#ESPECIALLY them saying that it's affordable?? what????

[clandestinedmeetings]

May I request a hurt/comfort fic with smut? Where reader is insecure of herself due to some hateful comments or rude 'friends' and Leon swoops in and treats her like the princess she is!

AHHHH this was funnnnnnnnnnn. Had to throw in a lil friends to lovers, too, because I am... such a sucker for it.

Lmk if you want me to change anything, and need more hurt! I'm happy to edit to make it closer to what you envisioned :) <3

Constructive criticism is /always/ appreciated, too! If there's something you think could be better, please don't hesitate to let me know! I'm always looking for way to improve my writing~

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Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Synopsis: Reader returns home one evening feeling distraught over recent events. Leon lends a listening ear (and then some).

Tags: 18+ (smut), MDNI, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, roommate!Leon, AFAB reader, cunnilingus, p in v, alcohol consumption

WC: 5,044

A/N: Take a shot (of water, if you're under the legal drinking age) every time I use celestial imagery in my writing. I need new similes/metaphors, goddammit.

Read on Ao3!

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Leon’s never been good with words. 

He’d actually go so far as to say that he’s bad with them—abysmal, even. The most he can usually muster in tense situations is a terse, “Okay,” and an awkward shuffle of his feet. His jokes suck, too, which leaves him with only the talent to dig himself into deeper holes, blush furiously, and pray that people find him charming enough to overlook his utter lack of social skills. 

This tactic had only really worked in his favor once. 

This tactic had only really worked on you. 

He’d met you four years ago at Claire’s 21st birthday party. She’d held it at a bar not too far from home, invited all of her friends, and conveniently omitted that he’d be the only guy in attendance. When he pulled her aside, when he’d hissed and complained and anger had gripped at his chest, she’d pouted. And that was enough to assuage his frustration. 

“They’re great girls, Leon, one of them ought to catch your eye.” 

Leon had rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker, Claire.” 

“Because you’ve had so many successful dates recently,” she’d said sardonically with her hand on her hip. 

No arguing there; his love life had been about as bleak as his platonic social life as of late. The girls he met were either off-put by his awkward demeanor or willing to overlook it, but only in it for sex. The latter wasn’t too bad, he figured, but not what he was looking for, either. In fact, Leon wasn’t sure he even wanted a relationship. He just wanted someone with whom he could laugh. It’d been a while since he’d laughed.

“Claire,” he sighed, “I’m not—“

“—looking for that, yeah. Whatever, Leon. Talk to them. Maybe you’ll find a roommate, then. Solve another one of your many problems.” 

Not a terrible point, but not a good one either. Claire didn’t want to hear that, though. Especially on her birthday.

His roommate moved out a few weeks ago. The first of the month was coming soon. He could afford to pay for one month in full but he’d need a new roommate soon. He’d sulked over to the bar in resignation, ordered a bourbon (neat) and sipped on it while watching from afar. He checked his watch — 30 more minutes, and he could go home. He hadn’t gotten any hits on his ad  yet. Maybe his it needed updating. Maybe he should rewrite it. 

“We can’t both leave at the same time, you know.” 

Leon turned to his left to see you perched on a barstool, espresso martini in hand. You looked positively bored, your face drained of all color, though he couldn’t deny that the fluorescent neon lights overhead suited you. Cute, he thought, pretty.Very pretty. 

Maybe the ad could wait. 

“What makes you think I’m trying to leave?” 

You’d given him a pointed look before taking a sip of your drink. He’d chuckled, “Okay, who do you suggest leave first then?”

“Me, obviously.” 

He’d taken the seat next to yours, one hand in his jacket pocket. “That desperate to get out?” 

“Kinda,” you muttered with a smile. “And I’ve been here longer than you have so it’d be unfair if you got to leave first.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” you’d echoed. 

End of conversation, clearly, but you hadn’t moved. You’d stayed put. You’d angled your legs toward him; he’d mirrored the action. You refrained from ordering a second drink, he did as well. And he was surprised at how comfortable it was, sitting with you like this. Quiet, brushing knees every so often. 

“You have any jokes, stranger?” you’d asked. 

His lips had curled into a smile. “Aside from the fact that Claire only invited me to hook her up with one of her single friends and didn’t tell me until I showed up? Yeah, I got plenty.” 

“Oh, so you’re Leon,” you’d laughed. “She told me about you.” 

Leon flushed a horrific shade of crimson. “Christ,” he muttered, “That’s… humiliating.” 

“It isn’t,” you placated with a mirthful smile, “I promise. She only had nice things to say.” 

“A pleasure to have in class, I’m sure,” Leon quips. He unstuck his feet from the bar floor with a frown. He nearly gagged at the sound it made. 

You’d giggled at that. “Something like that.” 

“What’s your verdict? Was she truthful or was she Claire about it?” he’d asked. 

You’d mulled over this question with a down-turned smile. He liked the way you smiled. He liked the way your eyes gleamed underneath the blue light bathing the bar. “Very truthful, unfortunately,” you admitted without making eye contact. 

Leon stifled a smile of his own and chose to focus on keeping his feet from staying on one place for too long lest they get glued to the filthy floor once more. He’d looked up at you, and had been surprised to find you already eyeing him. 

“Why unfortunately?” 

“Because I’m not looking for anything serious. Or at all, really.” 

That had been unfortunate. You’d divulged that you’d recently gotten out of a tumultuous long-term relationship, and that you were in search for a new place to live. The apartment you two had shared was under his name so you were crashing at Claire’s until something became available. 

“I’m looking for a roommate,” he’d blurted out before he could even consider the implications. You’d furrowed your brows, taken aback by his brazenness, but your surprise quickly melted into acceptance. 

You swallowed a sip of your drink and asked, “Are you a clean person?” 

“Obsessively so.” 

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?” 

Leon had laughed at that. “Not much of a handyman, really.” 

“Serial killer? Sexual deviant?”

“No, and I guess that depends on what you consider deviant.” 

The rightmost corner of your mouth curled into a lopsided smile. You drained the remnants of your drink, placed the martini glass on the granite bar top, and asked, “When can I move in?”

When you both reflect on this meeting now, you laugh at the eagerness with which you’d accepted his proposal. You chastise yourself for jumping the gun, for taking his answers at face value because yeah, choosing to move in with a total stranger was foolish. But in the four years since, you’d never come to regret your decision to move in with Leon.

He was terribly respectful of your space, even early on when you’d spend most of your nights crying and lamenting on your past relationship. He’d made popcorn and sat on the couch sharing a bottle of wine with you when you needed support. When you told him you’d expected a proposal on the night your boyfriend had broken up with you, he’d balked. 

Leon opened up to you quickly, too. It wasn’t long before he told you all about his parents’ deaths and unstable upbringing. You told him about your turbulent relationship with your family. You’d commiserated over feelings of worthlessness, abandonment, and isolation. And when the ice cream ran low, you’d both hop in your car and argue in whispered shouts over which flavor to get at the grocery store.

Leon was, for all intents and purposes, your best friend. And you were his. 

In you, he’d found a confidant. In you, he’d found someone who listened and cared and never failed to make him feel seen. In you, he’d found someone who could make him laugh. God, it felt so fucking good to laugh this consistently. It’s therefore safe to say that he’s smitten — that he’s been smitten since he first met you at Claire’s birthday—but he’d never act on it, not unless he was certain you felt same, even if it kills him.

And it does kill him. 

It kills him to see you date other guys. It kills him to see you go through breakups. Most of all, it kills him to see your light dim whenever you’re made to doubt yourself. To Leon, you’re radiant. You’re brilliant and bright, a sparkling star in an otherwise blackened night. You gleam when you smile, you twinkle when you laugh. You hung the moon, as far as he’s concerned. He doesn’t understand how you could think any differently. 

But you do. Not frequently, but life gets to you sometimes. 

Tonight is one of those times.

It’s Friday. Leon is laying down with his foot propped on the back of your shared velvet couch, nursing a glass of whiskey and reading the last few chapters of his book when he hears you barge through the door. It closes with a slam. He sits up abruptly, nearly spilling the amber liquid all over his white t-shirt, as you pad down the hall. 

“Hey,” you huff, plopping down beside him and snatching the glass out of his hand. You down its contents without pretense, gagging as it burns your throat. Leon’s brows knit together in concern as he takes the glass from your hands. He gently lowers it onto the glass coffee table. You hand him a coaster without looking at him. He stifles a chuckle, and slides it under the glass. Your nose is rubbed raw, he realizes. Your eyes are bloodshot. You’d been crying for a while. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he mumbles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

“No, there has to be something wrong with me, Leon,” you insist, pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes. Static dances behind your lids. You wish it would swallow you whole, wish yourself to be consumed by numbness rather than whatever this fucking feeling is. “This is the fourth fucking time,” you sob, “the fourth fucking time this month I’ve all but been told I’m worthless.” 

“What’re you talking about?”

You take a shuddering sigh before slouching into the couch cushions, palms still pressed to your lids. “My coworkers spoke over every fucking idea I had at our sprint this morning. Then my mom brought up my ex again, and said he would’ve proposed if I’d been more agreeable — can you believe that?” 

Your ex-boyfriend. The one you’d expected to propose. Still a sore spot, but not for the reasons one would expect — you aren’t in love with him anymore, you don’t spare him a second thought most months. You hate his guts; Leon hates him, too. The fact that your mother was still bringing him up years after the fact is cruel, though expected at this point. Doesn’t make it any less hurtful, though, Leon knows that. 

“I can, unfortunately,” he commiserates, slumping down beside you. “Your mom’s a bitch.”

“God, she really fucking is,” you groan loudly. “And to make matters worse,” you continue, flipping onto your side to better face him, “remember that guy I went out with two nights ago?” 

Leon crinkles his nose, “V-Neck?” 

“Yeah, he told me I was a ‘waste of time’ and ‘boring’ because I didn’t like Fight Club.”

“Let me guess, Tyler Durden—“

“—is his favorite character,” you finish with an exasperated cry. Leon can’t help but laugh at that. The guy was a tool; Leon clocked it as soon as he showed up in jeans and a v-neck to pick you up for your date. 

You start to cry again. “God, Leon, I’m so sick of this shit. I’m so sick of feeling like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m fundamentally broken. Like everyone would like me better if I weren’t me. Because when I was with my ex, I was… nothing. I was nothing. I laughed when I didn’t think he was funny. I pretended to like football, I pretended to like the gold fucking jewelry he gave me even though I never wear anything but platinum! It felt like I was giving away parts of myself every time I lied just to appease him.” 

You pause to catch your breath.. “And I get spoken over all the time at work. I’m exhausted. I feel like it’s wrong for me to take up space and I feel like all of my opinions are wrong and God, I just wish I weren’t me anymore.” You’re practically shouting now, rivulets of tears streaming down your face and soaking your plush sweater. 

“God,” you whisper. You cover your eyes with your forearms. Leon doesn’t quite know what to say, so he remains quiet. The room is filled with the sound of your sobs. 

He inhales through his nose then mutters, “I think you’re perfect.” 

“What?” you croak. 

“Nothing,” he sighs. He didn’t realize he’d said that aloud. 

You wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “No,” you say, “What did you say?” 

Leon sucks on his teeth before answering. He wrings his hands before repeating, “I think you’re perfect.” 

“No you don’t,” you scoff.

“I do, actually. And I think you deserve way more than these asshole guys you choose to date can give you. And I think your mom’s a bitch who needs to forget about your ex because that guy was a fucking asshole who took you for granted, too. And your coworkers hardly have a braincell to share between them, so I wouldn’t take what they say to heart in the slightest.” 

You’re stunned by his outburst, by the reddening of his cheeks and clenched jaw. “Leon—“ 

“I’m not finished,” he huffs, sitting up and turning to face you. “I’m… Look, I’m sorry, but I’m so sick of hearing about people treating you like shit. I’m so sick of you coming home in tears and I’m so sick of listening to your insecurities.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a goddamn burden to you, Leon—“

“No—shit—that’s not what I meant,” he clarifies, taking your hands in his. “I don’t mean that I hate listening to you or talking you through it. I mean that…” 

“You mean that what?” 

“I mean that I just…. wish you could see yourself the way I see you,” he whispers.

You swallow thickly before asking, “How do you see me, Leon?” 

Leon looks up to the ceiling now, a mirthless smile on his face. He thought about how it would feel to confess his feelings to you, but never about how he would actually do it. He’d resolved to take them to his grave, actually. You meant too much to him; he couldn’t lose you. But Leon has said so much already, and there’s really no going back at this point, is there? 

“Like you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever fucking met, sweetheart, and I don’t just mean that in a platonic sense.” 

A breath catches in your throat. Your stomach drops, your lungs feel like they’re collapsing in your chest. Leon licks his lips before continuing, “You’re… so fucking brilliant, you know that? You’re intelligent and kind and thoughtful and god, you’re so fucking pretty it makes it hard for me to breathe sometimes.” 

Tears well in your eyes again. A sob threatens to rack your chest but you suppress it only to hear him continue. 

“And to make matters worse, you’re a terrific fucking listener. You care and love more deeply than anyone. You make everyone feel seen. You just… “ he stops only to consider his next few words. With an exhale and a watery smile, he finishes: “You deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on, and doesn’t let a day go by without reminding you how loved you are.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair, breathless and nauseous and uncertain if the pain in his chest is a burgeoning heart attack or deep-seated panic bubbling to the surface. Leon wonders if you’d judge him for throwing up right now. It would certainly ruin his chances with you permanently, not that he had one to begin with. 

But then he feels your hand cradle his cheek. And he feels you turn his face toward yours. And he feels your lips — soft, plush, tasting vaguely of the cherry chapstick you’d let him borrow whenever he needed it — on his. 

Leon freezes, unsure how to respond. Does he kiss you back? Are you drunk and that’s why you’re kissing him? You’re clearly vulnerable — maybe it’s that. 

You press your forehead to his after pulling away. “S-sorry,” you stammer, “I just— I’m— that was—“ 

“N-no, it’s okay—“

“I’m so—“ you interrupt yourself by kissing him again. Leon reciprocates this time, though he does so with some hesitation. His hand cups the back of your head; you take it as a sign to lean further into him, to take handfuls of his shirt and pull you to him. When you break away, the sky parts and you’re awash with a sense of clarity. 

“Leon,” you sigh, “Leon, do you really mean all of that?” 

“Every fucking word,” he breathes. 

“You’re not just saying that because you’ve been drinking whiskey and you think I’m sad and vulnerable and want to take advantage of me?” 

He barks out a laugh. “No, I’m not and that glass that you finished was actually my first.” 

“And by saying all of this, are you saying you’re willing to be that person?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he chuckles, holding the hand tangled in his t-shirt. You release your grip with a chuckle of your own before looking away bashfully. He gently strokes his thumb over the back of your hand. 

You look down at your feet; he looks down at your feet, too. “So,” you say after a while, “you think you can fuck better than they can, too?” 

Leon tosses his head back and laughs heartily. You can’t help but laugh, too, loving the timbre of his joy. He stands, and offers you a hand. You take it with a giggle, standing to your full height to meet him. With a wolfish grin, Leon throws you over his shoulder. You shriek with delight at the suddenness of the gesture, but don’t fight as he carries you to your bedroom and drops you onto your plush queen-sized bed. 

He’s on you within seconds, dazzling white smile plastered on his golden skin as he kisses you. You smile as you kiss him, too. There’s something tender about the way Leon kisses you, like you’ll break under his touch. It’s different, you think, brand new. Gentle. Sweet. Caring. Even as his hands snake up your sweater to settle along your waist. 

You gasp as his calloused fingers rub loose circles along your ribcage. He trails kisses along your jaw and down the column of you throat, pausing only to suck at your pulse point and collarbone. You grab fistfuls of his shirt and move to tug it over his head. His belt is next. Then your sweater.  And before long, you’re pressed flushed against him and savoring the warmth of his skin. 

“God, you really are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers in your ears, voice low and gravelly with lust. You arch into him again, begging that he resume his kisses along your neck. He obliges —of course he obliges— and when he reaches your breasts, he looks up at you through thick lashes. 

It takes you a second to realize that he’s waiting for your consent to continue. Tears well in your eyes once more, both at the revelation that no one had ever been considerate enough to pause and ask for something as simple as this and that he did so without prompting. You give him an enthusiastic nod. He smiles and presses a genial kiss on your breastbone in thanks before taking a pert nipple into his mouth. 

You mewl at the sensation of his tongue lapping loving circles around your nipples, at the feel of his hand cupping your other breast and rolling its peak between his index and thumbs. His name slips from your mouth; he moans in response. 

“Shit, baby, say my name again,” he rasps. 

“Leon,” you keen as he sucks at your breast. He groans again, shutting his eyes as he savors the cadence with which you mutter his name. 

He’s desperate to hear it again, to hear it screamed in ecstasy, to hear it whispered lowly in his ear. Anything. He just needs you. 

He trails kisses down your torso. You move sinuously beneath him, eagerly anticipating the featherlight kisses he places on your hip bones. On your inner thighs. On your dripping cunt. You spread your legs for him; an invitation of the sweetest kind. You knot your fingers in his hair as he begins his ministrations, his tongue lapping at your pussy from entrance to apex. He lingers along your clit, drawing lazy concentric circles around it until you’re brimming with desire. 

“Please, Leon,” you beg, “more.” 

His chuckle is low and dark. It reverberates through your core, heating and cooling the coil tightening painfully within your lower abdomen. 

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, sweetheart. Let me take my time.” 

You arch into him, eyes wide with disbelief. “A l-long time?” 

Leon gives you an affirmative hum. You whimper as his fingertips dig into your thighs, as he drags you closer to his mouth with calloused hands. “A long fucking time,” he emphasizes before burying his face into your cunt. 

You moan at the feel of his lips, his nose, his tongue licking and sucking and savoring the ichor between your legs. He alternates between the flat and tip of his tongue. He nips at your clit. He gently prods your core with his tongue before slipping inside and coaxing forth a shattering, breathtaking orgasm. 

He holds you tightly in place, devouring you so wholly through and past your climax. It’s overwhelming, asphyxiating, beautiful and damned and in your fractured consciousness, you wonder why you didn’t succumb to these desires sooner. 

It’d be dishonest to deny your initial and longstanding attraction to Leon Kennedy. You’d withheld your curiosity as a matter of self-preservation — you can’t lose another friend to sex, you can’t lose another living arrangement. But that didn’t stop you from fantasizing about it at night. And in the morning. And whenever he’d walk around your shared apartment shirtless or in his gray sweatpants or when he held you when you cried. 

Stupid, you think now, stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Your own hands don’t even come close to comparing to the feel of him. At this point, you’re certain there’s no going back, either. You need more. You need more now or you’ll go insane. 

“Leon, please.” 

He rises to his knees, pink tongue swiping across his plush lips to consume as much of you as possible. His hands, so large and strong, rub the tops of your thighs. “Please what?” 

“Fuck me. Now.” 

He clenches his jaw in frustration. He so desperately wants to keep you like this, wants to take his time, wants to bring you to orgasm with his tongue and fingers at least thrice more before he allows himself to fuck you properly, but he can’t. He knows he can’t, not when you look like this: skin feverish, pupils blown wide, fingers knotted tightly in bedsheets as a means to keep yourself tethered. 

“Condom?”

“Top drawer,” you choke out, gesturing to the nightstand to your left. 

He scrambles to extract one from the back most corner of the drawer, and tears into the aluminum packaging with his teeth. You sit up, hands greedily tugging at the waistband of his boxer briefs, and take his hardened cock in your hands. 

A delicious, gravelly moan slips through his lips as you stroke him from base to tip. Your ministrations are slow, painstaking, and Leon’s finding it harder and harder to keep his resolve. His hand reaches for your throat. It startles you at first, but your eyes roll back as he tightens his grip ever so slightly. 

“How do you want it?” He asks

Your response comes out airy, breathless, needy: “I don’t fucking care.” 

“On your back then.” 

And you oblige, but not before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of you. He smells of cloves and ginger, all warmth and spice, and it’s so intoxicating you wrap your legs around his torso to pull him closer, closer, closer.

He litters your neck with wet kisses, leaving light bruises in his wake. You’d mind if you didn’t have all weekend to help them heal. You’d mind if this weren’t the first time in a while that you’ve felt yourself grow so slick with need that you’re surely dampening the plush covers adorning your bed. You’d mind if they weren’t coming from him. 

From his eager mouth.

From his generous tongue. 

From his fevered kisses. 

You angle your neck to grant him further access; he accepts it with genuine appreciation. 

You whine as his kisses slow, as he takes his time peppering the column of your neck, your décolletage, your breasts. And you’re so preoccupied with the way he sets your skin ablaze that the feel of his cock penetrating your core takes you by sweet surprise. 

He smiles into his next series of kisses, grows harder as you arch into him and dig your fingernails into his back. He allows you to adjust to his size before moving.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he rasps in your ear. It sends ripples of want through your system. “So fucking tight, sweetheart.” 

“Leon,” you whine again, gyrating in desperation for release. 

Stars flit across your vision as he adopts a rhythmic pace. He’s slow at first, soft as you acclimate, but as soon as your teeth sink into the flushed skin of his shoulder and he recognizes the hunger in your eyes, he smirks. 

“I won’t hold back, you know,” he teases.

“I don’t want you to.” 

“Better fucking hold on then.” 

You open your mouth, snarky retort on the tip of your tongue, but a lascivious moan takes its places as Leon’s hips slam into yours. His pace is bruising, rapid, and deep. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix, triggering white spots to bleed into your vision. You close your eyes, you toss your head back into the pillow, you claw at him for purchase. When you exalt his name, it comes out stuttered, choked, garbled behind a stream of curses and erotic sighs. 

He presses his forehead to yours. Your lips manage to find his even through your euphoric fog. It’s difficult to maintain with the way he fucks you, so he cradles your cheek with one hand to keep you steady. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” he mumbles into your lips, “so fucking beautiful.” 

You bite his lip; he slips his tongue into your mouth. You taste his whiskey again, bitter and smokey, and moan as the tip of his cock pressurizes your g-spot. You’re close to coming undone, close to bathing in rapture, and you can’t help but feel disappointed for succumbing so soon —you wish you could stay like this forever. 

Thought that disappointment quickly dissipates as your orgasm snaps. You’re engulfed in waves of pleasure so sinful, so profoundly exhilarating. You cum with his name on your lips, and in ecstasy, it evolves into something deeper. An exaltation. A sacred prayer. An incantation summoning forth years of denied attraction. A testament to his patience. 

You come undone before him, vulnerable and raw, and he kisses you again because he’s so grateful that you’ve allowed him to see you like this. Keeping his eyes open as he approaches his own climax is challenging, but ultimately worthwhile because he swears he’s never seen anything—anyone—so beautifully and perfectly crafted for him in his life. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m—“

“Cum for me, Leon. Cum inside me.” 

And now it’s your name that’s ripped from his throat, your name interlaced with prayers and enveloped in the sanctity of his climax. You wrap your legs more tightly around his torso, bringing him closer still. His head drops, forehead meeting yours, as he comes to. 

It takes you both a minute or so to catch your breaths. You pant into each other, remain tangled in your sheets as you bask in the aftermath. 

You expect shame to blossom in your chest. You expect regret, too, but neither come. Instead, you’re filled with a sense of belonging that is only further reinforced when you look into his irises. You dive headfirst into crystalline pools, so warm and inviting, and recognize that it should always feel like this. 

“You okay?” He asks between breaths. 

“Extraordinary,” you pant, “you?” 

“Never been better.”

He presses his forehead to yours, a delightful chuckle racking his chest. It’s hard not to laugh, too, hard not to pull him into a tighter hug. You’d hugged a million times before—he’s always been quite liberal with his affections—and a small piece of you always wondered what it would be like to do so in this capacity. It is, of course, better than anything you could have possibly imagined. 

You grab his face, and pull him into a soft, loving kiss. It’s deep this time, sweet and passionate and above all else, familiar. He scoops you into his lap after he pulls out. He kisses your head, your cheeks, your lips. He holds you, rubs soothing circles along your thighs, whispers sweet nothings in your ear. 

“So,” Leon asks after a while, “verdict? Better than those other guys?” 

“So much fucking better, unfortunately.” 

Leon looks down at your quizzically, “Why unfortunately?”

“Because I actually am looking for something serious now.” 

“So am I,” he blurts out. 

You lean back to get a better look at his face then purse your lips and ask, “Are you a clean person?” 

“Obsessively so,” he quotes, beaming at the memory of the night he first met you.

“And you’re not the ‘I can fix her’ type?” 

Leon laughs again, “Still not much of a handyman, really.” 

“Are you a serial killer,” you ask between kisses, “or sexual deviant?”

“No and only if you’re into that.” 

You wrap a gentle hand around the nape of his neck, and bring his lips down to yours. After a dizzying, passionate kiss, you press your forehead to his and ask, “Where do I sign up?”

And Leon realizes that he may not be so bad with words after all.

[poppy-metal]

I've had this thought in my head for awhile of down on his luck patrick - maybe he's in a dry spell in his tennis career, and hes really way too fucking stubborn to crawl back to his family. he'd rather be homeless - coming in too contact with recently divorced!reader.

you have way too much money. you probably have a steady job as a ceo or a doctor - something big and important. but your marriage was nasty. your husband resented you for having more money than him, claimed it emasculated him - threw it in your face that you were getting into your forties now and couldn't even give him babies. he tore down your self worth, made you feel like less of a woman - made you think you weren't worth loving. you've been separated for some time now - and you're so lonely. you're horrible at dating - you always screw it up worrying about what their expectations of you will be. if you're feminine enough for them - if you're desirable - you come home to an empty spacious apartment and watch your TV shows and think you hate your life.

meeting patrick because he fell asleep on the bench outside your complex. you almost walked right by him but something - something about him called to you. maybe it was the fact that he looked so young - in his twenties clearly. freckle spotted and pink cheeked in the cool night air. curled up on the bench like a baby, using his hoodie as a pillow. your heart strings tug. you'd like to think this first step comes from the good of your heart and not some need to be needed - not some need to fill the void inside you - but you wake him up. and if you notice how pretty his eyes are you fold that into a little square in your pocket and ignore it. you tell him, "you look like you need some tea."

and patrick needs alot of things. he needs a fucking cigarette. he needs to be able to afford a fucking meal. he needs to get into a tournament and get back into the groove of things before he burns out and does something insane like kill himself because he hates his fucking life. but tea works. he's not one to turn down free shit. especially from pretty older women.

and he probably thinks this is a transaction - he probably isn't thinking of you lustfully at all at first - your little granny aesthetic and walls covered in pictures of woodland creatures dressed in 1800s garb weird him out, if hes being honest - but he moves to pull his shirt off anyway - because he knows what a free place to stay for a night means - and pussy is pussy at the end of the day. he just wont look at your walls when he's inside you.

and when you stop him its not because you dont want him - unlike patrick you think hes nearly ethereal. there's something mousy about him - but masculine too. his hair is wild and he has too big ears and a pointed nose. but his eyes are this gorgeous moss green - his lips pink and plush - his body filled out - you can see the defined lines of his stomach when he tugs his shirt up, the v that dips down into his jeans and then disappeares, the smattering of dark hair that peeks out - a man. you're not unaffected, is the thing. but you stop him because that's not what you invited him up for, really.

"you dont want....?" he trails off. looks at you like you're a strange insect under a microscope and he's wondering what the hell is up with you. like he wants to poke you with a stick. ask, 'you could obviously use some, lady, so what gives?'

"i just want you to.... talk with me. over tea, if that's alright. you can sleep here after if you'd like. i dont mind."

he thinks he gets it then. nodding his head slowly. he can talk. he'll talk your fucking ear off. he thinks you're probably lonely as fuck and yeah, its pathetic, but hell. pot meet kettle. misery loves a hot younger guy to ogle. isn't that how the saying goes? either way, you're both clearly lost in life at the moment. your apartment is too empty. he could use your hospitality.

its kinda a match made in heaven. an unlikely bond. love and sex isn't the plan - but then, does life ever go according to plan? can a lonely woman with a kind heart and a man who's made a shit mess of his life but wants to do better stay just friends? mean nothing to eachother?

[ivelle-serenity]

Skateboard 10

Wind breaker

fem bodied reader | smut | action | pwp | jayjo/fml | vinny/fml | wooin/fml | joker/fml | hyuk/fml | owen/fml | enemies to lovers | angsty | the other woman (?) | reverse harem | fluff | SLOW BURN! | all characters featured are 18+

author's note: i just want to inform you all that I've already posted this story on AO3. my account name is IvelleSerenity. it's a bit more detailed there compared to here on Tumblr.

✧˖° — windbreaker men

✧˖° — mdni, smut, description of not safe for work content.

✧˖° — this is a story not one shot.

I saw the door open. Joker entered with a dog in his arms. I raised an eyebrow at him.

Great, just great. Wooin's threat turned out to be real. Now I'm trapped in what seems like the most luxurious room, resembling a penthouse. I never knew this club had something like this. We're on the top floor, indicating it's exclusively for VIPs. Bouncers stationed outside prevent any chance of escape. I'm almost tempted to smash this window just to break free.

"I have no time for pets," I said coldly, but he ignored me. I watched as he set the dog down on the floor. It trotted over to me, but I just stared at it. I heard him call the dog and feed it. I watched in amusement. I couldn't believe he was into animals. How could someone accustomed to violence have such a soft spot for animals?

"Have you eaten?" he asked, opening the fridge. I rolled my eyes.

"I don't need to eat. I need to go home," I said sarcastically.

He gave me a blank look. "Wooin said you're staying here until tomorrow. Don't be difficult."

I scoffed. "This is kidnapping, for your information." I crossed my arms in front of him. He ignored me, which only irritated me more. I watched him heat up pizza in the oven. Clearly, he wasn't much of a cook.

Unlike Jay...

Why am I still thinking of him even in this situation?

"What's your relationship with Wooin?" I leaned against the island countertop. He paused at that.

"It's none of your business."

My jaw dropped. "Wow, after everything that happened earlier, you're seriously going to say it's none of my business? I have a right to know, especially since your boyfriend seems to have a thing for me," I insisted. He looked at me, his eyes completely emotionless.

"Why would I tell you if you're just going to choose the Hummingbird anyway?" I faltered at his words. He shook his head in disappointment and turned away to tend to the pizza he had warmed up. "Ask me later if you don't have plans to race with them."

My brows furrowed at his statement. Why were they so angry at the Hummingbird? Was it just because they were rivals in tournaments? Couldn't they be friends outside of racing? They were so confusing. They kept telling me to stay away from the Hummingbird, but they never gave me a valid reason. I couldn't just distance myself from them because they wanted me to.

Actually, I should be the one to stay away from them. Vinny destroyed Jay's bike! And I know they were involved. He's one of their members.

"Why do you sound so jealous?" I chuckled. I couldn't believe I was able to joke at a time like this.

As usual, he didn't respond.

"You can have Wooin. Don't worry, I won't go after him," I said as he set the plate down in front of me.

"I'm not even saying anything." He furrowed his brow.

I just shrugged my shoulders and started eating the pizza he had heated up while he stood there, watching me. Our eyes met, and I quickly looked away when I noticed his gaze drop to my lips. I cleared my throat and pointed at the doors.

"There's a lot of room here. Do you live here?" I asked, looking around. The place was enormous, like a penthouse. It made me think of my apartment, which was nothing like this. This was luxurious. Only those with money could afford something like this.

He just nodded and placed a glass of water in front of me.

"Including Vinny?" I asked, surprised. I wiped my mouth when I felt something there, using my thumb to remove the sauce from my hand. His gaze remained steady.

"Yes," he replied formally before turning away.

"And I'm supposed to stay here tonight? No way," I said, getting up from the bar chair. I followed him into what I assumed was his bedroom. It was spotless and well-organized, also quite large. I watched him go to his cabinet, pull out a shirt, and toss it to me.

"You have no choice. Just think that you owe something to Wooin," he said. I caught the oversized t-shirt he gave me.

"No shorts?" My cheeks flushed when I realized the only thing I'd be wearing was his t-shirt.

"That's all I have. Now, go." I blinked rapidly as he closed the door in front of me, leaving my jaw hanging open. I was still wearing my P.E. clothes, and I didn't want to put on my pants again since they were dirty from the activity we did earlier. Everything I had was dirty.

I knocked on the door. "Hey! I want to take a shower! Don’t you have a towel?" I shouted, but there was no response from inside. "Damn it," I muttered in frustration before heading to the living room. I glanced at the large window. It was raining, my favorite weather, but thunderstorms were another story. I was terrified of them.

I sighed deeply and sank into the large sofa. Running my hand through my curly hair, I longed to be back at my apartment where my hair care products were. I took good care of my hair because I knew it would look terrible if I didn't. I'd look like I had just escaped from the zoo.

My thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. I saw Wooin enter, looking annoyed. He removed his cap, and I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow. I knew he saw me sitting there, but he ignored me and headed straight to the mini bar.

"Hello?" I said sarcastically. "In case you forgot, your prisoner is still here. Maybe you'd like to let me go home?" His gaze finally met mine, but his expression didn't change. He poured himself a drink.

"You look filthy. Go take a shower," he said bluntly.

I felt offended by his words. Sure, we had P.E. earlier, but I didn’t roll around in the dirt like Dom did during our activity.

"Fuck you," I cursed and stood up. "Why don’t you give me some proper clothes first? Your boyfriend just gave me his t-shirt!"

That caught him off guard. "He's here?" he asked, and I just rolled my eyes. "Where is he?"

"Locked himself in his room," I said irritably. "You’re rich, right? Why don’t you have your bouncers buy me some underwear and shorts?" I watched him down his drink in one gulp.

"I just paid off your parents' debt. You can deal with it for now," he said casually, which only made my irritation grow. He leaned against the countertop and pointed toward Joker's room. "Go get some of his boxers, so you can finally shut up."

I clenched my fists and stared him down. He didn't look away, meeting my gaze with equal intensity until I finally broke eye contact. Fuming, I decided to follow his suggestion just so I could take a shower. Then, I'd lock myself in one of the rooms. If they wouldn’t let me go home, fine—I wouldn’t eat all day tomorrow. Let’s see if they wouldn’t feel guilty about what they’ve done.

When I opened Joker's door, I was surprised to find the room empty. I walked in and headed to his cabinet, biting my bottom lip as I realized I was about to borrow some of his boxers without asking. But Wooin had suggested it, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I closed the cabinet and decided to find Joker. Maybe he could help me sort out this mess.

I heard a strange noise and stopped in my tracks. It sounded like a grunt, like someone was in pain. It was coming from the bathroom. I didn't know if I should go closer to figure out who it was, but deep down, I knew it was Joker. Was he hurt? I freaked out and walked towards the slightly open door.

I peeked inside and my lips parted in surprise when I saw Joker. He was in the shower, but... he was still fully dressed. His t-shirt was hitched up from him biting on the end, exposing his abs and that tantalizing v-line. He was fucking jerking himself off. I could literally see the frustration and pleasure on his face as he bit into his shirt. Instantly, a wave of heat coursed through my body, especially in my center. Wetness gathered between my thighs, urging me to clench them together.

"Ah, fuck," he moaned as his clothes fell to the floor. I watched how he quickened his pace, gripping his long, sizable shaft. Heat flooded my face as I witnessed the scene unfold. "Demitra..." he hissed, eyes shut in pleasure.

I gasped as I heard my name escape his lips. Stepping back, a hand covered my mouth. I could sense Wooin standing behind me. "Shh," he whispered in my ear. My eyes widened, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

"Do you see that?" he mumbled, lowering his hand to grasp both my shoulders. "That's the evidence of our desire for you. You've been ignoring it, but you can't remain blind forever," he rasped. His hand moved down to my waist, his large hands caressing my body.

"What..." I managed to say, my head spinning from the overwhelming sensation of heat coursing through me. My arousal was reaching new heights, feeling almost uncontrollable. It was slipping out of my grasp.

"Say it," he commanded firmly, his hot breath grazing the back of my neck. "Admit that you want this as much as we do."

His erection pressed against my back, adding to my inner turmoil.  I couldn't help but grind against him, lost in the moment. His hand traveled down to where he slipped it into my pants, teasing the lace of my panties. I couldn't hold back a gasp as my knees trembled under his touch.

"Fuck..." I bit my lip to stifle any sounds as Wooin teased my clit. I instinctively covered my mouth to prevent Joker from hearing. I gasped as Wooin's fingers entered me, feeling the intense grip of his touch through my clothes. We both were aware of how wet I had become.

"You're dripping wet, Princess," he remarked with amusement. I shook my head in denial. "I knew it, you want this so badly. You're such a good slut for us, aren't you?" My lips parted as he slid two fingers inside me.

I whimpered as he quickened the pace of his movements. Along with his penetration, he rubbed my most sensitive bud, even cupping my breast over my shirt. I knew I should stop him, but I couldn't. I couldn't believe that instead of being angry at Wooin's name-calling, it only heightened my arousal.

"w-wait..." I tried to protest, reaching for his wrist, but he only increased the speed of his fingers, driving me wild. I was on the brink, it had been so long since I had felt this pleasure. I had never touched myself because I didn't have a reason to.

"Yes... Come for me, Princess. That's it," he whispered, and my eyes rolled back in pleasure as I reached my peak. My pussy throbbed, and my knees weakened as I leaned against Wooin. He withdrew his hand from my pants, his fingers coated with my juices. Blushing in embarrassment, I watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them.

I pushed him away, and he protested. Startled, I looked over towards the door to see Joker leaning against the frame, his upper half exposed, indicating he had just finished showering. There's a towel covered his bottom.

"Do you see her face when she came?" Wooin grinned, gesturing towards me. "Imagine if we fuck her. Damn, I'm so hard right now," he exclaimed, the bulge in his pants visible.

"You..." I couldn't believe it. "You two still aren't satisfied with each other? Both of you are..." I shook my head in disbelief and walked away, opening Joker's cabinet to grab a pair of boxers before leaving the room. I heard Joker calling after me, but I didn't respond. As I walked out of the room, I saw Vinny just entering, frozen in surprise when he saw me, raising an eyebrow.

Ignoring him, I continued on my way into the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a slam. I covered my face as I replayed Wooin's touch in my mind. How had I let it escalate to that? Was I really that horny? Of course, who wouldn't be when you find out that three members of the Sabbath crew are interested in you, not to mention their reputation for knowing how to please women.

[billowyy]

.

[todd-queen]

"Mizzen walked with a limp, but he would still outmatch most of the remaining tributes if it came to a fight. Coriolanus wondered if, in the end, it would all come down to Coral and Mizzen deciding which District 4 tribute took home the crown."

(pg. 295)

you guys I am losing it over Suzanne and the way she just flawlessly parallels EVERYTHING in TBoSaS to the original Hunger Games. i just.. all the little nuances and foreshadowing that Snow is so oblivious to. he's just thinking things guys, he has no clue of the bigger picture. but we do!!! ahhhh!!!!!!

[unproduciblesmackdown]

speaking of drawing people's faces and lifting any art of [will roland role based] characters overhead when you can tell the artist was actually trying to meaningfully use that inspiration beyond "brown hair. glasses" like wow once in a lifetime unsame as it ever was

not coming up a lot that Professional Illustrators are drawing will roland as [role] or like, in general, but that in fact there Are the examples of professional illustrator justin "squigs" robertson drawing him several times and it's like, doing stylized portraits of people working in theatre that are indeed focusing on distinguishable individuals versus, say, the style being more abstracted

all drawn differently but various gists are there, and none of the people in these group collages look interchangeable or like oh and this person gets thee "generic/default" look

there's also the fact i'm like 99% sure there's a squigs-drawn larger portrait of will roland just as himself that i love to think of / sure further encapsulates that "thank god this artist drawing Features" but i can't find it or remember exactly what context it was in. augh

but also there's this other deh illustration ft. wrol jared i found lol. bonus

[jynxlovesluck]

Real character growth is thinking weed is the Worst Drug On the Planet as a kid and growing up going "Actually, while weed itself has both negative and positive effects for different people for different reasons, we should talk about how the substance itself is used to demonize and imprison poor people, and you KNOW it's aimed even moreso at people of color, of Black and Latino people ESPECIALLY, all for your local Senator to get the shit shipped to their house and accept the taxes it brings in by the-"

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, Mr. Fucking Anslinger.

[trashlie]

Shinae the Light vs Yui the Shadow

This post heavily discusses episode 138 but also pulls from 170, 179, and 180 and discusses things up to 214, but nothing from the FP epsiodes! 

Earlier today I read this post and it got me thinking a LOT - and trust me that I’m going to ramble about something else shortly outside of this lol - regarding shadows and lighting!

One of the episodes that most deliberately plays with lighting and shadows in a very in your face way is episode 138, where Shinae speaks to Rand about wanting to renegotiate her contract. It’s an interesting episode, because Shinae is met with another side of Rand than the man (the father) who was trying to help Nol. This version of him shuts her down immediately and informs her that he has no jurisdiction over her contract.

As readers, we can deduce that he is speaking this way because Yui is around and he cannot divulge any bit of knowledge that he has been working with Shinae, that there is any sense of relationship there. But also, he isn’t lying in that he can do nothing about her contract. Interestingly, he is in the light where she is in the shadow. He’s not the focus of this moment, but I find that very interesting regardless - Rand is unable to help because he doesn’t have that power. They aren’t on equal footing here. One is in the dark, one has the power of illumination - he knows more intimately than Shinae who and what Yui is.

But my thought is not about Rand but rather Shinae and Yui.

Throughout their conversation, Shinae is in the shadow. She is part of Yui’s trap, in a pit she cannot crawl out of. Yui wields power over her both in the sense of her employer and also as a person who has played with her as prey. Yui, too, is in the shadow. While some light casts on her, she faces away from it and it doesn’t reach her face.

I’ve wondered a lot about Yui and what her situation is, why she is the kind of person she is. I don’t think she’s without reasons - I just think we don’t know enough about her to really know yet. One of the popular theories is that of the Mukoyoshi Theory - that is, that a Japanese family with no male heirs will “adopt” the husband of (one of) their daughter, who will take their last name, rather than she take his. In this case, Yui comes from a Japanese family with a family business and it is deducible that there is no male heir. Hansuke’s family name is Shishido - not Hirahara, which means he’s related by his aunt (and Yui has mentioned her before to him). Rand, who we know is not Japanese, married into the Hirahara family and adopted their name and became a part of their family. Thus, his affair with Nessa is even more of a blight - he has a duty to the Hirahara family. It is his responsibility to not mar their name and upkeep their prestige.

We could do a whole think piece about this, and it really gets into my thoughts on Rand and Yui’s relationship, but to sum it up: it is clear that Yui wants to be the one in control, but must defer to Rand, and that she resents it. This is HER family business. I think she wishes that she was the one in control, and that she could wield that control without having to go through Rand. Yui harbors resentment for a patriarchal society in which she wields no power. There’s a lot to read into re: the way she wields her femininity as a tool, but that’s a whole other post. The point is: Yui resents that she does not have the power she thinks she deserves, the power that she’s capable of, and that fully plays into Shinae.

But, for the sake of this post at this time, it’s essentially that Yui, too, exists in the dark, in the shadows. She can only run this company through others - through her marriage to Rand, through Kousuke, the sole heir. But as powerful and intimidating as she is, she, too, is trapped. She, too, is relegated to the darkness, because it is only from the shadows that she can operate. Yui wears a constant mask, always putting on the front of a concerned mother, a feeble frail lady, a sweet simpering maternal woman. The real Yui lives in the shadows. She’s not allowed to freely be the person she wants to be, she puts on a front for society, for the patriarchy, for the sake of being able to move in the shadows.

Shinae’s objective is to escape the shadow, the prison, the dark. She longs to escape poverty, she longs to escape the prison she turned herself into, she longs to escape the job in which she feels unsafe, the contract that she signed, the agreement she made under false premises. She longs to escape Yui’s reach. And while she can’t escape most of those yet, she still works towards the light. unlike Yui, who has accepted that she belongs to and operates in the shadows and pulls people into them with her, Shinae strives for the light at all times. She wants to be a better daughter, a better friend. She strives to be able to help out her father and create a better life for them. And especially since the black and white formal, Shinae’s inclination towards the right side, the side of light, has grown stronger.

It’s not a bad vs good kind of thing so much as Shinae chooses to work honestly. She’s trying to address the things that scare her - the insecurity she felt about Maya and Rika’s friendship, the quiet plaguing fear that maybe Minhyuk also just tolerated her. She’s had difficult conversations with her father, she has had difficult conversations with her friends. Instead of shirking into the shadows, Shinae moves towards enlightenment. Even if things end, isn’t it better for them to end on good terms, with understanding? Even if she gets hurt, isn’t it better than she gets hurt being honest, than never progress at all? Even if she fails, isn’t it better to make effort than live with regret?

Shinae leaving Yui by way of the light is pointed. Yui’s goal is to pull everyone down with her. If she lives in the shadows, so, too, must everyone else. And the thing about this scene is - I think Yui means it, genuinely. She has a very different way of seeing the world than Shinae and even much of us as readers. Shinae believes in working hard; Yui understands that privilege and connections are more powerful. Yui can see in Shinae the makings of a strong, powerful woman - but power doesn’t have to look one way. For Yui, power is controlling those around her, especially the ones who are meant to have power over her. In a world where men are the all-power, Yui feels powerful when she can manipulate and push them around.

But when she tells Shinae she doesn’t want her to make the “wrong choices” I believe her. It’s just... what does Yui consider to be the wrong choices? Much in the same way that so much of ILY changes based on whose perspective you view it through re: Nol and Kousuke, we the same of Shinae and Yui. Yui is a woman who knows how to make the world yield to you, how to get what you want out of it.

This is a whole other tangent, but because I’m trying to validate my Yui views lol, I believe this is part of what Yui has done with Meg and Alyssa. In fact, I feel like Yui has absolutely treated Meg and her obsession with Kousuke as a joke - what woman demeans herself in such a way for a man? It’s the complete opposite of Yui’s power. Men yield to HER, not the other way around. Is Alyssa a test of her will, to see how much she will bend before she can break? Does Yui hope to find a hidden spine in her, someone who will eventually push back? I think that’s why she has shifted to Shinae - she has the fight and the spirit that Yui wants to mold. Shinae is strong and faces her fears. But she also stands for the complete opposite of Yui, which makes her a fun challenge.

As Shinae moves into the light and leaves Yui to the shadows, Yui makes an attempt to pull her back into them. Or maybe, rather, she’s planted the seed? It’s an ominous moment, Yui’s certainty that there will be a time when Shinae will go running to her, will want her help, her step up in the world. But at this moment, Yui is unsuccessful. Though Shinae cannot renegotiate her contract like she wanted, she still makes the choice to deny Yui’s offering. She will continue her path in the light. She refuses to let Yui pull her down into her shadows.

As much as we view this story as a game of chess between the white and dark side, so much of it gets told through the shadows and the light. Who else spends his time illustrated in the shadows, existing outside of peoples’ view, wearing a mask out in the light? Nol is one of Yui’s prey - he’s learning how to stand on his own feet as himself, but so much of his imagery has been enshrouded in shadows, a victim of Yui for so long that he’s forgotten how to make his way out of the dark, until now.

Shinae has the ability to bring him out of the shadow, to give him the eventual courage to exist outside of the shadows, to allow himself to enjoy the light. Every time he turns away, he finds himself drawn back in. Every moment he’s angled himself away from her in effort to stay where he thinks he belongs, to skulk in the dark, he still ends up moving towards her.

And every time that Nol choose to go towards Shinae, he moves towards the light.

Like literally lol. In the pool, he basked there in the dark, willing to finally throw in the towel accept that peace, but because of Shinae, because of his penance, he chose to move towards the light once again. Maybe he thought it would be for the last time, but we’ve seen better.

Shinae guides him back out of the shadows.

And that brings us to my next post: how Shinae is the true adversary of Yui. 

Really, go read @denjidomination​’s post! It’s got me going off on a whole different tangent than I planned to this week, but I think I’ll be able to get to it before the next update. I’ve said for so long now that Shinae is very likely meant to help bridge Nol and Kousuke, but I think more than that, Shinae is the guiding light for them - that in very different ways, both Nol and Kousuke exist in the shadows and are imprisoned by their circumstances and experiences, and Shinae, I think, is the one who will be able to help them fight back against that darkness. I don’t mean this in a “She will save/fix them” kind of way as much as her presence in their lives, what she means to them, will help them to move from that which holds them down. 

But I have a headache so I have to work on that another time lol 

[quilleth]

I don't want to go back to work tomorrow T_T

[britneyshakespeare]

you know. back when i reviewed poetry submissions for [insert unnamed literary magazine here], i once got a submission containing only two poems (you could submit up to five) both of which were about the author's older brothers, whose names are dan and john (my older brothers' names are dan and jon...athan) and her relationship w them and descriptions of them were not all that unlike my own brothers. still one of the weirdest things that has ever happened to me

[wild-at-mind]

No offence, but ffs the general strike for Palestine thing being circulated for action this week is literally coming with caveats saying 'if you can't do anything else just don't post on social media about anything but Palestine'.....????????

[brightokyolights]

Bro no joke, forgetting that not everyone hates capitalism and then having to try have a reasonable conversation with someone about buying things... *eye twitch*

[nomaishuttle]

i do fr need to work on differentiating between "actually middleclass" and "doesnt live paycheck to paycheck" lmao bc that is something i struggle with... obviously ik i have more in common with like. even somebody whos fr middleclass disney vacations every year. I know i have more in common with them than i do with bezos but god at least i dont have to see bezos being annoying in front of me every day KJANDJKLNLJD

[medicinemane]

"DIY tiny home you can build in weeks", ok... now lets see the cost

...seven and a half minutes later, the answer is $75k... so when you include land and all the rest of it, so basically nothing right?

This is my problem with tiny homes stuff, it's for rich people

[ambreiiigns]

sorry i have to whine for a second bc i'm such a complete forgetful fucking idiot ig

[imeminemp3]

well. since im still goin to both nights of harry. i wanna do a blue cowboy outfit and a pink cowboy outfit. but i gotta remember to go to spotlight and get like. well SO much stuff so i can make them