your direction, tell you he isn’t giving the full story.

“Then who is? I’m not even asking you to love the guy, or care about him like you care about John B or Pope, or hang out with him in your free time—I just want some basic respect.”

He looks at you, confused, brows furrowed together as if you’ve misheard him. “I know that, Peach—”

“Then why can’t I at least have someone? You don’t get to fuck with my love life just because you don’t like the guy—you don’t like any guy, JJ.” 

You’re breathing heavier by the end of it, and maybe it’s the fact you’ve spilled it out as you have, or it’s the pleading look he’s burning into you with, but you’re finally starting to get it. The lingering glances he lets slip by whenever you bring Noah around, keeping track of the fleeting touches JJ hasn’t been able to give himself; the way he’s attached to your hip the moment you’re alone, an arm wrapped around your shoulder, keeping you tethered to him; the comments here and there from Kie and Pope about some secret admirer, some undercover lover in disguise who will emerge eventually from the shadows.

JJ looks guilty, it’s melting off his skin like acid. He brings his eyes to yours, a knowing look to condemn you both. “I still think about that night, y’know—”

“Please, don’t.”

“And I haven’t been with anyone else since, you know that—”

“JJ, you know we can’t—”

“Am I really that bad?” he asks, tears in his eyes that call for your own. “I mean, we can’t even talk about it now.”

You take a deep breath once more. “I tried, when it happened, remember? To talk? But you left me alone, all high and dry and in your bed.”

“I know, and that was wrong, but we can try again,” he pleads, and you can nearly taste the satisfaction in slapping him across the face just by picturing it. “I can be better.”

“I want to believe you, Jay—”

“Then believe me—” he shifts toward you, leaning into your space with one shoulder grazing yours and the opposite hand cradling your jaw, hesitantly— “I want to try again, we can do things slow, I promise.”

You close your eyes as you breathe deep, relishing in his touch once more. Yet the deeper you breathe, the harder you feel him, the harder tears pool and fall into that touch. “You were so mean, I don’t understand—you keep hurting me.”

“I know,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I know, baby. And I wouldn’t blame you for hating me—”

“Stop it, Jay—” you push his hands off of you, standing instead, a foot from the couch and burning from his touch— “I have a boyfriend now, we can’t just try again because you’ve finally come around. I’m over it now, I…”

Standing taller than him now, he looks like such a battered little boy. It’s almost a shame he’s just as stubborn. 

“Listen, Peach,” he starts, reaching for your hands and intertwining your fingers loose enough to break free. “I was pure stupid back then, and I was terrible to you just now because—because I know now, that I was stupid.” He pulls you closer to stand between his legs, his neck craned to see your face. “And I’m sorry for being so stupid. I fucked up, but I want to fix this. I want to fix us.”

You shake one hand free to wipe a tear that’s fallen to your cheek.

“I want us back to normal, Peach.”

 “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“It’s okay.” He guides you gently into his lap, and you know before you settle that this will be something you regret. Your stomach churns and your heart races yet you make no move to quell it. You link your hands at the nape of his neck to steady yourself while he takes purchase of your hip, your waist, relishing in your weight against his one more time. 

You’re already leaning into his warmth when he mumbles, “I can smell the vodka on your breath,” tracing his eyes along the gentle curves of your face, landing on your lips.

“Sorry,” you say. You don’t quite mean it, not when his fingers brush against the skin beneath the hem of your tank top. His golden locks between your fingers feel too familiar and you're fighting the feeling in your chest—that yearning, that belonging, that buzz that tells you this is right even though it is anything but.

He pulls you closer still, oh so natural as he does it even though he’s suffocating. 

“Should we be doing this?” you whisper, and you already know the answer. You cradle his jaw in your hands and he nearly melts into you, brows furrowed and jaw slackened.

“I said I want us back to normal,” he croons, pressing his lips to your pulse. “Is this not normal for us?” He drags his breath down your neck to your collarbone, leaving another kiss and lulling your eyes closed. 

“JJ, I—Noah—”

“I don’t give a damn about your boyfriend.” He waits for you to look at him again before he begs the question, “Do you?”

“I—” 

No, you think, but you can’t tell him that, can you? Noah is sweet, he really is, all smiles and daisies and See you laters, all gentle and kind and so unlike JJ, one has to wonder how you made the switch. The last thing you want to do is hurt him. Well, you know what they say: What he doesn’t know… 

“I don’t know,” you answer, facing anywhere but the boy before you.

“Then come back to me.” He kisses your jaw carefully, all-parts loving no-parts lust. Glancing up at you with those pleading eyes, he’s even harder to resist, and as if he knows this, he huffs, and lifts his hands from your waist, keeping them at his sides. “You can say no, and we’ll act like this never happened.”

“Really?” Maybe he’s just playing coy. “You’d just—just forget? About everything? Even before?” You’re asking for reassurance, of course, but unsure why. Maybe you’re the one playing coy, deep down wanting to be wanted by him—wanting him to remember, to keep remembering you—because in the end you want to taste him again, to have him wrapped around your finger. 

“Say the word and I’ll try my hardest.” 

He does exactly that—try, that is—to keep his composure, with your hand brushing from his jaw to his hair, tugging it just right, then slipping back down his neck to his chest, teasing at the fabric of his muscle tee. His skin is aflame and you’re just playing with him as he burns.

Admittedly, you shouldn’t. Infidelity is a terrible, terrible thing, for terribly dishonest people who lead immeasurably misguided lives. Noah doesn’t seem the type to cheat, or lie for that matter, nor would he ever hurt you. He’s the last person to deserve that. He’s crisp, clean-cut, careful. Plays two sports, has a golden retriever, owns his own car. Will probably go on to be respectably wealthy, owning a family business or something related to it. JJ’s prior judgment could’ve been right, and you’d be none the wiser.

And maybe that’s the problem, after all—not enough bumps in the road and you’re bound to fly off into a chasm. It’s not what you’re used to, and, surely if you’re in another boy’s lap, for God’s sake, it’s definitely not what you deserve either. 

Besides, you’ve already screwed up too many times to count. Why stop now?

JJ’s been more patient than you’ve ever seen. His hands stay still, his eyes attentive, smile stifled for the most part. You indulge yourself and trace his arms with the palms of your hands, feel up the muscle beneath them, fight off the urge to bite at your lip. He keeps his face still, a challenge. They say good things come to those who wait.

“Oh fuck this,” you curse to yourself, and you swear you see JJ crack a smile before you take his face in your hands once more and take back ownership over his mouth. 

He nearly groans at the release, the two of you a mess of spit and teeth and tongue with no time to waste, and his hands are caught suspended in the air before holding you again, encouraging an arch in your back with a moan. He doesn’t kiss you like he did before, unsure and gentle; he’s hungry for you, insatiable, wrapping one arm around your waist as the other snakes up your back to grip the back of your neck, keeping you tethered to him as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. 

You don’t think you’ve ever felt so much of JJ at once: the smell of marijuana that seems to follow him wherever he goes has never been so intoxicating; on his tongue is the beer he’d been drinking by the bonfire; and his skin is still warm to the touch from the sun, smooth and sweaty and addictive beneath you.

You press your hips into his, throbbing where you want him, and he answers you with a moan and his hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you against his waist. He kisses at your neck, biting at your pulse and smoothing over with another press of his lips, and carries you into his bedroom, kicking the door shut before carefully placing you on the bed. 

“Gentleman, huh?” you murmur against his lips. You sit on your heels, nearly kneeling in front of him as he stands before the bed.

“I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He’s breathless, so hard it hurts, and the way you’re dragging your hands from his waistband up to his chest isn’t doing him any favors. Looking down at you, he grips your jaw in his hand and leans down to kiss you again, giving in effortlessly when you tug on his waistband and pull him into bed. 

You straddle him as you play with the hem of his tank, pressing at the skin concealed beneath. “Take this off?” you nearly beg.

He shucks the material off, mumbling a Yes ma’am, pliant beneath you. He has to close his eyes, tilt his head back, and breathe deep to stop himself from coming undone just from your touch against bare skin. 

To make things even, you peel off your tank top and toss it back at him to get his attention. When he opens his eyes he groans, almost pained, and pulls you further on top of him, not letting his hands leave your body. “Oh, baby—”

You kiss him quiet and press your hips against him harder, exchanging moans into the other’s mouth. You start to lose yourself in it, you realize—the throbbing in your core, the almost-soreness in your hips matched with all the pleasure. Another minute and you could be coming undone, untouched.

“Jay,” you whine, “I—mmh—I want it.”

With the look on his face you’d think you’d asked him to marry you. “Already?” he asks, more satisfied than shocked. He sits up, that stupid grin smacked on his face, and you nearly pounce on him to feel his touch again. He soaks it in, for he knows this is all he’ll get until who knows when—and he can’t help but think about if you were really his. 

He flips you onto your back and trails open-mouthed kisses from your neck, to your collarbone, to your breasts, moaning when you tug on his hair. “Goody two shoes doesn’t touch you like this, does he?” He presses himself between your thighs, leaving you keening and arching your back into him. “That why you’re so sensitive, hm?” Biting at your neck, he doesn’t let up as he trails his fingers by the waistband of your shorts. “Come on, baby, answer me. When’s the last time he made you come?”

“Fuck you, JJ,” you hiss, despite how good he’s making you feel.

“Trust me, Peach, I’ll let you if you’re honest.” He casts you that stupid, terrible, charming smile and pecks a kiss against your lips.

You catch him off guard when you keep him there, encircling him with your arms and deepening the kiss, pressing your tongue against his and begging for more. Yet he keeps giving into you, letting you flip on top of him again as you slip your shorts down and let them land somewhere on the floor. You start tugging at his shorts but somewhere in your tipsy haze or lust-filled nerves you fail to manage the button.

He gives you a knowing look. “You need help down there?” Before you can snap back at him something vulgar—as if he, of all people, could criticize you for speaking that way—he takes his shorts off to match your attire, locking lips before you can move further. “I want to go down on you,” he says, holding your face in his palms much gentler than you’ve been handling him. 

“No time,” you explain between kisses, though the excuse holds no water. And you know you should let him—he knows what buttons to push, where to touch, the sensuality of it all—but there’s a blaring, nagging sound in the back of your mind telling you he cares more about this than you do. “I want it, JJ.”

“I know, baby, I want you, too—” he placates you with another kiss and pulls you to straddle him again after both of you slip the last of your clothes off, a collection of garments accumulated on the floor. “I don’t have—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, lining him up with your entrance and letting the pain mix with pleasure. 

“Fucking hell, Peach, are you trying to kill me?” He lets his head fall to the pillow, one hand covering his eyes in shock while the other keeps hold of your thigh. 

You keep your hands on his abs as your head rears back, drinking in the feeling of him inside of you, grinding down on him. “Could be. Problem?”

Stars in his eyes when he opens them. The curve of your waist. The plush of your thighs. The scratch of your nails down his stomach. The hum of your moans as you lean down, kissing him and swallowing his pleasure like you own him. The rush of adrenaline through his veins when you take his hands in yours and pin them above his head, using his body like you own it and the boy attached to it. Ask JJ yourself and he’ll tell you that you do.

He can barely breathe when you let up. “Not at all,” he huffs, voice hot and forehead sweaty. There’s a fatigued lull in your hips that lets him regain control over his body, tugging his lips into a smirk as he lifts himself up onto his elbows. “ ‘Specially if it means you’re this desperate for my dick.”

You scoff. “Not desperate, I just know what I want.” Someone who isn’t my boyfriend, you think, and the guilt pangs at your chest for a split second before you start to move your hips again, pleasure humming in your core. “And I want you to fuck me,” you almost whisper, “Please, Jay?”

Such a fucking minx. But he can’t resist. He gives you a once-over, and quicker than you can protest, he’s sitting fully upright, leaving wet kisses up your sternum as he grabs your waist and flips you on your hands and knees. He soaks in the sight in front of him—your ass splayed out for him all pretty, the curve from your rib cage to your hips too delectable not to touch—and slips a pillow beneath your stomach. 

His body hunched over yours, he grinds himself against you, sending you pushing back against him as you arch your back and drop your chest against the bed. His mouth hovers at your shoulder, and he takes hold of your jaw to keep you sober. “You said you want it?”

You don’t think you’ve ever been so needy for something in your life. “Yes, JJ—mmh—”

“How bad?” He’s merely playing with you now, too much power than he knows what to do with. He takes his dick and rubs it against you, nearly losing composure when his tip dips into you. “Come on, Peach, you can beg a little.” Though he’s the one who seems to be doing that for you. 

It’s a shame, how a lust like this can grow animosity on its tail. 

“Fuck you,” you spit back, and you don’t know whether you’re cursing him for being him or for being something you want when you shouldn’t. Maybe you’ve started to hate him for trying to love you all of a sudden; it conjures up a bitter taste in your mouth to consider it, how he only ever seems to want you when he knows he can’t have you. “I’m already cheating on my fucking boyfriend, at least do me a favor and make it worth my while.”

He lets go of your jaw in favor of pressing himself inside you again, groaning into your ear and leaving you keening. “You’ve got a mouth on you, I can tell you that.” Lifting himself back up, he grabs your hips and fucks into you, relishing in the feeling of you wrapped around him—at least physically. “Has he even fucked you yet? You’re so—shit—so tight—”

He waits for an answer that never comes out as anything more than heavy breaths and broken moans, and he’s satisfied, but not nearly enough. He slows down his movements, and for a second you think he’s starting to go easy on you. Rubbing your back with one hand, he pushes his hair out of his face with the other. “You all fucked out now, baby? Don’t tell me you can’t—” you bounce back against him, hard, just to spite him— “Mm, fuck—”

You giggle to yourself with your face leaning into the mattress because you already know this is how he is: he likes to talk big, but can’t back it up when it comes to you. You’re happy to let him ride out his pleasure a little longer—placate him, even—soaking up his touch and his groans and just feeling good for once.

JJ leans over you once more and licks the plane between your shoulder blades, and you moan at the chill in your spine when he breathes heavy against you. “Jay, I’m close.”

“I know, I can feel it, baby.” He sucks at your shoulder before looping his arm underneath you and holding your neck, pulling you with him as he shifts upright and pushes into you at a newer, deeper angle. You stumble out another moan and he smiles into your neck. “You like that?”

With one hand you reach up and behind and tug on JJ’s hair. His hands, one at your neck and one at your waist, are burning into your skin. “You feel so good—”

He leaves sloppy kisses on your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, and he’s almost convinced this feels too good to be true. He has you in his bed again, moaning his name, aching for him for what could be the last time. Yet what he can’t shake from his mind is the fact that you still aren’t his: he can’t kiss you just to kiss you, he can’t hold your hand like he sees you do with him, he can’t call this rendezvous anything but something to be forgotten about in the morning.

So when you start panting heavier, crying out his name a little more desperately, he makes sure to hold you tighter and kiss your lips that much harder. When you come undone around him, he drinks up your moans and keeps you grounded against him, letting you lay back down as he pulls out and moans into the open air, which he swears will smell like you for a month.

You lay limp in his bed and groan quietly at your sore muscles, letting your eyelid drift close. JJ rubs your back and kisses your shoulder blades, just barely there, as if he wasn’t just fucking you, moaning into your neck, cursing out confessions.

“Just stay there,” he whispers, and he’s hoping you’ll reply with something smart—Not like I can do anything else, comes to mind—but accepts your silence for the fact you’re too tired to bite back.

You hear the zip of his fly behind you, followed by the door opening and closing, then the faucet running. The bedsheets smell like JJ. When the door opens again, you open one eye to see him, only half-naked now, with a dampened rag which he uses to clean up your back. Your body is jello as he flips you off your stomach, and he smiles to himself as he watches you rub your eyes and yawn, your hair now a mess. He cleans you off for another minute, handling you as gently as he can physically manage, before shuffling through his drawers and emerging with a clean tee and a pair of shorts. He peels your back from the bed. “Up you go,” he mumbles as he helps you fight your arms through the fabric, even gentler so when he helps you into his shorts.

Your head goes hazy, and you think JJ’s left to sleep on the couch until the bed shuffles again.

“Wanna smoke?” he asks, a lighter and joint in his hands. From where, you’re not sure, though you’re not surprised. He situates himself in bed with his lips hugging the joint. You realize that you could describe how they taste from vivid memory again.

You resign yourself to your fate and lean into his chest. “Can’t say no to that, can I?”

The lighter flicks above your line of vision and you feel JJ’s deep inhale beneath you, lulling you further into exhaustion. You see the smoke that left his mouth. His hand moves toward your face and lifts the joint to your lips; you inhale from his fingers, wordlessly, and are pulled deeper and deeper into sleep with an exhale and JJ’s free hand rubbing your back. You see one last puff before your eyes finally close for the night, the warmth of his sun-kissed skin against your face.

JJ lets a few minutes pass after your breathing becomes slow and steady, joint glued to his mouth, before reaching ever so carefully to his nightstand and putting it out in the ashtray. The air is still too full of you for his liking, too much to forget. He lets his mind wander as it begins shutting down, kissing the top of your head as if it’ll keep you in bed long enough to see him wake. Closing his eyes, he knows that by morning, your clothes will be gone, the room will be that much cleaner, and you’ll no longer be his. He wonders whether being the one who waits has brought about any good after all, or if it has left him to cherish fleeting nights he’ll never see again.

[hell-drabbles]

Minhyeok 2

Summary: Often you pull Minhyeok to help you out with visualizing scenes for your various novels. And, obviously enough, this always leaves him hot and bothered. You know he can’t help it and it entertains you that he still continues to go along with your demands.

“Alright, pull your legs back a bit if you would,” you walked towards Minhyeok, who was laying on his bed, and tapped the side of his bare thigh, “Just grab your thighs right here. Go back as far as you can go.”

His thighs may not have the most fat on them but they’re plump enough to work. There’s a specific scene you’ve been meaning to write of a character of yours inviting the main character into a mating press. While you could just find the visuals directly online, your brain, unfortunately, works best when you have something physical you can interact with. You need to experience the pose with all five of your sense, if you can.

Honestly, it was just a joke when you asked if Minhyeok he could do this specific lewd pose, but the fact he actually agreed with you had you committing to the bit just so you don’t embarrass him. He’s a lovely man and you don’t want to step on his pride a little too much.

His cheeks are already flushed with shame as he pulled back as asked, ass not quite sticking in the air like you needed. He was stiff, as though his muscles were locked and refused to let go. Odd, since you knew him to be pretty flexible.

“Like this?” Minhyeok murmured out with strain. The only thing barely keeping his dignity was his underwear. Thing is, you didn’t ask him to strip down but you’re not going to say anything for his sake.

“Hmm, not quite,” you put one knee on the bed, “Mind if I help with the pose? It’s going to be pretty intimate though.”

Minhyeok let go and let his limbs flop on the bed. He covered his eyes, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck and over his chest. “…go on ahead, please.”

He’s so adorably honest. ‘Please.’ Minhyeok is a naturally polite man, to a pretty manipulative degree, but you can tell what’s his manners and what are his true wants.

Minhyeok went through a full body shudder just by you grabbing the back of this thighs. Goosebumps bloomed right under your palm and you spotted his fingers digging into the pillow beneath his head. Not in fear, but in anticipation.

You spread his legs apart and had to bite back a laugh when his hips jutted up for a second. It was slow, but you can see the outline of his hardening dick beneath his underwear, weakly twitching before beginning to follow the beat of his heart. Just to give him mercy, you ignored it.

You slid your hands up–Minhyeok bit back a moan–and pushed his knees until they were almost to his shoulders.

“If you want to stop, you know the magic word,” you reminded as reassurance.

Sweat started to dot his chest, giving his skin a unique shimmer. And his nipples were flushed pink and pebbled.

“I’m…” Minhyeok sighed out after a gulp of air, “I’m fine. You can continue.”

“Alright, alright,” and only then did you slot your hips over his, pinning his ass down on the bed. You felt his muscles clench up once more. “Ah, careful! You’re gonna rip something.”

Minhyeok was shivering, little yearning moans barely able to escape his tightly sealed lips. He covered his mouth, exposing his deeply red face and dilated pupils. He was entirely enraptured by you, unable to focus on anything else.

A stain began to spread on his underwear before leaking clearly down his belly.

Poor man. He’s reaching his limit.

“Hey, do you want me to help you out?” You smiled down at him. You always asked every time he gets likes this, though he always replies the same thing.

“I-it’s fine. I just… I just need the bathroom… Please…” His voice was soft, meek, vulnerable.

You let him go and Minhyeok dashed into out his bedroom door. You gave a quiet chuckle under your breath, putting your weight on your hands as you leaned back.

You’d think he’d eventually stop agreeing to do these things. But no, he’s stubborn.

What a strange man, that Minhyeok.

[charleslee-valentine]

Remember my trans Drayton fic?

Well now it’s got a prequel!

dedicating this to @lavenderbones13 who inspired me to pick this back up!

______

Word count: 3,332

Ship(s): Lefton (Drayton Sawyer x Boude “Lefty” Enright)

Warnings: period typical (1930s/40s) transphobia and homophobia, implied child abuse, alcohol use, very mild sexual themes, pregnancy.

—————

Lefty can tell his love has a secret.

It started with the fighting. Every advance for intimacy, for gentleness, for a moment to just be in love like they used to, turns into a screaming match. One sided at that.

From the bottom of his heart, Lefty could never fight with his sweetheart of nearly five years. A few more and they’d be getting married, raising kids in their own little corner of the Texas dry lands.

Not at this rate, and that’s Lefty’s biggest fear.

They need to talk about this, before things get out of control. He can’t lose his chance at love like this. Nothing has ever made his heart feel so simultaneously full and fragile.

Come tomorrow, he’s going to bring a ring, and he’s going to beg to fix whatever has gone wrong.

~~~~~

His name is Drayton. He’s not some fucking pretty little girlfriend, baby-makin’ machine. He’s a man, and he demands to be referred to as such.

Drayton had practiced it in his head countless times. Lefty called, said he wanted to see ‘his lover’ again, getting Mama’s blessing to take him out and everything. Would be nice to scare him out his fancy boots, showing up with his hair cut off and his chest pressed flat, but Drayton has hopes using words can get by this time.

He trusts his Lefty. Goddamn it, he does, despite the fear in his bitter heart, and the warning sirens going off in his own mind. Sure he’s pushing Lefty away some, but….

No. No more lies and excuses. Drayton’s going to act his age, act like the goddamn man he is, and face this little problem head on.

And he’ll bring his gun in the truck just in case things go south.

Picking lead outta bodies before preppin’ them ain’t easy, but it’s what he’ll have to do if he’s gonna be hurt, whether he likes that reality or not.

~~~~~

Lefty brought flowers, brought the ring, brought a bottle of the good wine and glasses, even a quilt to lay on the grass. Good old fashioned pic-a-nic under the stars to win his baby back.

All he needs now is-

“My love.”

He’s a little breathless with want when he finally sees his beloved. It’s been too long. His heart can’t take much more distance.

“Enright.”

That can’t be good. On last name terms again.

His honey only calls him Enright when somethin’s real wrong.

He’s gotta try to play his cards, gently holding the hands of the love of his life, “Would you come out with me tonight? I miss you.”

The gruff, but tender answer he gets is very much appreciated, “Got nothin’ better to do… thought you’d never ask.”

~~~~~

Halfway through the night, Drayton just bursts, like a beaver dam under far too much pressure. Except it’s his heart snapping into pieces, not no twigs. Only took two glasses full of wine before he was hugging the entire bottle to his chest to take swigs occasionally, crying his eyes out and pissing his dignity down the drain.

Lefty rubs his back, but it ain’t enough to soothe him. Drayton sobs, “Yer gonna leave me. Yer gonna think I’m fuckin’ crazy.”

Another big drink straight from the bottle. He’s never held his alcohol well. Probably already a good bit tipsy.

For his part, Lefty’s reassurance doesn’t falter, promising, “I’d never. Cross my heart.”

“And the rest?” Drayton asks for more, selfishly, hoping to extinguish the pain in his heart.

“Hope to die and everything, honey.” Lefty cooperates, only to give Drayton’s cheek a gentle kiss, and beg real quietly, “Jus’ tell me what’s wrong, lover. We can fix it.”

Something about that choice of words makes a crack in his soul. Ignites a deep insecurity inside himself nobody quite knows of.

“No. No, I’m not broken, Boude. There’s no fixin’ to be done”

“Alright. Well can I at least know the problem I’m dealin’ with, so’s I know how to address it?” Lefty patiently prompts.

Drayton drinks half of what’s left in the bottle in one swig. Popping off it, he shakes his head, terrified, unable to drown this unease, “I…. Boude- I cant-“

“Take your time. Breathe, partner.” Lefty soothes again, pulling Drayton softly back to lean into his chest.

He strokes his arms, like he’s trying to warm him up, and maybe he is. Maybe this is Draytons final act before his heart gives out from all these emotions and he goes dead cold. Nah. His heart’s still beating too fast for that. Drayton gains the courage to speak, “You said you’d stick with me through anythin’.”

“That I did.”

“Would that include if I changed my name?”

A pause. “What’s wrong with E-“

“Stop. I’m not done.” Drayton interrupts, so tired of that old way of referring to him, that he explains all at once, “I don’t want to just change my name. I want to change my clothes too. And my hair. And my body. And the way you call me. I-I want to change.. my sex, Boude. I ain’t no woman.”

“Could you.. explain that?” Lefty prompts. Drayton starts to pull away, he’s scared that Lefty’s question is a trap, a way to make him detail every emotional detail he has. But Lefty holds him close through it, “No honey I just, I don’t know what you mean. Please..”

So Drayton takes one more drink, and just lets the floodgates go, rambling on, “It’s not like I understand it much. It’s some curse. Like I was.. born all mixed up or somethin’. My soul must’ve swapped with somebody else’s. Maybe one of Mama’s stillborns-“

“You don’t feel like yourself?” Lefty tries.

Now he’s starting to get frustrated, walking someone else through what he already knows, “What the hell do you think? Drayton is a man’s name, and Drayton is me!”

“Honey. Drayton. You do understand that, what you’re fixin’ to do-“

“Is liable to get me killed. Of course I know! But if that’s what’s gonna happen then goddammit just finish me off now.”

“You know I would never.” Lefty sounds real stern, a little hurt he’d even suggest it. Clearing up that confusion comes from his long-winded declaration next, “My love. Remember when you told me, you didn’t like your weight, or your frizzy hair, or your crooked teeth? That you wasn’t good enough for me?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Drayton mumbles sourly, turning to finally face Lefty instead of leaning his back against him.

Warm, blue eyes stare right back into his own. Intense and vulnerable and just plain loving. Drayton has to look down.

“That I told you I’m connected with your soul. Your body, sure I love it, and I love you, but it’s not up to me. Our love was written in the creation of this very universe. God meant us to be together. No matter what form you take. Drayton Sawyer.” Lefty sounds a lot like his preacher father talking that way, ranting at him. That’s a sign of how seriously he feels.

Somehow his confidence allows Drayton to let all his heart-achin’ show, “I can't go through with it.”

“I’ll help you, darlin-“ Lefty starts, but he’s cut off.

Drayton’s voice wobbles with his tears and the burn of alcohol, “Don’t you understand? If I’m a man, and I start lookin’ like one, we can’t be together!”

“On our own time, we can be. Nobody has to know. To the public, we’ll be friends still, but-“

“Boude. I can’t ask that of you. You’re always.. always kissin’ on me, holding my hands. Hiding your affection, it’s not-“

Lefty cups his face. Resumes the eye contact, starin’ into his eyes in a way that’s bordering on manic.

“Not going to break us. Never. Nothing can get in our way, you hear me?”

Drayton nods softly, sniffling to stop the tears that wanna fall, “But-“

“No more. I wanna help you. We’ll get you sorted and lookin’ yourself more like Drayton, yeah?” Lefty tries to cheer him up.

Drayton has a realization instead, color draining out of his face, “My mama’s gonna kill me.“

It’s not likely, but there was always the chance. Mama Sawyer done a lot of good by her son, and a lot of bad too. Namely, kicking him out a few times to have the house to herself and her ever-changing beau, forcing him to work since childhood. The woman didn’t want a child, she wanted a maid. But she could be kind when she needed to be. Sure, she’d hurt him, but she’d never abandon him, never do away with his life.

Lefty’s opinion of the woman is as low as low. His tone is barely subdued anger, “As if she’ll even notice. That woman is colder than hell frozen over. Never pays you enough mind, never has.”

“That’s my mother you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” Drayton warns softly. No matter how much he agrees, it’s never easy to hear that somebody from the outside can tell things ain’t happy-go-lucky.

It’s probably Lefty’s determination, as evidenced by his dedication to arguing this, “Exactly. And she’s never ought been a mother to ya.”

That gets Drayton a little defensive, “Funny. It’s your parents we’ll be hidin’ from. It’s mama told me I could bring home man or woman, so long as there’d be no love child sprung.”

Meanwhile, Lefty’s parents are the ones who sat the couple down and threatened to not let them see one another if they suspected them of pre-marital scex. They’re the folks that made Drayton kneel and pray at their hearth for God’s approval to date their child.

As much as Lefty can’t stand Mama Sawyer, Drayton can’t stand the Enright parents neither.

Apparently, Lefty agrees, “So they’re both shit. That leaves just us. Just you and me, Drayton.”

Huh. How about that.

Drayton finally puts down the bottle, realizing there’s no more than a sip or two left. His face is flushed, an unholy combination of alcohol and affection. The only thing warmer than his skin is a fond flame burning right in the center of his chest.

“You can stop sayin’ my name so much.” He attempts to get some space from the big feelings.

Lefty showers him in compliments instead, because of course he does, “I like it. It suits you. Better than E-“

Drayton puts a stop to that. “Well if you’re so damn obsessed, the old one dies, alright? No more calling me by that name.”

“Alright.” Lefty agrees, until he thinks of some extenuating circumstance, “Not even-“

“No. Never. If you goin’ through with all this, you’re gonna take me as is. And that ain’t her. She’s gone, Enright. You hear?” Drayton hides the quiver is his voice, by dropping it a pitch or two. It’ll help to have that skill later on anyhow.

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

“Can I kiss-“

Drayton interrupts his twiddling about. No more words for now. No more questions especially. He’s sick of words. He wants feelings.

The kiss ain’t some dainty thing. Drayton cups Lefty’s face and guides him as close as two bodies can press, lips connected all the while. They’ve never made as much contact as here now, laying under the stars, all tangled up, kissing as deep and as furious as the bounds of their love.

Guilt is what stops it. Not only over the sinful (clothed. painfully modest) touching. Lefty looks blank-faced as he pulls back with another realization, “Drayton. Man ain’t supposed to lie with another man-“

Drayton throws his head back in frustration with it all, “Oh, hush. Man ain’t supposed to lie with nobody til he’s married. What’s it matter ‘til then? So long as you ain’t tryin’ to get hitched, we're square.”

The air sorta freezes up. Lefty shifts away, sitting them both up, “Well, actually…”

“Boude, you weren’t-“ Drayton looks furious. Don’t feel it.

Lefty thinks it’s best to just get it out there before he can start to regret, “I was… In a moment of desperation I… thought it’d be a good idea. I thought it might rekindle things and I… I love you. So I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

Except there’s one glaring problem now that Drayton is about to be outwardly himself, “It won’t be legal.”

“I know. I know that. I’ll put it away.” Lefty says, with the demeanor of a scorned child. Embarrassed. Cute.

Now, Drayton ain’t exactly eager to be legally bound to anybody, but he don’t like the way he can feel the hurt coming from his boy. He thinks of some distraction,

“What gem?”

“Hm?”

“What’s the stone?”

Lefty eyes him wearily, trying to interpret the meaning of his question, “A tiger’s eye. It’s for good luck.”

“That’s not.. too frilly. I-I wouldn’t mind-“ Drayton can feel his face has gone beet red.

Worth it for the way Lefty lights up. He produces the tiny crushed velvet box again,

“You wanna wear it?”

“Strictly for purpose of holding you accountable.” Drayton lies.

He wants to wear cause it’ll feel nice. Serve as a reminder that he’s wanted at least somewhere in the world. Not that it’ll be easy. That reminder gonna be noticed by somebody else soon enough.

And then they’ll be in for a world of trouble.

“Here, my love.” Lefty offers it up, when Drayton reaches for the ring insisting on putting it in for him. Two fingers down from where an actual wedding band would go. A promise ring. “I sized it from.. the little ring you gave me. Well actually, you left it over once, but-“

Drayton isn’t listening. He’s staring, fascinated, at the square cut stone inlaid in thin braided silver. “I’m keepin’ this. You realize that.”

“Yessir.” Lefty just chuckles at him.

Makes Drayton suddenly feel vulnerable, like Lefty’s got some kind of power over him he should know about, “And you’re alright with it? Bein’ promised to a.. a-“

A gentle hand on both his arms, Lefty stops him there, “Don’t say whatever you’re about to say. It wa’nt gonna be nice. I don’t want you talkin’ that way.”

“I’ll talk as I please.”

“It’ll be hard enough without you bein’ against your own self. Don’t do that. If I love you, and you love yourself, and you love me, then we can’t go wrong.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Lefty sighs, frustrated with his stubbornness after dealing with it so much, and rubs at his eyes, “Drayton.”

“What?” Drayton asks too quickly. Here it comes lord. Everything before now was the calm before the storm.

Except, he should know better. Lefty was getting irritated with the arguin’, sure, but all he’s got to inform him of is “Nothin’. I just like sayin’ it.”

Drayton huffs, the tiniest hint of playfulness showing through after the innocent misunderstanding, “Well that’s enough. You’re wearing it out already.”

“Mhm.” Lefty hums.

Still close, Lefty presses a delicate kiss to Drayton’s forehead, noticing, with his hand placed in his hair, a pin holding the style up. Unexpectedly, he removes it, letting medium length waves, dark as the midnight sky, topple everywhere.

For Drayton, being seen with his hair down might as well be like going in public in just his britches or less. His face is probably doubly as bright red as before.

Lefty just wanted a look, a question on his mind, “How short you thinkin’?”

“I want it all off. Clipped short as you can get it without bein’ a flattop.” Drayton admits.

Lefty seems to consider it, maybe imagining what his partner will look like that way, before he affirms, “I can do that. How ‘bout a change of clothes too? The hair, I don’t think it’ll match this stuffy old dress, hm?”

Drayton vaguely motions to his chest, the very obvious difference between their shirt sizes in that area, “I won’t fit in your clothes.”

“Sure, not yet. We’ll figure somethin’ out though. You gotta give this time.” Something tells him Lefty ain’t just talking about chest tape. Definitely not when he says dreamily, “Afterall, we got all of it in the damn world.”

“If you’re trickin’ me-“ Drayton starts, eyes narrowed.

But Lefty is quicker, “I’m not. I love you, Drayton Sawyer.”

“Fine. But you’re not gettin’ no love ‘til I’m sure you mean it.” See, that’s partly a lie, because as soon as he says it he kisses him. What he really means is he’s not puttin’ out, which they already agreed upon, and that he’s too overwhelmed with all the other things goin’ on to say the words. Love. But he’ll show it, even if he can’t say it back. He’ll hold out his hand and comment, “‘Preciate the ring. Jus’ don’t make me mad or I’ll hock it in an instant.”

“You wouldn’t... Would ya?” Lefty eyes him skeptically.

Some reason, Drayton just howls with laughter, “Awh, hell no. You keepin’ me, ‘n I’m keepin’ this ring.”

“It suits you.”

“Hey. Wait ‘til you see it with the real me.”

“Sure, sure. But I gotta feeling I’m gonna like it either way.”

That boy is helplessly, head over heels, throw all common sense out the window in love.

Drayton teases him about it a bit, “Funny. I got that feelin’ too, lover boy.”

Lefty eventually takes him home to sleep off the alcohol around two or three in the morning, but sure as sin the next day they’re gettin’ Drayton gussied up to look like himself. The Enright’s bathroom’s a right mess, but it’s worth it, to see a genuine Drayton Sawyer smile. Showing buck-teeth and all, not some bashful little thing.

The fears they had was true. Once word got out, Ma and Pa Enright forbade, strictly outlawed, really, that the boys even see one another, unless it was for business. Trading meat and produce and such. Lucky for them, nobody ever caught on they was lying about how often those trading expeditions was needed.

That and nobody knew their spot. Follow the creek down from the watering hole long enough, and you’d find the far away clearing they’d had that date in. Every week, sometimes several times, they’d both sneak out of their respective homes and head out that way. But nobody never did follow. Moonlight as their guide, they were untouchable. For years they was.

Still no official wedding in sight, it’d be nearly twice the time since they got together come the end of that year. Almost a decade, they decided, was enough time that they might as well be unionized by somethin’.

The body, the the blood, the soul. Man lyin’ with man, and all that. Drayton would call it plainly what it is without reserve, but Lefty doesn’t have it in him to admit he’s planning a sin.

Especially with a man who at least is starting to be recognized as such now ‘at the Muerto County population’s shifting a little younger, a little less familiar with the person Drayton used to be. Neighborhood kids move away, families sell their farms, bosses die in equipment accidents, and suddenly every day isn’t quite as unsure, and the townsfolk are calling him by his chosen name.

Blame all that for the lapse in judgment that gets Drayton lyin’ on his back when Mama goes outta town, Grandpa gets called in, and suddenly they got the house to themselves.

“Slow your roll, cowboy. Jesus...”

“I-Is that s’posed to happen?”

“Alright, get the hell off and let me do this-“

How was either of them s’pose to know that one time was all it took! They was set up to fail!

Looking back now, as soon as it was over he thinks he knew. Paranoia or not, he’d felt somethin’ that night, and now goddamit he’s three months along. Half the time as Mama. A whole third of the way through.

Damn it all to hell.

They’re going to have a baby. Drayton’s gonna be sick-

[lacunasbalustrade]

notes whilst writing this insufferable idol lyric docs fic

mon. 4. dec.

<the movie director’s/ designated writer for friendgroup’s thought process>

voracious jewellery collector tries to rob cute jewellery shop owner of their rings and force them to bend the knee: villainous ohohoho (jk lol)

thus the K-pop 白痴 (knows zero about K-pop) attempts to write a fic about lyric docs- what can I say I love nothing better than a challenge (borderline masochistic suspicions)

line break because this is going to be long u have been warned. this is gonna be a journal for me ignoring the fact that tumblr itself is a journal

someone is going to know my suffering at stumbling headfirst into this world of idols. likely Kyoya. but i may change my mind

where the hell are those screenshots where mio and i discussed this. if you can’t tell already I’m one of those ridiculous ppl who needs the whole guidebook of encyclopaedic references to write.

went back the entire six months worth of conversations and finally found it, cringing at my every message like my dear God intended

I’m keeping all the lyric doc tabs open so I can read whilst i write

okay not Kyoya he’s into this too much

Rouga you’re my everything you’re my soul you’re just as dead as i am about this ‘what if we just go with disaster’

don’t get me wrong I’m enjoying this I’m just the kind of person to complain about everything and bitch all the way through only to appear with a shiny smile at the end of it

that is to say i like the steep learning curve but i also like to keep myself aware of how much I’m doing so i get to laugh at myself when i say ‘no problems’ later on

what do you call that character type

nvm back to writing

we’re starting this with a voiceover because i say so. draft here “future card buddyfight is a game that connects to parallel universes and allows monsters and humans to become buddies. in the wake of global events that have shattered his reputation, Gaen Kyoya decides to restart his cult by starting an (apparently) harmless idol management agency. By traveling to other worlds on a universal tour, will his newly formed idol groups be able to compete with the local talent? Will Gaen Kyoya be able to regain his reputation as a heartthrob? Most importantly, will the press-ganged idols ever get to play Buddyfight again? an earth-shattering screech is heard from the Gaen Tower. “Daddy always told me I’d be a star!”

Gaen Kyoya gives Shido Magoroku a strained smile. He’s in it to win it whatever the game. It’s too late to back out now, although he absolutely regrets - regrets, not deserves this.

rouga is doing the voiceover. this is disaster, the world tour movie. we’re gonna keep that secret till the end of the fic. (publishes this draft instantly and fails to keep any secret) whatever movies are announced anyway and it’s more fun to hype this up.

tasuku is not in an idol group as far as i have surmised from a quick scan- over. so he’s just going to show up to every performance and laugh at them. bro finally got to catch a break (and a good laugh)

wait ILL MAKE IT SEEM LIKE ITS ENDED AND THEN FLASHBACK TO ACE IDOL GROUPS AND BE LIKE - YOU THOUGHT, SUCKER, ITS NOT OVER YET!!!!

ah. I’m publishing this draft later. Should i just delete number 15 for my reputation?

nahhhhh.

if you couldn’t tell already I’m writing this as i go so this thought process is in chronological order

i already know I’m never going to read this again this guidebook to the movie director’s thought process comes at the cost of my dignity

who am i kidding i have no such thing called dignity (meow)

this is my reference draft so I’m going to drop the cropped screenshots here for ease of rememberance

note: is polery a thing??? anyways

oh my gosh. mio u really changed two names because i liked certain options better. i love you.

I’ve become softer because now I find the options for band names I like are different (reverie, paradoxus, wishing star and hikari to tomo ni) which really makes me want to break down.

I am in a better place, a quieter place, and it shows. (charting my own growth like a parent checking their child’s height against markings on the wall)

22. there are basically two bands from first season can i really stretch the whole fic out and really make it seem like it ended with just that

23. who am I kidding I’ll be lucky if i can even stretch the fic out my highest amount of words so far is 3000 I haven’t even finished my long fic for Tasuku yet (hellooooo, my dearest procrastination)

24. in conclusion let’s just run with it. i wanna have it out in time for mio’s bday i have like a month and a day.

25. Tasuku is in the idol list. my memory be like sand flowing away with the tide

26. anyways

27. how’s that’s supposed to work

28. like i believe i could spout some nonsense about Kyoya. bribing everyone. because what good are riches except for yknow bribing people to become idols.

29. what ifff he saved a record of disaster’s ridiculous meetings and said with a straight face and smile as usual - “we’ll all sink on this ship, my friends”

30. basically blackmail. hmmm

31. i will find out when i start writing! (conclusion)

32. at first i was going to read fics to find out more about the idol industry but all the fics are au fics so that’s a bust

33. instead i am waving to chat gpt so if there’s any inaccuracy go blame Elon Musk like we do for everything under the sun

34. did Elon Musk even make chat gpt

35. I don’t care anymore that’s not relevant

work in progress for obvious reasons. will update this stupid post.

the relevant tags: note to self

also a line to your friend that kinda hit me when I was browsing by the posts to find those relevant tags:

“it’s now kinda buried under 200+ songs in my playlist, but when it plays, I never skip it.”

(italics at my own risk)

[yakumtsaki]

Boy do I feel iVan when it comes to this wolfwatching crap, I am OVER IT. I actually went back and checked how long it’s been that I’ve been trying to turn Jojo into a werewolf and it turns out I STARTED IN 2018. It’s literally been two Olympics, absolutely pathetic. Ok Jojo you are 200yo at this point, I really think it’s time for us to give this up and let you die with dignity.

-I’ve never done anything with dignity and I’m not about to start now!

Meanwhile, being disinherited in favor of her wife has reignited the passion in Shajar’s heart.

-Oh darling, I can’t believe you already have a new diabolical plan! It was only last night that you stole my inheritance! You’re a genius!🖤

-Don’t I know it!

Sophie can you just chill with your 20 top-careered pets, your massive lawyer pension, and all of Jojo’s money? What more could you possibly want??

-Oh I’ll tell you what I want, I want Sugar out of here!

Aw come on, he’s not that bad!

-He killed Sandy!

You hated Sandy! You literally danced on her grave!  

-Ya that’s not it, she thinks with Sugar here Sophito’s heirship is disputed.

-SHAJAR YOU GODDAMN IDIOT DON’T TELL HER THAT

 OMG SOPHIE WHO CARES

-I CARE. Now fuck outta here so we can have geriatric relations in our front yard!

-Listen, honey-

-You’ve never called me ‘honey’ before.

-Yes I have, I’m a very affectionate mother.

-No, I mean you LITERALLY have never in my life called-

-LISTEN HERE, BRAT. There, was that better?? Now, you know how much I love your cousin Sugar-

-Don’t you always say Aunt Cyn should have kept the placenta instead of him?

-Well the placenta is very nutritious. As I was saying, even though I love having Sugar around, I think the best thing for him is to leave and make a life for himself.

-Yes, I completely agree, that boy is a liability!

-Grandpa, where did you come from? 

-From another room, I definitely wasn’t hiding behind the fridge.

-Won’t Sugar have a hard time living alone?

-He should have thought of that before he destroyed his marriage!

-Didn’t you have an affair with Max Flexor?

-Yes but I wasn’t stupid enough to get caught! 

-I don’t know guys, I feel like you two have another agenda.

-Us?? An agenda???

-HAHAHA oh son, you are funny! It will be a cold day in Hell when your grandpa and I are not completely honest and selfless! 

-Hey guys, did you tell him about kicking Sugar out on his ass yet? 

-GET OUT OF HERE, SHAJAR

-So Mom and Grandpa want me to kick out Sugar.

-What? And who will change the baby’s diapers?? iVan who’s having a mental breakdown???

-𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻𝚂 𝚂𝙰𝚈 𝙸'𝙼 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚃𝚈 𝙵𝙻𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝙸🎵

Ngl, I am starting to feel living in our crypt might not be the best lifepath for Sugar. I mean he doesn’t even have a roommate after, you know, he killed Sandy. Ok Sugar, I’m gonna give you one more chance at a family..

..it’s over for you, Matthew Picaso! That’s what you get for pissing me off that time Sophito kept asking you out. 

-JESSICA HOW COULD CHEAT ON ME WITH THIS FREAKSHOW

-I COULDNT HELP IT MATTHEW, WE HAVE THE SAME FACE TEMPLATE. IT WAS FATE

-Jess, I know this is fast as you got divorced 2 hours ago, but when you know, you know! Marry me and let’s fill this neighborhood with our face template!

-Oh Sugar, of course I will! 

-It’s happening. It’s finally happening. I’M SO HAPPY

Ok Jojo calm down.

-I CAN’T.

I gave Jess a nice gothic makeover and moved them into this beautiful Victorian house I of course didn’t build-

-and it’s wedding time!

-OH GOD THIS IS THE HAPPIEST DAY OF MY LIFE

We adopted a bunch of pets from Wulf..

..and even Claire (who has a hot new look and a great life which I will cover in the next spare update) shockingly agreed to come over and let bygones be bygones, guaranteeing a more normal co-parenting situation than Sugar barging in her house to beat up Wilfred. Magnanimous queen!

-I’m literally too rich and successful to hold grudges, getting divorced from Sugar was the best thing to ever happen to me!

LOL. Well point is everything was going well-

-AND THEN SUGAR TRIED TO HAVE ANOTHER AUTONOMOUS AFFAIR WITH SOMEONE HE BROUGHT HOME FROM WORK. SUGAR WTF IS YOUR PROBLEM. WHO DOES THIS IN FRONT OF THEIR WIFE, THAT COWORKER DOESNT EVEN LIKE YOU

-I DON’T CARE. I’M NOT MADE FOR MARRIAGE I CAN’T DO IT

HOLY HELL

-GET OUT OF HERE ASSHOLE I CAN’T BELIEVE I RUINED MY MARRIAGE FOR YOU

-OH NOOOOO I’M SO SAD. Don’t worry my bags are already packed!

-Welcome back bro, don’t worry, you’ll always be in the Dean’s List of my heart! 

-NO. NO. YOU WERE GONE. I WATCHED YOU LEAVE. GO BACK TO YOUR WIFE RIGHT NOW

-I AM WIFELESS AND I’M NEVER LEAVING AGAIN. I WILL DIE RIGHT WHERE I WAS BORN: IN YOUR FRONT YARD

-YOU’LL DIE SOONER THAN YOU THINK IF YOU DONT GET THE FUCK OUT

-SOPHITO IS THE DEMOCRATICALLY ELECTED HEIR AND HE SAID I’M WELCOME TO STAY. YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME

-WHY YOU DON-NOSED, TWICE-DIVORCED LITTLE BASTARD. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT

-I’M GOING BUT ONLY BECAUSE I WANT TO

-Aaaah, it’s good to be back in my crypt where I belong! Who should I marry and divorce next? Uncle Daniel’s wife is pretty hot. 

Sugar istg.

[thearvariblues]

KPweek 2022 Day 1: “Can I try?” + love (VegasPete)

This fic can also be found on AO3 ;)

***

“Pete?” Vegas chuckles, tilting his head. “Can I try?”

“No!” Pete growls. “I’ve got this!”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“One hundred percent?”

“Yup!”

“As you wish. But I’ve been watching you struggling for… seven minutes and forty-three seconds now.”

“I’ve got this!” Pete repeats, glaring at his lover. “I’m a strong, self-sufficient man! I’ve been doing it myself for years! I know I’ve got you to do it now, but you don’t have to help me all the time, do you?”

“Of course not, love,” Vegas grins. “But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t! I can fasten my own goddamn bracelet!” Pete snarls and lifts his right hand to bite down on one end of the offending piece of jewelry.

“Yes, I’m sure this is definitely gonna help,” Vegas nods, watching the complex yoga routine that follows and inevitably ends with Pete screaming and throwing the bracelet against the bedroom wall.

“It’s broken!” the former bodyguard and current mafia wife exclaims. “That’s it! Broken, that’s why it doesn’t work!”

“It’s not broken, sweetie, it’s fine,” Vegas smiles. “Are you sure you don’t want me to try?”

“No. I’m not wearing a bracelet.”

“Shame. I love how this one looks on you.”

Pete scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes pierce right through Vegas’ completely innocent face.

“I know what you’re trying to do, darling, and it’s not gonna work!”

“I’m not even trying to do anything, though.”

“Liar.”

“Just let me do it for you, Pete,” Vegas sighs. “Pretty please?”

Vegas gazes at Pete from beneath his eyelashes and Pete’s paper-thin defenses just… crumble.

“All right. Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes, and goes to fetch the bracelet. “But only because I want to wear it, not because you want me to!”

“Obviously, love.”

“And not because you said you liked it!”

“I’d never have thought that was the reason, I assure you.”

“And definitely not because of those puppy eyes! Never do those again, by the way. You’re a dangerous criminal, Vegas, have some dignity!”

Vegas laughs takes the bracelet from Pete’s hand and fastens it around his wrist within two seconds. Pete purses his lips and glares first at the bracelet, then at his lover.

“There,” Vegas says, smiling brightly. “Perfect.”

“I hate you,” Pete mutters.

“Love you too, sweetie.” Vegas places a quick kiss on Pete’s cheek, making his lover blush slightly. “You look gorgeous, by the way. I guess I will be once again apologizing to Tankhun.”

“Why, for stealing me away from him?”

“No, love. For fucking you in the restroom and therefore ruining his evening.”

“Vegas!”

“Can’t help it,” Vegas shrugs.

“All right, all right,” Pete huffs, rolling his eyes. “Come on. We gotta go. Or we’ll be late, and then you’re gonna have to apologize to Tankhun twice.”

“Right. I’ll get the bike. You can go check on Venice and make some final threats to Macau. I mean, give him some last-minute instructions he’s heard a hundred times already.”

“Asshole. And I wanted to say you’re sweet and thoughtful!”

“I am sweet and thoughtful,” Vegas winks. “I could just throw you over my shoulder and carry you outside.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try!”

The grin on Vegas’ face is the only warning Pete gets before he’s unceremoniously lifted in the air and hoisted over Vegas’ shoulder.

“You were saying, sweetie?”

“Vegas!” Pete hisses. “Put me down!”

“I don’t think I will, sweetie,” Vegas chuckles, walking out of their bedroom door. “And remember, don’t scream. You’ll wake up our son.”

“Vegas, if you don’t put me down this instant, I can guarantee you won’t have to apologize to Tankhun tonight!”

“Promises, promises,” Vegas says and slaps Pete’s ass with the hand that’s not holding him.

“Vegas, come on!” Pete whines, but Vegas can tell he’s trying very hard not to start laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“Thanks, love.”

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

“I don’t care,” Vegas smiles as he walks into the living room. “Macau, we’re off. Try to keep yourself and the kid alive. If only one of you survives, make sure it’s Venice, okay? If something goes wrong, call me and I’ll be here within twenty minutes. Fifteen in an emergency. Love you. Bye!”

“Have fun, hia,” Macau replies, not even looking up from his phone. “Love you!”

“Wait!” Pete protests. “I forgot to prepare Venice’s bottle–”

“I’ve got it, P’Pete, don’t worry!” Macau assures him. “Enjoy your night out. Everything’s under control!”

“See? Everything’s under control,” Vegas says, slapping Pete again. “Let’s go, sweetie. We don’t wanna make Tankhun wait.”

[goddevouringserpent]

c'mon girlies (gender neutral) time for the SLOW YET STEADY CORRUPTION ARC, the DISCOVERY OF THE MOST FUCKED UP PARTS OF OUR SELF WHICH WE EMBRACE LIKE THEY'RE WORTH NURTURING BECAUSE WE ARE TOO AFRAID OF THE ALTERNATIVE, the ULTIMATE SACRIFICE OF OUR MORALITY FOR THE SAKE OF LOVE OR SOMETHING THAT BURNS LIKE ONLY LOVE COULD, TH

anyway, this is Angel, or yuor devil 😈, my MC for @homecomingvn ! definitely gonna be romancing Henry; still not sure if he's also going to be my MC for Lyra or if I'll make a different one for her, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it

more info about Angel below the cut because I cannot shut up ever. it's my curse and I bear it with dignity.

if you ever try to call Angel out on anything, her go-to reply will be "aw, do you really think I would do that, can't you see I'm an angel?" & a face that's a weird mixture of 😏 and 🥺. don't ask how he pulls that one off, it's a secret between him and god and neither of them's telling (when the Nonbinary hit, she briefly considered changing her name for something that sparked more gender joy, but ultimately decided against it because commitment to the bit is her #1 priority.)



I put 'chemistry' as one of the things he likes, but really she's super into anything science-related, chemistry is just her passion. one of the STEM bitches, basically. maybe a bit light on the TE part, but he would still read a 700-page book about, I don't know, How To Build Some Big Shit Like A Bridge Or Aqueduct and enjoy every bit of it. which doesn't necessarily mean he'd understand every bit of it, mind you, but it's all about the energy I guess



related to the above: WILL infodump about her interests if given the chance. WILL NOT stop unless directly and firmly told to. if you want him to shut up but are too polite to do anything about it? good fucking luck. Angel can keep going for hours and that is a promise.



hates the nickname 'Angie' and will never respond to it. will accept 'Annie' from friends, but really they tend to prefer more personalized nicknames—like Henry's 'Buttercup'—or just plain ol' Angel



extremely ride-or-die. if she considers you one of 'her people' there's next to nothing you could do to make her change her mind or give up on you. (though, to be honest, he probably IS going to be very confused as to how he managed to befriend not one Fucked Up Weirdo but two. didn’t even know there were two Fucked Up Weirdos in town! gotta be something in the water.)



I don't know what his job is going to be yet, but I do know he's already had like 15 jobs minimum; all because she's very thorough about "following your dreams" and it just so happens that her dreams generally last around 10-20 business days before he moves on to another dream. Angel, stop hoarding jobs, you fucking maniac. you're gonna destroy the economy. and yes that's sexy conceptually but you gotta be more careful about it bro (gender neutral)



tends to play wizards in D&D/any TTRPG. she likes the complexity and versatility.



speaking of, it's time for the most nightmarish scary fact about Angel, VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED READER BEWARE: she thinks THAC0 makes perfect sense and is intuitive & easy to understand. if you just felt a cold chill run down your spine, it's okay, I did too 😔 (in this house we tolerate AD&D in a "respect your elders" kinda way, but fuck THAC0 what was up with that shit)

Notes:

I don't actually know if school newspapers are a thing or I got tricked by media from the USA and also my ex-girlfriend; it's just that the concept of being some sort of unhinged investigative journalist at the tender age of 14something+ was too fitting for Angel and I had to take the risk of looking like a clown.

the Picrew used is Black Centered Picrew <3 by naylissah. I'd link it but I've been led to believe that This Website makes it so that you can't put external links or the post won't show up in tags/mentions, so uh. it's on the first page of Picrew, if you can't find it send me a DM or something??

[theweirdoinurhouse]

Socket Wrench (a scriddler one-shot)

(This is my first time posting a story of mine, so sorry for any mistakes. Also I don't know how southern people talk all that much, sorry) Fandom: DC Pairing: Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma Warings: None

The shop reeked of smoke, body odor, and motor oil. Tools were on the floor, and uncompleted projects were thrown away from the main work bench. The room was a complete mess, just like the man who worked in it.

Edward sat on a stool, working on some new peject that was sure to be forgotten like the others. Edward hasn't come out of his shop for a week. The skin under his eyes were discolored, indicating his lack of sleep. There was more grease and dirt on him than ever. It's unclear how he got dirt on him, being that he hasn't been outside in a week. He was bent over the work bench, not wearing any safety gear. The flames of the torch he was using illuminated his face.

The door to the work shop opened, but Edward didn't pay any mind to it. He continued to work, not caring about whoever dared to disturb him. Behind him he could hear metal scrapping and papers rustling.

"I really don't know how you can read these. Your handwriting ain't the post legible." A gruff, southern voice said behind him. Edward already knew who was there, but hearing him talked only set it in stone.

"In case you couldn't tell, Jonathan, I'm quite busy. It would be best if you left." Edward said, clearly annoyed.

Jonathan scoffed, but he wasn't surprised by Edward's response. He was expecting an answer like that honestly. Edward never liked to be interrupted when he was working. Jonathan could understand the annoyance though. He didn't like being interrupted as well. Not sure who would like it.

Jon walked around the other rogue's space, running his fingers over some toys and discarded projects. It disturbed him how messy the room is. "Disturbed" might not be the right word, but it gives off the same premise of how Jon feels.

"Will you stop messing with stuff? You're making too much noise." Edward seemed even more agitated than before. He was trying to have a quiet, peaceful day, and Jonathan had to ruin it. Wouldn't be the first time though.

Jon walked over to Ed, standing behind him. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Ed's torso. Edward's body tensed at the touch, but relaxed after a few seconds.

Jon leaned down even more, resting his chin on Edward's shoulder. 'I'm gonna get serious back pains from this.' Jon thought. He didn't really care though. It's all worth it for the fact Edward isn't pushing him away or yelling at him. It's not like Ed's always like that, just when he's working and Jon comes in.

"Sorry for disturbing you, darlin'. I was just worried 'bout ya." Jon said. Edward could feel Jon's breath on his neck and shivered at the feeling, but tried not to. Jonathan felt it though and smiled.

"Well. If you're going to be here, you might as well make yourself useful. Hand me the socket wrench." Ed ordered, holding out his hand for the wrench. "What's the magic word?" Jon asked in response to Edward's demand, dragging out "word".

Edward groaned, not wanting to say it. It was humiliating to even think about it. Alas, he was out of reach of the wrench, but Jonathan wasn't. And he knew Jon wouldn't get it with what he said. He swallowed down all his dignity. "Please?"

Jon chuckled. He retracted his right arm from Ed's torso, reaching to grab the wrench. Ed shivered from the sudden cold that hit him. He hadn't realised Jonathan was warming him.

Jon grabbed the wrench and put it in Edward's out stretched hand. He wrapped his arm back around Ed's torso. "Now was that so hard?" He whispered in the other rogue's ear. He didn't respond, just went back to work.

"You're welcome."

Edward just hummed in response, not paying mind to the other man. Jon tilted his head and kissed the area where Edward's neck and shoulder meet. Ed shivered from the intamate act, but didn't protest. Jon made a trail of kisses up Ed's neck to behind his ear.

"I know you love me"

"I didn't know you were that smart."

Edward tilted his head towards Jon. They made eye contact, and Jonathan could see all of Edward's love he tries to hide from others. Edward leaned forward, pressing his lips to Jon's. They both smiled against eachother's lips. They pulled back, still looking at eachother.

"I love ya, green smart-ass"

"I love you more, hay for brains."

[phoenixiancrystallist]

I feel like I haven't written in a thousand years so I want to share what I did today :3 Have a WIPpet! Below the cut bc as usual it's a lot of snippet lol

~

"It's got the best view in Athia," Frey said, and watched Bobbi shade her eyes against the sun to stare up at Binnoi. "Hardly anyone goes up there, too. Except me when I need a quiet place to think."

"Huh. Might have to check it out sometime," Bobbi said. 

"How about now?" Frey offered. Bobbi glanced down from the tower to give Frey an almost admonishing look. 

"I don't think I can handle that many stairs right now," Bobbi said, like it should have been obvious. Frey grinned and gestured for Bobbi to follow her inside. 

"Who said anything about stairs? C'mon."

"I thought you weren't going to take her through the torana?" Cuff asked.

"That was yesterday. She's healing, it'll be fine."

"Now that just makes me nervous," Bobbi said. "What'll be fine?"

Frey looked at her, noted the slight sway in her step, the steady but deep rise and fall to her chest as she breathed. Bobbi was pushing herself already, Frey could tell. Just too stubborn to admit to it.

She knew what that was like. Trying to prove yourself, trying not to be a burden, trying not to take up too much room or space or time. Useless self-conscious shit she threw away years ago, but for whatever reason, Bobbi still held onto it. Frey didn't know why Bobbi was like that, and it wasn't any of her business anyway. But she could at least help her feel less like an inconvenience. 

With the way Bobbi's eyes lit up at the mention of magic yesterday, Frey was pretty sure she knew what to do to save Bobbi's dignity by letting her rest, and also cover that tour of Cipal. She grinned, and Bobbi pressed her lips together—already figured out what that grin meant, huh?

"You'll see. C'mon."

"I don't think this is a good idea, Frey," Cuff said, a note of alarm in his voice that he tried to hide behind nonchalance. 

"Why?" Frey asked under her breath, even though she knew Bobbi could tell Cuff was talking to her—she'd seen Bobbi's eyes track onto his glow every time he so much as sighed. She didn't want to alarm Bobbi any more than she already had, so she kept her voice down. 

"...just a 'gut feeling,' is all."

She was going to need more than that and he knew it. Frey gave a sketchy salute to the guards stationed in the tower as she led Bobbi past them. 

"Can you make it up these?" Frey asked when they reached the first staircase to climb. Bobbi glanced at them, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. 

"I think so," she said, "but Knell doesn't want me to try. She thinks I'm pushing myself too hard as it is."

Frey and Cuff shared a moment of surprise; neither of them had expected that. Either Knell being so protective of Bobbi, or Bobbi sharing that info. Before Frey thought of how to respond, Bobbi sighed. 

"Coming down's the easy part, Knell," she said. "I can handle it."

Frey watched the ripple of magic over Knell's surface, noticed something agitated in it.

"I'm not gonna— You're the one who dropped me off a cliff! Look, if I can't, I give you free license to say 'I told you so.' Okay?"

The magic almost roiled, like one of the underground springs feeding the headwaters in Avoalet. Frey felt Cuff's amusement, and had to fight back a laugh herself. Was this what it looked like from the other side when she and Cuff argued? She should start charging admission.

Bobbi nodded to whatever Knell said, a little smile on her lips. "I mean that was the plan, but yes, Knell, I promise to rest when I need to."

Whatever Knell had to say to that made Bobbi's smile split into a grin, and she turned to Frey. "Mom says I can play."

Frey laughed and met Bobbi's grin with her own. "Great. Meet you at the top."

Bobbi nodded and Frey took the stairs three at a time, then turned around and waited for Bobbi to climb. Slow and steady, and only a little wobbly at the end. Frey reached out to steady her when she made it to the landing, even though Bobbi tried to wave her off.

"I've got it," Bobbi said through her teeth, clearly irritated.

"I know," Frey said, "but I need to touch you."

"That's creepy," Bobbi teased, but she stopped trying to wave Frey off. Frey reached out and put her hands on Bobbi's shoulders, pulled at her magic to prepare for opening the torana.

"I've never done this with anyone else before," she warned. "Sorry if the ride's a little bumpy."

"Wh—" Bobbi started to ask, but Frey's magic swallowed the both of them up before she could finish.

Moving two people was way harder than just moving herself, and Frey had to fight to keep the torana under control and hold onto Bobbi through the whole thing. When they popped out the other side, Frey immediately turned to lean over the balcony and spew breakfast over the side.

"—at?" Bobbi finished, but the second Frey puked she was at Frey's side, rubbing her back and gently pulling her hair out of her face. "I'd ask if you're good, but, uh..."

"Sorry," Frey muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Didn't expect that."

"So I'm guessing the vomiting isn't supposed to happen?"

"No," Frey said, and Cuff said the same thing with a tone she couldn't read.

"Don't do that again, Frey," he said, harsh and commanding. For once, Frey didn't argue, because she really didn't want to repeat this experience.

[winderlylandchime]

2/3 ‘Look it’s Emy and Bri!! Are they finally going to be good friends?’ ‘Oh Brian, is BORED BORED! He is not used of being without Justin. I love it but i hate it…exactly Ben, Brian is hurting!!! finally someone kno- FUCK YOU DEB’ *pauses tv on Mel and Linds fighting* ‘idk anything about *flaps his hand towards me* uterus stuff but can she really have a kid cause of a new procedure? (Craig comes up on screen) OH ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY NOT! NO NO NO NOOOOO!’ I need you to know that when he watched s1 and Craig gave Justin rules, he actually physically left the house and went to a store 5 minutes away (it took him 15 bc he could barely walk and yes, i did go after him bc he’s an idiot) but this time he stayed seated so maybe he’s maturing. ‘No Justin, there are better ways to pay for tuition than going to your bitch ass dad. Like becoming a hitman is always an option or selling your feet pics! But don’t throw your dignity away for that fucker. OH SO NOW BRIAN IS GOOD FOR YOUR SON? WHEN HE PAYS HIS SHIT. everyone uses him! The lesbians *quickly makes a fist for ally*, Mike, Deb, he has no one in his corner except me! THATS RIGHT YOU ARE NEVER GONNA BE STRAIGHT, take it from me Justin, it’s not all that pretty. I mean the girls are pretty and they smell nice and wear cute lipsticks but the dudes give us bad rep *looks at me in fear* am i one of the dudes?’ Craig says that Justins biggest priority as a kid was to make him proud ‘oh go fuck yourself’ *pauses and leaves the house for a smoke break* ‘Did Ben always wear glasses? Or is he just so boring that I didn’t even notice that change until now? Why is he so boring? Is it to like show the total opposite of Brian for Michael?…BEN is literally the only one in this whole show that is thinking logical about the whole moving in thing. Michael in s1! Justin now with that lil freak.. WHAT IS THIS? I didn’t even wanna move in with you for a few months after this surgery and I’ve known you my whole life..’ ‘so Emmett cheated on Ted, Justin cheated on Brian..i see a pattern but only one of those doesn’t make me want to puke..is this what their relationship is gonna be like?’ The school tuition scene is finally up!!! ‘NOW WHY IN THE FUCK IS HE HERE? Why would they put him in a scene where Justin has to talk to his school about HIS education? Whats next? He goes with him to a job interview? (The cringe lines are said) god, i wish the world was deprived of you. ITS ALREADY BEEN PAID?! LADY TELL ME WHO PAID IT! I REFUSE TO GIVE CRAIG A REDEMPTION ARC! JUSTIN IS LOOKING DOWN! CMON CAMERA PAN THE FUCK DOWN I WANNA SEE THE NAME.’ He paused the ep to give me an example of how they shouldve done a reveal of the person that paid tuition so when Justin looked down, the camera would reveal it. He is very upset that they didn’t do it like that because he would like to know who paid for the tuition and is threatening with arson if they end up treating him like Justin when it comes to Brian and the hospital visits.

Are Emy and Bri now going to be good friends? Brother is on the platonic KinneyCutt train. I love that for us.

HE PHYSICALLY LEFT THE HOUSE when Craig laid down his rules in S1? I love that. (ally!)

Becoming a hit man or selling your feet pics. I die.

Everyone uses him! I know, right?

am i one of the dudes? Brother Anon, I think I speak for all of us when I say, no you are not. You are one of us.

Ben is boring but he does think logically. I love his theory about showing Michael with the opposite of Brian… and I’m dying a little. I can’t wait for his reaction to Ben’s steroid use and his ‘roid rage towards Brian in the locker room.

The school scene. Absolutely why is Justin’s brand new boyfriend at the registrar’s office except to deliver those cringiest lines. (Excuse me while I puke)

Quickly going to the next one because we know what happens and it is so romantic…

[charmfamily]

(SEMI) CHARMED KIND OF LIFE: EPISODE 2 POST CREDITS BONUS SCENE - "THE PHONE CALL". “THE HARDEST PART IS SAYING SORRY (WITH YOUR DIGNITY INTACT)”

Transcript Below.

EMILIA: [Silent mode isn’t at all as silent as she hoped it would be– the constant buzzing and vibrating of her cell phone becoming more and more nerve-grating each time it happens. After what has to be the tenth call in the span of five minutes – all from Akira Kibo – Emilia yanks the phone off the charger. He’d been calling for an hour now.] What?! What do you want, Akira?!

AKIRA: For you to answer the phone, obviously! I’ve been blowing the shit up for a Fates be Damned hour, did you not think that maybe this might be important?!

EMILIA: How about instead of lecturing me on my supposed thoughtlessness, which is rich coming from you, you tell me what’s so dire that you had to call me over 60 times? I already know who it’s about, you wouldn’t call me otherwise, so just spit it out and tell me what the hell he did now. 

AKIRA: [Pursing his lips tightly for a moment – so, so tempted to continue arguing with her until it gets far too out of hand, he pauses for a second and takes a slow breath, counting to five before he can begin speaking again.] We broke up the usual Sunday routine and went to a different gym, even left town because he’s trying to give you your space, not show up to where you work because, like clearly you don’t wanna see him, talk to him, run into him or whatever, but … I think he might be getting desperate about getting ahold of you ‘cause he just did something really stupid and I couldn’t talk him out of it – I tried, I swear. He got his lights knocked out boxing and I don’t think he’s even conscious yet, he’s been out the entire time I’ve been calling you, like he’s really fucked up … Please, Em, I need you to whip up whatever shit is gonna patch him up and bring it here and I really need for you two to talk, cause I swear, this is all he’s obsessed over for a whole fucking week – I know he’s gonna apologize for the stuff you two are fighting about, for sure, but like, in his head he had to do all this to even get the opportunity to see you so he could do that… 

EMILIA: So his brilliant response to getting the silent treatment after dragging me into a horrible night of totally unnecessary drama is to create more unnecessary drama so he can stage an apology instead of walking up to my door, knocking on it, and being totally up front with me about how he feels. [There is a pause as she nods to herself, feeling the blood in her veins tense as her jaw slightly clenches.] Thank you for letting me know that he’s learned absolutely nothing from this – the answer is no. 

AKIRA: Cut him a fucking break, Emilia! It’s not like he hasn’t reached out at all, I was pretty much standing right next to him every single time he texted you a hundred times, left voicemails and DMs – because he’s not a mind reader and he’s not doing this the way you want him to, you’re just gonna keep this shit going?! Who exactly is being childish here?! Did you listen to anything I fucking told you?! HE’S INJURED. BADLY. HE GOT INJURED TRYING TO GET YOU TO TALK TO HIM. GET OVER HERE. 

EMILIA: He got injured doing something idiotic for attention, probably on some golden piece of advice you gave him if I had to guess, so no, I’m not going over there. First of all, I’m legally contracted by my job not to set foot on outside properties in our competitive field, and two, he’s not the only one that’s been a wreck for a week– even if I wanted to make something to heal him, I can’t. My energy is completely gone, I’m messing up easy serums… Not that you care, but this was a really bad time to pull a stunt like this. I’m not even going to be in town for the next few days, I’m literally packing for a trip right now to fix the “can’t make a potion” problem so… Take him to the healers in The Vale and don’t you ever call me again. When he can talk to me himself, in person, I’ll be around, but until then, I’m “cutting him a break” by being on a break.  AKIRA: I’ll let him know you’re on a break then instead of ghosting him and waiting for him to figure it out. [He hangs up before Emilia can say anything else, already making plans to go into his contacts and block her number.] Dumb bitch.

[natugood]

For the ask thing: 4, 26, 31

Hope ur having a good day :3

eeeee thank you!! my day was alright, it kinda flew by and I already am feeling like too much happened for me to really process it, but it wasn't bad. I hope you are having (or at this point had) a good day too!!!! :3

4. Which cryptid do you believe in?

Ok I have to be honest I couldn't think of any cryptids off the top of my head besides mothman (don't ask me how I live in the PNW and forgot about Bigfoot) so I went to Wikipedia to look at their list of cryptids and let me tell you I found some delightful fellows on there! I think of the ones I looked at I'm gonna have to go with rods cause they "clearly" have a very scientific cause (insects flying in front of a camera) when really that clear "cause" is the perfect camouflage - if people think all rods are really just insects, then the real rods can continue to exist undetected.

26. A scenario that you've replayed multiple times?

OK first question is this a real or imagined scenario second question from my life? or like a game or a book? third question how do I choose lol. if we are talking real then I'll go with this time when I was seven and I was doing math problems with the advanced math kids in my class at a table while the rest of the class got taught by our teacher on the rug and we all finished first and the other kids started chasing each other around the table and I knew it was loud and disruptive and wrong and I knew I should tell them to stop but I was scared so instead I just chose not to look, and I had really just wanted to look at a sunflower someone had brought in for show and tell cause I had never seen a sunflower before so finally after what felt like an eternity (which was probably only five minutes but ya know I was seven) I got up to look at it (using my hands to still shield my eyes from my classmates) which is when our teacher finally decided to scold us all and be quiet and she looked at me and asked me what I was doing and then told me to sit down too, and for YEARS after I wished I'd been brave and believed in myself and told her that I just wanted to look at the sunflower, cause I never did get to look at it. Life defining moment lol. If we are talking imagined then I guess like getting to see the people I played hockey with again and somehow getting some resolution there and being able to be angry at them and tell them how much they hurt me and show them that I love myself and that I am worthy of love and respect and dignity and that they don't have power over me anymore. Though I always recognize that every time I dream of that I am showing that they still do have some power over me unfortunately, which is really sad because it's been almost a decade since I've seen any of them.

31. What type of music keeps you grounded?

Lol wish I knew. Music is one of the few consistent ways to actually get me to feel emotional, it's a really immersive experience for me and gives me energy, it makes me feel alive and like I'm flying and in another world, so the music that keeps me grounded I am choosing to interpret as the music that I find sobering, which is kind of sad and is also very hard to describe and choose (another issue is I don't really listen to genres or collections or even albums a lot, I listen to a scattering of specific songs and albums who each provide a unique experience I've fallen in love with), so I guessssss I will have to say popular-ish music from any time period which has a bittersweet or sad tone/message, something that makes me feel sad and reminds me that being happy isn't everything.

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