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tteokdoroki · 9 months ago

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✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.”

“or else, what, honey?”

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him. initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here?

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory.

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?”

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal. “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.”

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?”

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?”

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.”

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more.

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.”

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time.

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away.

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.”

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother.

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy.

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother.

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk.

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?”

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth.

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air.

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon.

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear.

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality.

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from.

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well.

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.”

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length.

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair.

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity.

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?”

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory.

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood.

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all, you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache.

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two.

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens. “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore.

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top.

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you.

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way.

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,”

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?” the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…”

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n down. keep goin’ just like that.”

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light.

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him.

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close.

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you.

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?”

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair. the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom.

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull.

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him.

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth.

he’s going to cum.

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him.

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time.

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good.

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words.

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?”

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.”

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared.

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger.

the end.

#✐ᝰ KINKTOBER ‘24 #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #gojo thirst

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zillychu · 12 days ago

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Hi there! I'm a human artist who is (very loosely) following the Disney/Universal vs. Midjourney case, and you seem like you're pretty knowledgeable about it and it's potential consequences, so if you have time/energy to answer a question I have about it I'd greatly appreciate it! If not, no worries, feel free to ignore! I haven't had the chance to read through the whole complaint document itself, but at the very top, point 2 mentions:

"...distributing images (and soon videos) that blatantly incorporate and copy Disney’s and Universal’s famous characters—without investing a penny in their creation—Midjourney is the quintessential copyright free-rider and a bottomless pit of plagiarism. Piracy is piracy, and whether an infringing image or video is made with AI or another technology does not make it any less infringing."

Do you know if human-made fanart would also be included in this? Or is this something that would only be aimed at big companies? the "incorporate Disney's characters" part is giving me some pause, but like I said I haven't had the chance to read the full document and I'm not confident in my knowledge of copyright law. 😅 Thank you in advance if you're able to answer this! (Brought to you by a concerned fanartist with near-equal disdain for both Disney and AI. also sorry for the essay-length question 😅)

No problem at all, I'm happy to help ease your worries!

To put it simply, nothing is going to change for us. This is only going to affect unethical LLMs like MidJourney, OpenAI, etc. trained on copyrighted material without consent.

This is because Disney (and Universal) are arguing that LLMs are already infringing current copyright law. LLMs make money by directly using their copyrighted images fed into machine that then regurgitates their IP, and is sold for a premium, en mass.

So there's that, but even more importantly: it's already illegal to make money off of fanart.

Which, corporations don't really care about unless you're making a LOT of money or getting a LOT of attention. This is because it's quite expensive to take someone to court, and you have to prove your business was negatively affected by said fanart (nearly impossible in most cases). You've got to be making quite a bit more money than the court costs, and provide documented proof of damages (to your wallet or name) for corporations to go after you.

Which, your individual/indie fanartists don't qualify... but MJ most certainly does.

So, not to say something bad can't possibly crop up from this court case, but there are quite a few things protecting us: there's no angle in the court case that targets fair use (this indirectly protects non-commercial fanart), the court case touches on human interpretation being essential for transformative art (which LLMs don't have since they're automatic), LLMs are already infringing existing copyright law (making money using Disney's images), Disney has quantifiable proof of damages to their company by said LLMs (nigh impossible for individuals to do), corporations have a vested interest in keeping fair use around as free advertisement (fanart is akin to spoken word about your product), and fair use is intensely tied to freedom of speech.

So don't worry! There are reasonable concerned voices considering how evil Disney and Universal both are--but most of the vehement arguments being made against this court case are from scared techbros who want unfettered access to your money and labor. Current copyright and IP law is far from perfect, but anyone calling for total abolition thereof wants protection taken from individuals like us.

#zilly squeaks #copyright #ai #llm #Disney #I'm getting some techbros in my mentions and i ain't babysitting y'all #so if u come at me with any of your psyops I'm just blocking you #y'all are dumb as hell and obvious as fuck

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inthekitschen · 3 months ago

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What they're like when you're gone

How I imagine the ghouls would cope with their partner/crush being away on a long mission

Frostheim

The King | Jin Kamurai

Hello darkness my old friend

He reverts back to his old ways before you came along

Hides in his room all day every day, smoking more, etc.

Expect messages from Tohma asking for updates on your mission, because that's the only way Jin allows even him in his room (since jin refused to message you himself)

No one else knows when your mission is over because you've been stuck in his room with him ever since you got back

The King's Advisor | Tohma Ishibashi

He holds up the best, tbh

He trusts you, he knows the ghouls you're on a mission with are capable, there's nothing to worry about

If it's been a while without hearing from you, he'll message you to see how you're doing

It isn't until you message back that he's at ease again

The Archer | Kaito Fuji

You should probably put your phone on silent if it isn't already.

Because he is blowing UP your notifications

You'll have to tell him to back off a little, and even then he's quadruple texting about how chill he is

But when you get back, he's so happy and relieved

The Knight | Lucas Errant

He's also pretty secure

Depending on who the mission is with, he'll be a bit more worried

Checks in every morning and night for updates

Offers his assistance from the sidelines

He's very chill

Vagastrom

The Ex-Con | Alan Mido

Alan's method of dealing with your absence is distraction, aka the pit.

Poor Sho.

Poor Vagastrom, honestly

Everyone knows when you're gone because Alan gets broodier than normal

When you come back, Sho begs you to wrap up your mission sooner next time

The Influencer | Leo Kurosagi

Oh, you're gone?

Why should he care?

Even if he pretends to not notice your absence, everyone else is painfully aware

Because Leo makes it everyone's problem

And he'll make it your problem when you get back, too

The Rider | Sho Haizono

Another secure boy <3

He misses you, obviously, but he isn't worried unless it's been a while since hearing from you

Day 3 of you being gone, and he doesn't complain as much when alan makes him spar

Turns out it's a good way to blow off steam

Jabberwock

The Ranger | Haru Sagara

In between chores, he's checking his phone to check in on you

He sends pictures of Peekaboo with sad faces, messaging how peekaboo misses you so you should come back soon

It doesn't take long before he tells you that he misses you too

When you come back, he won't let you leave his side for the rest of the day

The Free-Spirit | Towa Otonashi

What do you mean he can't go with you?

Ren should look into alternative housing for a few days.

And Haru will need to get the animals indoors.

The storm nearly rips the Jabberwock dorm out of the ground

But when you return, the sun shines brighter than it did before you left

The Slacker | Ren Shiranami

He pretends that he doesn't care.

But he's a lot moodier, and snaps at Haru more

He gives one word replies to your updates because he doesn't want you to know how much he actually misses you

He grumbles a lot when you come back, but he can't help but hold your hand tighter

Sinostra

The Gambler | Taiga Hoshibami

Good luck to anyone that looks at him wrong.

He puts the torture chair to use. Frequently. Because he forgets that you're on a mission and accuses anyone and everyone of kidnapping his kitty-cat.

Why would a random general student kidnap you? Who the fuck cares.

Romeo and Ritsu have to team up to make sure Taiga doesn't kill anyone

When you get back, he forgets that you were ever gone

The Sniper | Romeo Lucci

When you're gone, Sinostra students know to expect two things:

More yelling, more acronyms

He won't message you for updates, but he'll check for messages from you

And get increasingly agitated if there are none

He will scold you for needlessly worrying him and giving him worry lines

The Paralegal | Ritsu Shinjo

He trusts you to handle your own on a mission, so he's not worried

Still, he has gathered as much information relevant to your case as physically possible and is sending it to you while you're gone

Just in case it helps you get done faster

The faster your mission comes to an end, the quicker you'll be able to focus your efforts on aiding Sinostra in obtaining the Laurel—

Okay, fine, he misses you.

Hotarubi

The Actor | Subaru Kagami

Subaru trusts you, but that doesn't stop him from being worried about you

He's also a chronic double/triple texter, but his are more like "how are things going?" "Sorry, I hope I'm not bothering you" "I know you're busy, don't feel pressured to respond right away" and then he'll leave you alone

You'll have to reassure him that yes, you're okay, and no, he's not bothering you

He will offer to help any way he can, but will wait for you to say yes before actually helping

Because he really does trust you

The Flutist | Haku Kusanagi

He's also pretty chill while you're away, but those closest to him notice that he's quieter

He checks in on you, but doesn't sweat it if you don't reply right away — he knows you're busy, after all

If you're undercover, he asks for selfies of whatever your disguise is and jokes about roleplaying when you get back

When you do come back, he makes sure you're okay and not too traumatized by what happened

The Poet | Zenji Kotodama

If he's still a ghost, he's going with you

But if you tell him to stay behind, he will

Hotarubi is filled with melancholic chords on the biwa as he awaits your next update

When you come back, he serenades you with the song he composed while you were away

Obscuary

The Vampire | Edward Hart

The time passes quickly for him

He'll message you about what he's currently watching, but won't ask for an update

If you really need him, he'll know

The Reaper | Rui Mizuki

He occupies himself with chores to distract himself from your absence

According to Lyca, he 'nags' more

He messages you for updates, but doesn't mind too much if you take a little bit to respond back

If he's still cursed, a few plants might die accidentally from him being distracted

The Werewolf | Lyca Colt

He's fine

He knows you can handle yourself, so he's not worried

But when your scent fades from his clothes, he gets restless

He snaps at Rui and Ed a lot more

And glues himself to your side as soon as you return

Mortkranken

The Doctor | Yuri Isami

He's much too busy to occupy himself with wherever you are or whatever you're doing, obviously

If you point out the stacks of books on types of anomalies/the location you're investigating, he'll stammer out an excuse of just wanting to expand his knowledge

Sometimes he forgets you're not there and turns to you to say something, just to find Jiro there instead

And when you return, he'll humph about where your loyalties lie since you're helping the other houses

He missed you, even if he refuses to show it

The Monster | Jiro Kirisaki

When someone asks him if he misses you, he'll just get confused.

"Why? They're coming back."

He'll occasionally send you little snippets from textbooks about whatever you're investigating, but other than that, he doesn't really ask for updates or anything

When you come back, he gives you a health check to make sure everything is in order.

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stellewriites · 10 days ago

Text

butch price x reader

cw: smut, pussy eating, fingering, bush huffing, mean price, mechanic price, freak reader, inferred as inexperienced reader (as a treat!)

thank u as always to the cloisters for cheering this series on and yapping away about butches to me. here’s the fourth & final piece of the butch love letters quadrilogy

you huffed and puffed as you paced back and forth in front of the smoking open bonnet of your shitheap car.

you were cursing your friend for convincing you to get the cutesy car over the scuffed up ford you’d seen on the secondhand marketplace the same day. that tin can wouldn’t have broken down on you unexpectedly like this; stuck in the middle of nowhere as the sun set with no reception to call triple a or even your dad for a bit of engine advice.

you’d opened the hood as soon as you’d pulled over but you had no clue what was wrong with it, just that it probably shouldn’t be smoking or hissing like that. you’d tried to take a look at the canister that was spitting bubbles at the cap but had forgotten the golden rule of Don’t Touch, Hot after you’d been driving. your fingers still ached a little from the burn.

one hand on your hip, you held your phone up with the other like it would help at all as you tried to call for help again. the hazard lights from your car were starting to become brighter than the natural light and the streetlights were dim and far apart, not offering much in lieu of the setting sun.

you really didn’t want to be stranded there for the night.

you’d ignored the cars that had passed earlier when you’d first pulled over, not expecting to need an extra hand when your paid-for car support would be arriving presumably swiftly after you called. and then when you’d realised it wouldn’t be so easy, you’d hoped that simply letting your car cool off a little would fix the issue enough to get you further down the road at least.

you’d sat behind the wheel once more and felt your stomach drop when the engine rolled; a mean, dry grinding noise coming from it instead of the usual purr.

you’d tried once more before pulling your keys free and glueing yourself back to your phone as your last hope. you knew there was no way you’d be able to walk for help, especially not with how long you’d waited and how dark it was quickly becoming.

short of a miracle, you’d be stuck there until someone passed by in the morning and could maybe tow your little fiat to the nearest garage.

the rumble of a bike had your spiralling thoughts stopping in their tracks and your head snapping up towards the road. you felt your eyes widen as the rider pulled over, stopping a little ways behind you.

they climbed off the impressive bike easily, thick thighs nudging it to stay in place as they nudged the kickstand in place, and removed their helmet.

you wondered for a moment if you’d managed to hallucinate the woman stood before you - a miracle after all - with her close cropped hair glittering with greys spattered throughout. you stared shamelessly at the clustering of them at the shaved sides, but wondered at the way the low light caught the peppering of them through the messy, longer trim on the top.

“what’s the problem?” the woman asked, her voice firm but light.

you swallowed thickly and dragged your eyes down to her face, not that it was a difficult task to look at her. she was gorgeous and you felt your knees knock as you watched her come closer.

her sarcastically cocked eyebrow reminded you that you’d not yet answered her and you cleared your throat before shyly shrugging.

“it just started smoking so i pulled over. couldn’t tell where it was coming from but the engine won’t start,” you said and stepped out of the way so she could have a look. her lips thinned as she carefully dug around inside. you felt the need to fill the sudden silence and stepped back to her side, your hip pressed to the car but still giving her enough space so you weren’t touching. “it had been hissing for a while before.”

“hissing?” she asked as she looked up at you, her hands veering towards the left at your confirmation.

“mhmm. for maybe the last mile or two,” you said sheepishly.

“you kept driving?” she asked with a tinge of judgment. you folded your arms in front of you as you felt the look wash over you.

“no lights came on the dash,” you said a little feebly.

she blinked slowly, as though processing what you’d said before turning back to the car.

you had the distinct feeling that she thought you were an idiot. you dug your fingers into your arms as you watched uselessly. maybe you were.

“y’radiators gotten too hot with no water, cracked the water tank. it’s no wonder the engine wouldn’t start, y’wont be able to drive it ‘til it’s fixed, could set the engine on fire,” she said as she pointed out the things she was talking about. she stood back up straight and turned to you as your heart sank.

“fuck,” you swore heartily and clenched your eyes shut. that sounded expensive.

“i know a local garage that can sort it for you, decent rates,” she offered, her voice a touch softer than it had been so far. “i can give you a lift too.”

you opened your eyes just in time to watch her nod to her bike and start walking.

“oh, i don’t know if i should leave my car here…”

“we’ll call up a service to collect it as soon as we’re in range, won’t get any signal out here,” she said and pulled out a spare helmet from the back of her bike as if it was already decided, you were just late to the game. she pulled her own on with practised ease and held out the other towards you with a tilt of the head.

you darted back to your car and grabbed your bag before turning off the hazards, locking the door and finally joining her. you introduced yourself and waited for her to do the same.

“you can call me price,” she said brusquely, not returning your smile.

not the friendly introduction you’d been hoping for, but you were grateful for a name to put to the face all the same.

price didn’t hesitate before pushing the helmet onto your head, knocking your chin up with her finger in order to clip the strap in place. you stood frozen as she straddled her bike, lost for a moment at the unexpected touch and not seeing the impatient nod of her head to the space behind her.

“haven’t got all night, love. are you getting on or not?” price snapped, eyes flinty as they stared you down beneath the open visor.

“right, yes, sorry,” you stuttered, scrambling to her side. you paused at the height of the bike, the length of your summer dress not allowing for much movement before you’d inevitably flash your saviour; but at the memory of her sharp look, you tried to balance yourself and quickly lift your leg over the seat.

you were conscious of your size and weight behind her as soon as your arse hit the leather, shuffling back to give her room. you ran hot at the best of times and you couldn’t imagine she’d like a heater pressed along her back for the ride ahead given how testy she’d been already.

balancing behind her without clinging on was tricky however, with your toes just scraping the ground to keep you in place. even with your grip on her jacket at her waist you didn’t feel particularly sturdy.

you saw more than heard her sigh as her shoulders lifted then dropped in front of you and then suddenly her strong hands were on your thick thighs as she tugged you forward, slotting you so you were cradling her hips flush against your own.

“you need to hold on tight,” she said plainly and tugged your arms around her sturdy middle, tightening your grip further with a scoff when you automatically loosened it once she’d let go. you clenched your hands together above her belt and finally it seemed you’d done something right as she set off, kicking the stand up and revving, checking the empty road as she pulled out.

your dress fluttered in the wind; never mind flashing her as you’d climbed on, you would definitely be giving her a show now if she had the mind to look down and back at you. but you were too busy to fuss with the flighty material, instead concentrating on staying attached as she took corners sharply, dipping and weaving and tilting the bike so you’d have to clench your legs tighter and tighter against hers.

every time your knees felt like they could touch the asphalt, you hid your face in her back as best you could with the bulky helmet hindering your way, but you could still feel the way her shoulders shook with a laugh. you were inclined to pretend it was just the rumble of the engine, but you were more than aware of the difference in vibrations at your core and although both had you squirming, you knew they weren’t one and the same.

the ride was short - a blessing and a curse - and soon you were pulling up to a garage; lights turned off and clearly closed for the evening.

you felt disappointment bloom as you stumbled off the bike but price didn’t let it linger. unlocking the garage door and pressing a button on the attached fob to send the shutter lifting. she pushed her bike inside and you followed without needing to be told.

you stood near the entrance as you watched her walk around, clearly familiar with the workshop. you let your gaze drift, taking in the few cars parked inside the sprawling space, hoods down and doors presumably locked while they weren’t being worked on, tools packed away at their stations not necessarily neatly but clearly with care.

a hand on your lower back had you jumping and you turned to see price at your side, ushering you further in until you were sat on a tall stool next to a workbench.

you noticed as she walked away that she’d taken off her jacket and your eyes caught on a tattoo on the outside of her bicep, a labrys. simple in its design, and clear in its message.

you tried not to stare too hard, but your eyes kept snapping back to trace the lines that made up the two headed axe, especially as she moved and her bicep bulged. your throat felt suspiciously dry all of a sudden.

you played with the little orange carabiner attached to your bag strap, your keys jingling softly in the silence of the garage.

price was at the other side of the room, head leant against her raised shoulder to keep her phone in place as she spoke into the receiver and wrote something down at the same time. you saw her frown and roll her eyes and bit your lip, heat pooling below your gut. you watched as she said something indistinct before hanging up and calling a new number.

you felt yourself grow fidgety and sat on your hands to keep yourself still, the solid wood seat sobering with how unforgiving it was against the back of your hands as your palms and fingers gripped the underside of your sweaty thighs.

price laughed across the room and you tuned back in to her conversation. “l

“sure, i owe you one nik. see you in a few then,” she said and hung up her phone, slipping it into a pocket. she turned to you and her lips twitched when she found you already watching her. “found someone that’s going to tow it tonight, just need to wait here to lock it inside safe and sound before the lads can work on it in the morning. shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours before he turns up.”

“amazing, thank you,” you said, gratefully smiling at her. you swallowed and gathered what confidence you had before speaking, putting on your best flirty tone, “i don’t know how to repay you for all of this.”

price paused for a moment and watched you closely, seeming to look for something in your face to decide how she’d respond even as amusement danced in her eyes.

“i’m going to check over a few cars, make sure they haven’t been getting lazy with the work here while i’ve been away,” she said finally, ignoring your clumsy almost-proposition. you scrunched your face in annoyance and regret once she’d walked off towards the key cabinet facing away from you, wanting to bury your face in your hands as it flushed hot in embarrassment but realising they’d gone a little numb when you slipped one out from beneath you.

you could still feel it as you curled your fingers, but it was almost distant, secondary.

an idea came to the forefront of your mind. you peeked up at price as she bent over the open hood of a stranger’s car, checking the notes one of her coworkers had left from the day before and you were suddenly flooded with a deep yearning. tumultuous and red hot, it stirred between your legs as you remembered price’s firm hold on your thighs and wrists and the feeling of her settled between your legs as she laughed and ordered you around.

you breathed in shakily and let your tingling hand rest on your knee, trailing it up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh slowly as you kept your eyes on price. the last thing you needed was her catching you even if the touches could be considered innocent so far.

watching to make sure she didn’t suddenly turn around to catch you also mean you could see the shift of her muscles and weight beneath her vest; a sight you’d never say no to and one that only caused your breath to hitch as you continued the trail to the hem of your dress.

you stopped and bit your lip, unsure if you wanted to continue. it wasn’t like you’d be able to get yourself off in the middle of the garage so it would only further frustrate you and the possibility of getting caught and having to awkwardly face price the next day to get your car back after it was fixed was mortifying enough to still your trembling fingers.

“looks like you’re not the only one with a cracked water tank,” price spoke up from her spot in front of the car. her hands were on her hips before she dragged one over her short hair, scratching at the freshly shaved base of her neck. “i’ll check to see if we have a few in stock, might make it a quicker fix for you if johnny already ordered some in for this one.”

you nodded even though she didn’t look at you and you pulled your other hand out from beneath your arse. your right hand hand gained its feeling back so you dropped it in your lap; the left however was fighting pins and needles as you ran it over your stomach to your chest, squeezing lightly at your breast as shame and excitement and lust flooded through your system like lightning. your eyes slipped closed for a second and even though it felt nothing like price’s confident, sturdy grip from earlier, you couldn’t help but picture it to be her as you grazed your thumb over your nipple with a firmer pressure.

“we’ve got a spare one in stock, so we just need to double check it’ll fit, but otherwise it should be good to go tomorrow unless something else comes up when gaz checks it over.” price’s voice jolted you out of your reverie too soon, having not heard her re-enter the room, and your hand flew down to join your other in your lap, your elbow smacking back harshly against the worktop and echoing in the large empty area.

price raised her eyebrows at you, her jaw falling slack for a moment, as she watched you try to hide your deep wince of pain. a second later she started to walk over to you.

her pale blue eyes were piercing as she kept eye contact with you. “you alright?”

“yep, fine. totally ok. uhm, why?” you tried to play it off casually, landing so far from nonchalant it had price’s worry slipping off her face.

her smirk grew. “y’just smacked your elbow so hard i could hear the bone rattle.”

“oh, sorry?” you apologised uselessly.

“no need, love,” she dismissed your apology quickly, eyes still lasered in on you. “it’s just… you’re looking a little hot and bothered.”

the mean tilt to her smirk didn’t help and you felt yourself fluster and sweat anew under her pinning gaze.

she took a step closer, reaching one hand out to skim across the bare skin of your leg, unknowingly tracing the same path your hand had before. your legs turned to jelly beneath her touch in a way they didn’t under your own and seemed to naturally fall open at the slightest pressure as she urged you to make room for her to step between them.

her fingers’ path stopped at the hem of your dress before she started to bunch it up, letting the material gather at her knuckles as the tips of her finger disappeared beneath while she revealed more soft skin to her greedy gaze.

“were y’committing the view to memory for when you get home and can get your hands on whatever little toy gets you off quickest?” she asked rhetorically, her tone light but words pointed as she watched for your reaction.

you bit back a gasp.

“i can give you what you want,” she offered, voice sweet and soft once more. enticing. “what you need. you don’t have to squeeze your thighs tight for a little relief as you watch me work.”

you flushed hot at the reveal that she’d noticed you all along and shivered as her fluttering touch continued its agonisingly slow path, diverting up to your hips and away from your drooling pussy at the last second. you whimpered.

“would you like that?”

you nodded eagerly, eyes hooded and mouth panting as you watched her hands at their stand still, your panties revealed with your dress hiked up so far, taut where it was caught beneath your arse. you lifted your head to stare at her chest in front of you and then looked up into her flinty eyes, nodding again dumbly. price tutted and you felt your clit throb.

“gotta hear the words, love.”

you flushed hot, head to toe, and mumbled a shy, “i’d like that.”

“mm what was that?” she asked, cocking her head and running her hands, palm flat, back down your legs to your knees, squeezing.

“i want you to touch me,” you said louder, bashful but growing desperate. “please?” you added belatedly.

“‘please’? so polite, love. bet you always get what you want speaking like that, looking like this.”

your eyes had begun to water, glistening as frustration and need overwhelmed you; you shook your head looking up at her.

“never— never done anything like this,” you admitted.

price laughed, tickled by your answer.

“oh, you don’t fuck your mechanic usually?” she asked, pretending to be shocked. “he must not be doing a good enough job on your little kia.”

you hummed, pitchy and unconvincing, eyes growing shifty and giving away that you meant you didn’t do any of it in general. that you weren’t exactly practiced. and price picked up on that immediately.

“oh.” she smiled meanly. “that’s not it, is it? no, i bet he’s floundering for your attention, but you’re just too nervous to give him what he wants, ey? don’t want your first time to be in a dirty garage, in the back seat of some other prick’s car while your mechanic fumbles around in your knickers.”

she’d bent down low to run her lips along your neck, kissing along your neck and leaving a delciate wet trail as she kitten licked across your racing pulse. you gasped when you felt her fingers finally trail over your cunt, the thin material of your panties barely hindering the electric feel of her touch before she pulled at the band and let it snap back against your skin.

“but i think getting dirty is part of the appeal for a girl like you, pretty as you are. you want to be manhandled and marked and ruined,” she whispered hotly, her breath tickling your neck. “nahh, must be that you’re just not interested in what’s been on offer before, hm?”

“he’s nice enough,” you admitted, clinging onto price’s shoulders, “but…”

“—but he’s not what you want,” she finished for you, raising her head from your neck to kiss along your cheek and hovering over your lips. “none of them are, are they? you want something else entirely.”

you leant forward to close the gap, hoping to finally get a taste of her but she pulled back. you chased her lips until she was stood back up straight, looming over you as embarrassment flooded through you again, but pleasantly.

“bet you’ve never been touched before; never had this pretty pussy licked open, spat on.” you felt your chest heave as she spoke bluntly, looking down at you, her hips began to subtly grind against yours. “have you ever even cum on someone else’s fingers?”

“i have,” you huffed at her assessment of you, but she only laughed at your petulant tone.

“no, you haven’t,” she insisted to further wind you up. “bet you’ve not even kissed another woman.”

your breath stuttered as she focused on your lips, licking her own.

“i want to kiss you,” you said bravely.

“that’s all you had to say.”

she dipped low, hands on the worktop either side of you, and licked her way past your gasping lips. you felt overwhelmed and fully explored as the tip of her tongue flicked at yours, saliva building in your mouth as you moaned wantonly and soaked up her quiet grunts in return. she tugged you up onto your feet and in between wet kisses and tight squeezes to your soft hips she led you towards her office in the back.

you made it to her desk with minimal tripping and no bumps on your way despite not having detached to see the way there. instead you’d clung on and trusted she wouldn’t lead you into a wall or car accidentally as she hurriedly felt up your sides to your breasts.

she encouraged you to sit on the edge of the desk and plucked at one of your nipples through the thin dress with a teasing grin.

“feel better than your own hand?” she asked and dropped to her knees before you could answer.

with rough movements price hiked up your dress to reveal your panties and leant forward without hesitation to latch on to your clit through the thin cotton, eager to get you squealing.

she laughed at the restless twitch of your hips in her hands and turned her head to snicker into the fold of your thigh and groin.

“you’re more fun than i thought a virgin would be,” she goaded, eyes heavy as they gazed up at you. you fell for the bait, scoffing down at her with a pout once more as your hand rose to her short hair and yanked what your could grasp to lead her back towards your drooling cunt. you winced when her teeth clashed against your core as she grinned into your panties, endlessly amused by your brash urges hidden behind a forced shy politeness.

price reached up and tugged the material aside to lick a broad stripe up your slit, humming low at your taste and the building slick that had been steadily leaking since she’d first frowned down at you in condescension in front of your car.

“needy an’ desperate,” she huffed before focusing back on task, kitten licking at your clit as you gasped and whined. it felt like you were on fire and you couldn’t help but push up onto her tongue with jerky little thrusts when she dipped low to your hole, desperate for her to keep berating and humiliating you.

she pulled back with a wet suck and a gasp, pushing two fingers into you with no resistance as she caught her breath and licked your arousal off her lips.

she stared up at you as you shook on her fingers, practically doing all the work as you rode her hand until she decided the pace wasn’t good enough and picked up where she’d let you take over.

“fucking hell,” she whispered and nipped at the fat of your thigh. you clenched down on her fingers with a groan.

“please, please, please,” you begged airily. price smiled as she looked you over, head to toe, before nodding benevolently and dipping down to lavish your clit with attention once more.

you felt your orgasm begin to peak and wave over you with a loud, unashamed moan as she curled her fingers just right inside you, the awkward angle of her wrist doing nothing to slow her down as she prolonged your pleasure until you slumped back. spent and exhausted.

“better than your own hand?” she asked cheekily once more and you nodded dazedly.

“uh huh,” you said, remembering she liked verbal answers, and lifted a tired thumbs up at her.

she snorted and took a hold of it, pulling you up just enough to get your hand down the front of her open jeans and into her own soaked underwear.

you moaned as she guided you to slip inside and you clenched your thighs around her as if it was your own pleasure as you slowly sunk in deep. price groaned low and long, curling over you and humping against the heel of your hand where it pressed against her clit.

you weren’t as confident or practiced in your movements from this angle but you did you best to pull out those dazed moans and hitched breaths from price when you moved your fingers and your palm a certain way, repeating until you got the reaction you wanted oh so desperately from her.

price was panting into your neck after a few minutes, the skin between you clammy and you echoed her moans back to her without thought.

“w-warm, so tight,” you stuttered into her ear as you felt her clench around your fingers, nearing her own orgasm as slick ran down past the webbing of your fingers.

your enthusiasm turned price on like nothing else and she shuddered at the next prod and rub of your fingers deep inside of her.

“fucking hell, love,” she swore breathlessly, a grin tugging at her lips as she pulled back to look at your fucked our expression. “got you pussy drunk in under ten minutes and we’ve not even fucked yet. that’s a record even f’me.”

you crooked your fingers and felt a deep satisfaction when price’s jaw dropped on a silent moan, eyelashes fluttering down at you.

you watched her in awe; the way her crows feet became pronounced as her eyes squinted and her brows pulled in in pleasure, the shape of her pretty parted lips as she trembled in your hands.

“i wanna taste,” you blurted out, voice cracking with how dry your throat had become.

you struggled to free your hand and push price back a step as she grumbled, but you got enough space to hop down off the desk and drop to your knees in front of her. you yanked at her jeans without fanfare, wiggled the waistband and her underwear down to her knees before going wide-eyed at the sight of her thick bush.

feeling the soft curls against your fingers was one thing…

you leant in with abandon and pressed your nose in tight, huffing open-mouthed against her mound. soaking in the sweat, slick scent of her and moaning weakly into the damp curls.

“jesus fucking christ.” price tipped her head back and silently thanked whoever was listening for the enthusiastic little freak she had at her feet. she didn’t deserve you, but she wasn’t going to pass up this golden opportunity either.

your hot breath had her thighs twitching where you rested your hands over her pants to keep her still, but her patience ran thin.

“get to it then, love.”

you flicked your eyes up to look at her and she rested one hand on the back of your head, controlling and reassuring.

you started with little kitten licks, needing coaxing ever so into loosening your restraint despite the reckless way you’d just face planted her pussy moments prior. a firm hand or a sharp word would have you set right, you knew, so you continued as you were, trying to remember what you’d liked and copying it.

price didnt wait to see if you’d warm up on your own and used her other hand to tug at your jaw, prising your mouth open further and encouraging your tongue to wag out.

“tongue,” she ordered brusquely before grinding against your face. you got with the program and pointed your tongue so it slipped inside easier, gripping onto price’s arse and thighs as she rode you with little concern for your breathing.

you sucked and hummed against her, lapping at what you could reach when she adjusted her angle before continuing to use you. your nose pressed tight to her mound and caught on her clit on every other thrust up until price was moaning into the air above you, her orgasm quickly rising.

she pulled back and held you away with one hand while the other gave a few hard flicks to her clit. she got off with a broken moan, looking at your wet, messy face; arguably more fucked out than her own. her eyes caught on the hand you’d dropped to finger at your clenching hole again and she groaned, low and amused. fond.

with a breathless laugh, she tugged up her waistband back to her hips but left the jeans unzipped. she pushed her boot between your spread knees, beneath your hips and pushed down on your shoulders until you were resting over the tilted toe of her boot.

you were quick to get the idea and pulled your fingers free, thrusting to catch your clit against the unforgiving material until you came a second time, leaving a thick shine along her shoe when she pulled it back.

you panted against her hip, forehead resting against her just above her open waistband as you caught your breath with a giddy smile. you nibbled and sucked at her stomach as she pet the back of your head.

“don’t usually let girls mark me,” she said softly under her breath as she watched you. she rubbed at one of the the budding red marks you’d left near her zipper. “but I’m quite fond of you after that little performance. might keep ya.”

butch 141 masterlist

moodboard masterlist

#little bit different from my usual stuff i think if only bc i don’t have these kinks but they worked for this fic #so i was kinda pushing myself to see if i could do it - like i get em but they don’t reallyyyyyy do anything for me i dont think (famous #last words lmaooo) so i couldn’t even check in and see if what i was writing was hot or not i was just drifting like ‘the data says the #people will enjoy this if they lile this’ ahdksjdks so i hope it’s Hot for u guys #and not stale #there was more i wanted to do with this fic originally as you can tell from the moodboard but it just didn’t go that way when i was #wroting it in the end lmao #butch price #user pussyistasty this one goes out to u #price x reader #john price x reader #butch john price #john price smut #price might be ooc i could see people arguing this is more ghost but i disagree!#bc this is an au and price has dealt w some shit as an older lesbian and is impatient and knows what she wants and likes #also she’ll have been in the military as a woman and during dadt so you know. she takes no shit now that she doesn’t have to #stelle writes n that #butch x reader #butch smut

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afloweroutofstone · 3 months ago

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In late 2023, I published the first ever survey of weapons companies advertising to policymakers in the DC subway system. Earlier this month, I spoke with Responsible Statecraft for a follow-up article which notes that the problem appears to have gotten even worse.

Leaving the [Washington National] airport I walked past ads for other Pentagon contractors and noticed that an in-airport playground that my kids have cavorted upon is sponsored by Boeing, whose weaponry has allegedly been used in numerous attacks that have killed children. And that’s an important distinction: these aren’t ads from companies that sell car insurance or beer, these are ads from companies that literally profit from war — and the threat of war — and get hundreds of billions of taxpayer dollars every year to do it.

...So I contacted my former colleague Brett Heinz, who has done one of the only systematic analyses of Pentagon contractor ads in the D.C. metro system that I’m aware of — he spent dozens of hours riding the metro just to look at ads so, yes, he might be a masochist, but he’s highly knowledgeable about this topic.

“Oh, it’s gotten so much worse,” Heinz... explained in an interview. “The subway campaigns that I focused on are still common,” he added, pointing to recent ad campaigns by Amazon Web Services (AWS) — which were running as Amazon founder Jeff Bezos was in town for President Trump’s inauguration — proclaiming to riders that “AWS is how taxpayer dollars go further” and “AWS is how intelligence stays a step ahead.”

“But contractors have also been trying new approaches,” Heinz added, pointing to the Anduril and L3 Harris billboard-sized ads that have been running on the side of D.C. buses for months.

...“The returns on investment here are massive: if a contractor's ad campaign has even a marginal effect in securing one single Pentagon contract, the company will make their money back several times over,” Heinz explained.

To that point, just since the Anduril ads began running in the greater D.C. area the company has been awarded more than $1 billion in a series of contracts from the Pentagon.

While the ad campaigns' direct impact on any of these deals would be hard to prove, there’s no question that ad campaigns by Anduril and other Pentagon contractors get the attention of D.C. decision makers. That’s exactly the point. According to Outfront, “transit advertising makes you a part of consumers’ day.” In the greater D.C. area those “consumers” can be Pentagon acquisition officials, members of Congress, and their staff that help determine how much taxpayer money the Pentagon spends, and even which companies — like Anduril — get it.

These ads, then, are better seen as lobbying by other means. And, while it’s technically illegal for contractors to use Congressionally appropriated funds “for influencing or attempting to influence an officer or employee of any agency,” transit ads have not been considered as falling under this limitation. And last May, a D.C. judge ruled that a WMATA provision barring “advertisements that are intended to influence public policy,” was a violation of the First Amendment, which now gives government contractors and others free rein to run issue ads in the D.C. transit system.

In short, residents and visitors to our nation's capital will be forced to wade through an even wider and deeper swamp of Pentagon contractor marketing that was made possible, to some extent, by the hundreds of billions of taxpayer dollars the Pentagon doles out every year.

#'he might be a masochist but he's highly knowledgeable about this topic' is one of my new favorite descriptions #military #military industrial complex #war

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heartysworld · 11 months ago

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Riding into love // LN4

Lando Norris x Reader

W.C.:2k

The one time Lando turned his niece's horse riding lesson into a speed dating event.

MASTERLIST

It was a bright Saturday morning when Lando Norris found himself in front of his car, waiting for his niece Mila to grab her riding gear. His brother Oliver had entrusted Lando with taking Mila to her horse-riding lessons for the day, and Lando was eager to spend some quality time with his favorite little girl.

“Uncle Lando, I’m ready!” Mila called out as she bounded down the steps, dressed in her attire, her riding helmet clutched under her arm and a huge smile on her face.

“Alright, let’s go, champ,” Lando replied, ruffling her hair. He opened the door to the car, and Mila hopped in, bubbling with excitement.

The drive to the riding stables was filled with Mila’s chatter about her friends, her horse, and everything she loved about riding. Lando listened attentively, enjoying her enthusiasm and making a mental note to remember all the little details she shared.

When they arrived at the stables, Mila quickly spotted her best friend, your younfer sister, Lily. You were busy helping Lily with her helmet when Lando and Mila approached.

“Hi, Lily! Hi, Y/N!” Mila greeted them cheerfully.

“Hey, Mila! Hi, Mr. Norris,” Lily replied politely.

Lando smiled and corrected her, “Please, call me Lando.”

You looked up and offered a friendly smile. “Nice to see you again, Lando. Thanks for bringing Mila today.”

“No problem at all. She’s been telling me all about how much she loves horse riding on our way here.” Lando replied, his eyes briefly meeting yours.

Mila and Lily quickly ran off to get their horses ready, leaving you and Lando standing by the fence. There was a moment of silence before Lando decided to break the ice.

“So, how long have you been coming here with Lily?” Lando asked.

You looked over at him and replied, “A few years now. Lily started when she was six, and she’s been hooked ever since. What about Mila?

“Just over a year. She’s obsessed with it,” Lando said, chuckling. “She even told me she wants to be a professional rider one day.”

You laughed. “Sounds like Lily. It’s great to see them so passionate about something, though.”

Lando nodded in agreement, watching as Mila and Lily mounted their horses. “Yeah, it is. It’s nice to see them happy.”

A comfortable silence settled between them as they watched the girls begin their lesson. You caught Lando glancing at you occasionally, admiring your smile and the way you interacted with Lily and the other kids. There was something about you that he found incredibly attractive.

After a while, you turned to him. “So, Lando, do you ride?”

“Me? Not really. I mean, I’ve tried it a couple of times, but I’m more comfortable with four wheels under me,” Lando joked.

You laughed. “I figured as much. It’s a different kind of thrill, that’s for sure.”

Lando smiled, feeling a bit more confident. “Maybe you could give me some tips sometime. You know, if you’re free.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips. “Are you asking me out, Lando Norris?”

Lando chuckled, a slight blush creeping up his neck. “Maybe I am. Would you say yes if I did?”

“Depends on where you’re planning to take me.” You teased.

“How about dinner? Somewhere nice, where we can talk without the sound of engines or horse hooves,” Lando suggested.

You considered for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, dinner sounds good.”

Lando grinned. “Great. How about tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow works. I’ll give you my number so you can text me the details,” You said, pulling out your phone.

The two of you exchanged numbers, and as the lesson ended, Lando couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. He hadn’t expected to score a date while taking his niece to her riding lesson, but he wasn’t complaining.

One date after another, you fount yourself infatuated with Lando and his presence. It was no surprise to you when he asked you to be his girlfriend on the fourth date. Ever since then, he spent every free moment either with you or coming up with arrangements on how to take you with him to as many places as possible.

Several months into your relationship, Lando decided it was time for you to meet his family at one of their family dinners. Your relationship had grown serious, and he wanted you to feel like a part of his life, both on and off the track.

The evening of the gathering, you arrived at Lando’s family home, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. Lando greeted you with a kiss and led you inside, where his family welcomed you warmly. Oliver and his wife, Savannah, couldn’t help but joke about Lando’s knack for turning a simple outing into a romantic escapade.

“The one time we leave my brother take Mila to a riding lesson and he managesto score a date. How does that happen?” Oliver teased, nudging his brother playfully.

Lando laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “What can I say? I’ve got skills.” He said, before leaving a soft kiss on the side of your head.

Savannah smiled warmly at you. “We’re just glad to see him so happy. He’s been talking about you non-stop for the past couple of months.”

You blushed, feeling the warmth of their acceptance. The evening was filled with laughter, stories, and delicious food. You felt at ease with Lando’s family, and it was clear how much they cared for him.

As the night drew to a close, you and Lando found a quiet moment together on the porch. The stars were twinkling above, and the soft hum of conversation filled the air from inside the house.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, resting your head on Lando’s shoulder. “Your family is wonderful.”

Lando pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m glad you liked them. They already adore you.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of belonging. “I adore them too.”

Lando looked at you, his eyes filled with love. “You’ve made my life so much better, baby. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You leaned in and kissed him, your heart swelling with affection. “I couldn't have said it better, Lan.”

As the months went by, you and Lando started making mkre and more appearances at the paddock as a couple. The media and fans quickly noticed how much more laid-back and happy Lando seemed, both on and off the track. It didn’t take long for everyone to connect his newfound ease to your presence in his life.

“Looks like someone’s in love,” one of the reporters teased during an interview.

Lando just smiled, glancing over at you as you stood a few feet away from him. “I guess you could say that.

The journey from a horse-riding lesson to a loving relationship had been unexpected but beautiful. You had found each other in the most unlikely of places, and now, you were each other’s biggest supporters, you couldn't ask for a better unexpected match.

MASTERLIST

Feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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omegaphilosophia · 8 months ago

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Free Riders: A Necessary Consequence of Hyper-Efficient Economies

In a hyper-efficient economy, where resources are optimized, and systems are streamlined for maximum productivity and minimal waste, free riders become a necessary consequence due to the structure of public goods, incentives, and the difficulty of excluding people from shared benefits. Here’s why this happens:

1. Public Goods and Non-Excludability

Public goods are services or resources that are non-excludable (cannot prevent others from using them) and non-rivalrous (one person's use doesn't diminish availability for others). Examples include clean air, national defense, and public infrastructure.

In a hyper-efficient economy, the focus is on maximizing the utility of such goods. However, because it’s difficult to exclude people from using them, even those who haven’t contributed to their provision can still benefit. This creates the free rider problem, where individuals or entities enjoy the benefits of these goods without contributing to their cost.

2. Maximization of Efficiency Encourages Cost Minimization

Hyper-efficient systems aim to lower costs and maximize outputs, leading some individuals or groups to minimize their own contributions while still benefiting from collective outcomes.

This can manifest in behaviors where individual incentives are to ride on the contributions of others. For example, if an efficient system is producing public goods with minimal oversight or cost allocation, there’s less pressure on individuals to contribute, incentivizing free riding as a rational economic choice.

3. Collective Action and Incentive Structures

In highly efficient economies, the focus is often on scaling production and outcomes, which means systems become more dependent on collective action. However, the more participants there are in a system, the easier it becomes for individuals to hide within the crowd and avoid responsibility, knowing that others will continue to contribute.

The marginal impact of any one person not contributing becomes negligible in large, efficient systems, which reduces the incentive for individuals to participate fully, as they reason that their contribution or lack thereof will not noticeably affect the outcome.

4. Transaction Costs and Monitoring

In a hyper-efficient economy, transaction costs (the costs associated with monitoring, enforcing, or tracking contributions) are minimized. While this drives efficiency, it also reduces the ability to monitor and prevent free riding effectively.

The absence of detailed enforcement or tracking mechanisms (because they may be seen as wasteful in an efficiency-driven model) makes it easier for free riders to escape notice or punishment.

5. The Paradox of Hyper-Efficiency and Collective Good

The paradox is that while a hyper-efficient economy is designed to optimize resource allocation and reduce waste, it inadvertently fosters conditions where some can exploit the system. In fact, because the economy is so efficient at producing goods, the cost of free riding may not be immediately felt, allowing it to persist without significant disruption to the system.

Over time, however, widespread free riding can degrade the system's integrity, as the imbalance between contributors and non-contributors grows.

6. Historical and Theoretical Perspectives

The free rider problem is a common issue in collective action and public goods theory, notably discussed by economist Mancur Olson. In a hyper-efficient economy, this issue is amplified because the system works so well that the cost of exclusion becomes too high or inefficient, leading to an acceptance of free riding as a necessary trade-off for overall system efficiency.

Free riders are a necessary consequence of a hyper-efficient economy because of the nature of public goods (which are non-excludable and non-rivalrous), reduced transaction costs, and incentive structures that make it easy for individuals to benefit from collective goods without contributing. In such economies, hyper-efficiency focuses on maximizing outputs and minimizing enforcement or exclusion efforts, which inadvertently creates opportunities for free riding. While the system may remain efficient in the short term, widespread free riding can lead to longer-term imbalances.

#philosophy #epistemology #knowledge #learning #education #chatgpt #ethics #economics #Free Rider Problem #Hyper-Efficient Economy #Public Goods Theory #Collective Action Dilemma #Efficiency and Incentive Structures #Transaction Costs in Economics

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thereweredragonshere · 2 months ago

Note

what headcanons do you have for the riders in a modern au?

Sorry if some of these are a little basic lmao I don't think about modern aus all that much.

They all live in Britain. Sue me. I want some dragons over this side of the atlantic.

Hiccup -

Does digital art

Plays minecraft religiously and can do red stone better than he can do maths

has failed exams due to his pretty much illegible hand writing despite answers being mostly correct

Listens to exclusively 80s/90s music

Lives in a flat above a pub that his dad owns called 'Berk' aka 'Berk's bar' (Which is a whole au that i have and is where i got the name for my discord server from lmao. But these headcanons aren't all specifically from that au. Just general ones.)

Gets bullied quite bad at school. He's taken days off because of it before.

Class presentations are his worst nightmare. Can never get his words out during them and gets very freaked out.

Astrid -

Plays Rugby, Football, does boxing, really name any contact sport and she's probably tried it at some point. Her favourite lesson is P.E. (Physical education/gym class) and she will riot if it gets cancelled for some reason.

'Difficult' student. She struggles with anger management and schools are shit at helping kids with that, so she gets labelled as a problem child cuz she always chats back and gets sent out of classrooms.

Despite being a 'problem' child, she still gets all the shit that needs doing done.

Never shows up to school assemblies. She usually just goes and finds a staircase to sit on.

Divorced parents. She bounces between houses quite a lot.

Spends most of her free time at the gym. Buffstrid canon in modern times too people!!

Snotlout -

Got massively bullied in year 7 and like half way through year 8 he switched the fuck up and became a fucking menace. Bro was NOT playing.

Rides horses. Hookfang is a horse.

Is lowkey fucking amazing at maths but he's scared to put effort into it cuz he thinks he'll get made fun of.

When him and Astrid become friends they actually bond over being the 'problem' kids. Though Astrid is a bit more than Snotlout.

Constantly in corner shops. He loves buying overpriced american sweets.

Fishlegs -

Actually very rarely gets bullied cuz no one knows who the fuck he is (Until the gang all become friends, then people DEFINIATELY know who they all are.)

Loves the three sciences. Even physics. He actively enjoys doing physics.

Kinda not really a teacher's pet. He won't tell on you but he certainly won't partake in whatever it is you're doing on your phone in the middle of a very important english lesson.

Loves shakepeare.

Him and Snotlout (When the gang all become friends) set up one of those stupid cliche 'pay me and I'll do your homework' things in the boys toilets at school. Snotlout did the discreate advertising and Fishlegs did the homework. They split profits 50/50 and they both found it so funny that it actually worked. And then they got busted by the head teacher and that's the first time fishlegs ever got detention.

Ruffnut -

Local school fact file. She can tell you every single detail about the place. Wanna know when that one piece of gum you just accidentally touched was stuck to the table? She'll fucking know.

Giver her £10 and she will eat literally anything.

Actually CAN'T get bullied cuz she just doesn't give a fuck

Very good at english/languages

Has never done homework a day in her life. Never will.

Brings random live animals into school every now and again. Much to the genuine delight of Hiccup.

Drives her parents' car somewhat regularly, despite not being old enough and not having a licence.

Tuffnut -

Can tell you the translation of ANY word into French. This guy is a MACHINE in French lessons.

brings full sized nerf water guns into school.

Chicken is canon. Ruff and Tuff share their bedroom with Chicken.

Never ever sits normally. Always swinging on his chair or sitting cross legged.

Chronic beanie wearer

#I probably have more i just cant think of them lmao #httyd #how to train your dragon #hiccup #hiccup haddock #astrid #snotlout #fishlegs #ruffnut #tuffnut

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cup1drul3z · 1 month ago

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★ — Keep Me Close

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 4 : ᴏɴʟʏ ��ꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ɪᴛ

ᴘᴏᴘꜱᴛᴀʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ | 7.0ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ

TAGS : Age gap, Angst, Masturbation, Car crash mentioned, Drinking, drugs, mental health problems, depression, suicide mentioned

A/N : i actually forgot to post this chapter im gonna kms

SUMMARY : You and Sevika arrive at the hotel after a long travel day, but privacy is hard to come by. Between surprise selfies, overheard questions, and accidental tension, the line between fake and real starts to blur. A day of chaotic rehearsals, heat, and unexpected confessions at the festival grounds leaves both of you unraveling—slowly, privately, and in ways you’re not ready to admit.

Thursday Afternoon

The room was what you expected—quiet, sleek, and tastefully expensive. Warm wood floors, a king-sized bed layered in crisp white linens, blackout curtains, and soft, overhead lighting that made the whole space feel calm and insulated from the noise of the lobby.

A desk with an ergonomic chair sat against the wall, plugs in all the right places. There was a full-length mirror near the closet, a marble-lined bathroom with neatly folded towels and little glass bottles of eucalyptus soap, and best of all: a tray of snacks on the credenza.

Not the kind you had to fight with the minibar over. These were complimentary. High-end, wrapped in matte packaging, the kind of snacks you usually had to sneak onto your tour rider.

You let out a small, satisfied sound and flopped face-down onto the bed, arms spread like a starfish. The mattress was perfect—firm, with just enough give—and you bounced once, kicking off your shoes as you sank into the pillows.

“Finally,” you mumbled into the duvet. “Something soft that doesn’t talk.”

Sevika lingered near the door, scanning the space like she was checking for threats instead of closet space. Her eyes flicked to the walls, the ceiling, the quiet hum of the thermostat. She moved slowly, taking everything in with that same sharp tension in her shoulders like she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to relax yet.

You peeked up at her from where you were sprawled, then pulled your phone out and unlocked it with a lazy flick.

Already, your feed was blowing up—photos, fan edits, slowed-down videos of Sevika shielding you in the airport. Some zoomed so close, it looked like a movie still. People were freaking out over her. Over you.

Over the two of you.

You smiled faintly, brushed your curls back into place, and angled your phone for a selfie. Your lips curled into your signature smile, half-sweet, half-smug, and you made sure Sevika was in the frame just behind you—brows furrowed, looking mildly confused by the espresso machine on the counter.

Click.

Perfect.

Sevika let out a long, quiet sigh and finally lowered herself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight. She sat stiff, back straight, hands braced on her knees like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to relax yet, even in a five-star hotel room with free snacks and no immediate threats.

Behind her, you were half-curled into the plush bedding, still scrolling on your phone, about to post the selfie you’d taken—your smile perfect, Sevika caught in the background looking way too serious for someone standing next to a cart of complimentary kombucha.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of air conditioning and the faint tap of your thumb on the screen.

Then you broke the silence.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice softer than before. No teasing. No smirk. Just a question lingering in the still air.

Sevika glanced over her shoulder, one brow raised. “Mean what?”

You sighed and set your phone down, turning onto your side. The movement drew her eyes before she could stop herself—how your hoodie hitched up slightly, the way the curve of your hip pressed into the mattress.

“The soft spot thing,” you said, watching her. “That we talked about on the plane.”

Sevika turned away instantly.

Too fast.

You didn’t miss it.

Her palm slid up her forehead and down her face in one slow, embarrassed drag as a quiet, sheepish chuckle escaped her lips. “I didn’t think you’d remember that…”

She looked like she was mentally kicking herself for letting that moment slip—like the admission had been accidental, like you’d imagined it.

You smirked and pushed yourself up, slow and quiet, the bedsheets rustling beneath your hands as you crawled across the mattress toward her.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t stop you.

You sat on your knees just behind her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her back. You leaned in, your breath soft against her skin.

Then your lips brushed the crook of her neck—barely there, feather-light.

“Do you have a soft spot for me, Sevika?” you murmured, her name spilling off your tongue like warm honey. Smooth. Intentional.

Her breath caught. Shoulders stiffened.

But she didn’t move away.

BANG!

The door flew open so hard it bounced against the stopper.

“Y/N, we gotta go to the festival grounds—totally forgot—they need you there right now!” Dean yelled, halfway in the room, already flustered and breathless.

And then he stopped.

His eyes landed on you—on your knees behind Sevika, still leaning close, lips barely an inch from her skin. Sevika was frozen, back straight as a board, eyes darting toward the door like she’d just been caught in a heist, not a moment of tension.

You pulled back immediately, your brows scrunching in disbelief as you turned to Dean. “Ever heard of knocking, pendejo?!”

Dean’s mouth opened. Closed. “I—uh—I’m sorry!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “But you seriously need to get ready, like, now. They’re doing light and sound tests. PR wants behind-the-scenes footage. Dress cool because it’s already, like, a hundred degrees out.”

You stood up, brushing your hoodie down and glaring at him, hands on your hips.

“I always dress cool,” you attempt to make a joke

Dean blinked. “What?”

“Nothing, It was a joke, a bad one clearly” you snapped, already stomping toward the door. “Just—get out!”

You shoved him backward with one palm to his chest and slammed the door shut with a loud thunk, the echo rattling through the hallway.

Silence settled again in the room.

You turned slowly, cheeks flushed, breathing hard—not just from the yelling.

Sevika was still on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor like she was trying to pretend she hadn’t been two seconds away from losing control.

And you?

You kind of wanted to slam the door on Dean’s face again.

Your palms pressed against the door, head bowed for a moment as you tried to collect yourself after nearly committing second-degree manslaughter via hotel hallway.

Behind you, Sevika finally spoke.

“Maybe you should stick to singing,” she said dryly. “Not comedy.”

You turned slowly, the tension in your shoulders still tight—but your face unreadable, quiet. The silence stretched between you like a rubber band.

Then, without a word, you reached for the hem of your hoodie and peeled it off in one smooth motion, followed by your tank top, tossing both onto the chair like they were nothing.

Sevika blinked once.

You were standing there in a white lace underwear set—delicate and pretty but unflinchingly bold. Your scar was fully exposed, a pale streak of memory across your hip, stubborn and unhidden.

Sevika’s mouth dropped open. “What are you doing?!”

You arched a brow and moved toward your suitcase, deadpan. “Giving you a show, obviously.”

She stood quickly, caught between panic and protest. “Y/N—”

“Where else am I supposed to change?!” you asked, yanking your suitcase onto the bed with a little thud. “The hallway? Want me to ask Dean for privacy?!”

“I dont know: the bathroom?!” Sevika yelled back

You furrow your brows and turned your back to her as you rifled through your outfit options, walking to the full-length mirror with nothing on but confidence and lace. Sevika’s eyes followed you—unintentionally at first.

The lily tattoo on your shoulder blade caught her eye, soft lines and shaded petals, a clear memorial inked with meaning. But as her gaze dropped, it caught something else entirely.

A tramp stamp.

Hearts—sharp-edged and spiked, bold and unapologetic ink etched low on your back, right above the curve of your hips.

Sevika swallowed, suddenly very warm.

You grabbed a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans and shimmied into them slowly, the fabric hugging your hips as you adjusted the waistband just right. Then came the top—a dark brown, low-cut, halter tank that sat soft and light against your chest, leaving your collarbones exposed and glowing under the room’s soft light.

You ran your fingers through your hair, tousling it lazily as you turned around.

And paused.

Sevika was still staring.

Caught.

“You good?” you asked, teasing—though there was a flicker of something else behind your voice now.

Sevika blinked, jaw tightening. “I—yeah. Fine.”

But she hadn’t looked away yet.

The festival grounds were a swarm of motion—early chaos before the glamour. Vendors were unpacking crates of merch and overpriced sunglasses, food trucks were heating up fryers, and tech crews shouted instructions across the open air as they set up towering speakers and lighting rigs.

Carnival rides creaked in the distance, half-assembled but already glowing faintly with bright pastel bulbs. You could hear the clatter of metal being locked into place, the distant hum of generators kicking on.

It was hot. Ridiculously hot.

The kind of heat that made your makeup melt before you even had time to sweat it off. You were already hungover from your in-flight drink binge, sunglasses perched on your nose, sipping a smoothie like it was medicine while mentally planning how many drinks it would take to get you on that ferris wheel by sundown.

Sevika trailed just a few steps behind you, sunglasses on, jaw clenched slightly like she was doing her best not to groan out loud.

She'd ditched the leather jacket hours ago—too hot, even for her—and now wore the too-tight black tank top the event staff had handed out to all security members. “SECURITY” was printed bold across her chest, right over her abs, which the top did absolutely nothing to hide. Her baggy cargo pants and combat boots grounded her, but the shirt made her stick out more than blend in.

You were vaguely aware of how many heads were turning to stare at her—not you—and you weren’t even mad about it. Just amused.

“God,” Sevika muttered, half to herself, glancing around at the dust, the makeshift booths, the speakers being hoisted on cranes. “This reminds me of Warped Tour.”

You turned to look at her, one brow raised behind your shades. “What’s that?”

Sevika froze.

Her head turned slowly. “…You’re a singer,” she said flatly. “And you don’t know Warped Tour?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Umm… oh! That was popular in the 2000s, right? For, like, emos? Fall Out Boy?” You flashed her a sugary smile.

Sevika stared at you in betrayal, arms crossing over her chest. “Yeah. Emos.”

You gave her a wink and turned back around, walking ahead with an extra bounce in your step, smug as hell.

Behind you, Sevika muttered something under her breath.

It was probably a slur in the sacred language of ex-scene kids.

The rehearsal area was alive with movement—singers pacing in circles doing vocal warmups, dancers stretching and marking through routines, a few idols adjusting their in-ear monitors while staff carried water bottles and clipboards like Olympic batons. The sun beat down without mercy, sweat already glistening on everyone’s skin, and the buzz of music equipment being tested echoed in the background.

You were barely paying attention, casually scrolling through your phone as Dean talked to a festival coordinator about your set schedule and accommodations, hands flailing like usual. Sevika stood a few feet behind you, arms crossed and sunglasses low on her nose, eyes constantly scanning the crowd.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Y/N!!!”

A voice rang out like a firecracker.

You barely had time to register it before a blur of bright blue came charging toward you—shoulder-length braids bouncing, arms flung open, paint-stained ripped jeans flapping like flags in the wind. The girl wore a cropped high-neck tank and a moon tattoo inked sharp across her right bicep.

Before you could react, Sevika stepped in front of you like a wall, and the girl slammed into her with a solid oof, stumbling back and landing right on her ass in the dirt.

“The hell’s your deal, man?” the girl snapped, looking up with a scowl.

You peeked over Sevika’s shoulder—barely managing to see anything at all from behind her massive frame, standing on your toes, eyes just clearing her arm.

Then your face lit up.

“Jinx?!” you gasped, squeezing past Sevika and practically tackling her in a hug.

“Y/N!!!” Jinx squealed, springing up to her feet. The two of you spun each other in a circle like it had been years—and honestly, it felt like it had. Sevika winced and muttered something as she covered her ears with both hands like the screeching physically hurt her.

“What are you doing here?” you asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look Jinx up and down. “Wait—don’t tell me. Is Ekko headlining?”

“Yep,” she grinned, popping the p as she adjusted one of her braids. “And I got hired to paint one of the main murals too. Look!” She pointed toward a roped-off area across the grounds, buckets of paint and scattered tarps surrounding a massive blank concrete wall.

You turned just in time to see Dean spinning around looking for you, clearly realizing he’d lost track of you. His eyes landed on Jinx and lit up.

“Ohhh my God,” he said, suddenly appearing beside you both, teeth bared in a marketing-smile. “Jinx! It’s been forever, you look amazing!”

Jinx’s face twisted immediately into visible discomfort as he pulled her into a hug she did not reciprocate. Her arms stayed at her sides, awkward and stiff, and she lifted her hand like a warning sign.

“Haha… yeah… still married to Ekko,” she said with a forced smile, pointing to her silver wedding band and pressing a hand to Dean’s chest to physically push him off.

You furrowed your brows slightly but didn’t say anything—just looped your arm through hers like a reflex and started walking toward the mural wall.

Sevika followed wordlessly behind, eyes flicking between Dean and Jinx like she was mentally evaluating what level of crime it would be to trip your manager in broad daylight.

“When are you gonna get a new manager?” Jinx asked under her breath, leaning close to your ear.

“I’m working on it,” you whispered back.

And honestly?

You meant it.

The food truck stood out like a candy-coated beacon at the edge of the festival grounds—bubblegum pink with swirls of frosting-like paint curling across the metal sides. A striped awning shaded the serving window, and the smell of sugar and fried dough hit your nose like a warm hug.

Made sense. Dessert truck.

A girl with bright blue and pink curls stood behind the counter, grinning from ear to ear like she’d waited her whole life for someone to ask for a funnel cake.

“What can I get you ladies?” she asked, voice bubbly and sweet as the powdered sugar floating through the air.

“Funnel cake, please,” Jinx said, already pressing her face slightly too close to the menu board as she looked at you expectantly.

You froze.

Your mouth opened.

Then closed.

A quiet thrum started in the back of your head—too familiar. Too sharp.

Maybe you shouldn’t. Maybe people were already whispering. Maybe someone would take a photo, post it, zoom in on your arms or your stomach or the way you chewed and laugh about it on Instagram. Maybe all those people who said they loved you would decide you were just some cow in a crop top pretending to be sexy.

“Y/N?” Jinx asked, her head tilting. “You okay?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the spiral, heart thumping.

“Uh—” you started, voice catching. You looked back up at the menu, reading each item like it was written in another language.

Then—

Smack.

A twenty-dollar bill hit the high counter with a sharp slap. Sevika, standing at your side, didn’t even flinch.

“She’ll take a candy apple,” she said, her voice deep and final, like a verdict.

The worker blinked, nodded quickly, and disappeared into the truck with a rustle of paper and the sizzle of caramel.

You turned to Sevika, stunned. “Why did you do that?”

You dug into your pocket, pulling out your wallet. “Here—let me pay you back.”

Sevika shook her head. “It’s fine.”

You didn’t listen. “That was really nice, Sevika, but you didn’t have to. I know times are kind of tight for you right now and—”

You pulled out a few crumpled bills, trying to push them into her hand. She didn’t take them.

Instead, she pressed her palm lightly against your chest, the money crumpling between you, her eyes narrowed just slightly.

“Sweetheart,” she said, voice low, “I said it’s fine.”

The word sweetheart hung in the air like smoke.

Both of you froze.

Your eyes widened. Hers did too.

Jinx, already halfway to biting her cuticles from sugar anticipation, blinked and looked between you two like she’d just walked in on something.

Then the worker returned, holding a funnel cake and a candy apple, the awkward tension immediately slapping her in the face.

“Here you ladies g—uh… is everything okay?”

Jinx snatched the funnel cake out of her hands so fast she may as well have teleported. “Yeah, they’re fine. Thanks, toots,” she mumbled, eyes wide, powdered sugar already on her chin.

You cleared your throat, trying to reorient yourself as you reached for the candy apple, cheeks burning.

“Thanks, ma’am,” you said softly, forcing a polite smile.

The worker blinked but smiled back before backing away slowly, clearly not wanting to get involved.

The three of you walked away from the truck, sugar in hand.

Then Jinx, mouth full of fried dough, glanced between you and Sevika again.

“Uhhhh… what the fuck was that?” she asked, powdered sugar puffing from her lips like smoke.

You bit into your candy apple, sweet caramel coating sticking to your lips, but your mind was elsewhere. “Didn’t get much sleep last night,” you said, brushing Jinx’s question off with a shrug, pretending the sudden shift in energy between you and Sevika hadn’t just knocked the air out of you.

Jinx eyed you like she didn’t quite buy it but didn’t push.

As the two of you made your way back toward the rehearsal zone, the distant beat of bass and mic checks rumbling through the air, she nudged your shoulder with hers.

“Well,” she grinned, licking powdered sugar from her thumb, “I gotta finish this mural before my boss realizes I wandered off again.”

You laughed and pulled her into a hug, squeezing tight. “It looks great. I’ll see you later, Jinx.”

She gave you a playful salute and sauntered off toward the wall, twirling a paintbrush like a baton. You watched her go, only half-finished with your candy apple before tossing it in a nearby trash bin.

When you turned around, Sevika was already watching you. Neither of you said anything.

You just… looked. And then you moved on.

Back inside the fenced-off area, Dean was deep in conversation with some dancers until he spotted Jinx in the distance—bent over a paint bucket, sleeves rolled, smudges of color on her cheeks.

“Hey,” he said, sidling up next to you, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. “You think Jinx is into me?”

You blinked at him, face blank. Then grimaced.

“Dean,” you said with mock politeness, “please, for the love of all things holy, fuck off.”

He pouted dramatically but wandered off as fashion staff approached, waving you toward the changing trailers. You followed, slipping behind the curtains into your designated space.

The trailer was cozy and familiar, done up in your signature style—baby pink accents, heart decals on the walls, cute throw pillows, soft light strips lining the mirror. It felt like a mobile version of your dressing room back home. There was even a mini cooler stocked with chilled water, juice, and soda.

Sevika stepped inside behind you and immediately crouched in front of it, yanking it open. She grabbed a water bottle and cracked the seal with a satisfying pop, tilting it back and chugging the whole thing in seconds. A few droplets slid down her chin, catching in the hollow of her throat.

One of the fashion assistants—clipboard clutched tight to her chest—was visibly blushing, peeking over the top of her notes like she was watching a forbidden scene in a romance novel.

“Ma’am,” you said, raising an eyebrow.

No answer.

“Ma’am.”

Still nothing.

“MA’AM.”

She jumped and blinked hard, snapping her eyes to you, flustered. “S-sorry! Sorry,” she stammered, lowering the clipboard and flipping it open like that would somehow save her. “So! Um—we have a few outfits for you to try. They all match the dancers.just thought it would be good to give some options”

Another assistant stepped forward, arms full of fabric, and laid a few pieces out on the pink couch.

You didn’t hesitate. You began to strip.

Sevika stood up so fast she knocked the cooler lid closed with her boot, turning to face the wall like she’d just been caught doing something illegal. She kept her eyes forward… except for one small glance. Just one. Down. And then snap—back to the wall.

You slipped into the first outfit—a shiny metallic pink halter top with a rhinestone heart charm dangling at the bust. The front slit dipped low, tied around your neck, and hugged your frame paired with a ruffled jean skirt cinched by a heart chain belt, and finished the look with pink metallic boots.

In the full-length mirror, you looked like a popstar. A real one. Glossy. Unapologetic.

But the top hem of your scar peeked out across your stomach. It curled just slightly below the edge of the halter, visible when you turned even a little. It would show during spins, jumps, anything.

You stared at it.

Even now, after everything, it still made your chest ache.

You clenched your jaw. “Give me another,” you said to the assistant, shaking your head, hands already reaching to untie the top.

But then—

“I think it’s hot,” Sevika said, her voice low.

You stopped.

The room went still.

You looked at her through the mirror—her reflection watching you, eyes no longer trying to hide.

And she didn’t take it back.

You froze, fingers still hooked in the tie of the halter top, the knot half-undone.

The fabric hung slightly loose at your chest, but you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about what Sevika just said.

You turned toward her slowly, the mirror forgotten, the assistants forgotten—just you and her and the words still hanging in the air like smoke.

“You… what?”

Sevika leaned against the wall again, arms crossed, face mostly unreadable—except for the faintest pink at the tips of her ears.

“I said I think it’s hot.” She nodded once toward your scar, then added, “You look hot.”

Your mouth parted slightly.

Behind you, the assistant practically squeaked, backing away with the second outfit like she was trying to disappear into the couch. You heard a frantic whisper and a giggle as she and the other assistant scrambled out, not even bothering to close the door all the way.

The trailer was silent again.

Your voice was quiet when it finally came. “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Sevika’s eyes met yours. “Do I look like I say shit I don’t mean?”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The tension in your shoulders slipped, replaced with something else—warmth. Embarrassment. Maybe even a flicker of pride.

You looked down at yourself, at the shimmer of the pink halter against your skin, at the scar—raw, real, you.

And for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like a flaw.

It felt like something someone wanted to touch.

You looked back at Sevika. “Well,” you said softly, smirking as you smoothed the top back into place, “guess I’m keeping the outfit.”

She huffed a breath through her nose, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Good.”

The sun was still high, casting a gold haze over the rehearsal area as you stepped out of the trailer, your boots thudding softly against the packed dirt.

Sevika walked beside you, hands in her pockets, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses. You kept glancing down at yourself—at the way the metallic halter hugged your body, at how the chain belt shifted with every step. Even with Sevika’s words still echoing in your head, it was hard not to fall back into that old habit of checking… adjusting… second-guessing.

You looked down one second too long and your toe caught the edge of a cable snaking across the ground.

Your body tipped forward—but you didn’t hit the ground.

Sevika caught your arm with lightning-fast reflexes, steadying you before you could do more than gasp.

She kept her grip light but firm, eyes scanning your face for something unspoken.

Sevika had been hired to protect you from crowds, stalkers, creeps, overzealous fans.

But lately… it felt like she spent most of her time protecting you from yourself.

From the voices in your head. From the weight of expectations. From the times you stared in the mirror like it owed you something.

You muttered a soft “thanks” as you brushed your hair back, trying to play it off.

She just nodded once and let go.

You reached the edge of the stage area where Dean was waiting, practically bouncing in place. He gave you a full once-over, not even bothering to hide it.

“You look sexy!” he grinned, eyes wide with approval.

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your gaze flicked sideways to Sevika instinctively, watching her reaction out of the corner of your eye.

She said nothing—but the muscle in her jaw twitched.

Dean clapped his hands. “Alright, let’s run it! I want full energy like it’s the real thing. Cameras are up, and PR wants behind-the-scenes footage later, so if you sweat, sweat cute!”

You rolled your eyes and stepped up onto the stage.

The lights blinked on. The music started.

And the rehearsal began.

You got through the first song with practiced ease, body moving on instinct—your voice hitting the right notes, your feet landing on every beat. The stage was still only half-lit, but the sound was crisp, and the backup dancers moved like extensions of your rhythm.

As you struck the final pose, chest rising and falling, sweat starting to gather at the nape of your neck, you heard it—

Light clapping.

You glanced stage left.

Jinx stood in her little roped-off corner, paintbrush tucked behind her ear, grinning like she was watching her favorite sitcom live. She was surrounded by open cans of paint and a partially-finished mural, but she’d paused mid-stroke just to cheer you on—hands clapping a little too eagerly, like you’d just saved the world.

You gave her a breathless smile and a playful two-finger salute before wiping your forehead.

The rest of rehearsal passed in a blur.

Choreography was tweaked, lights were reset. You changed outfits twice. Your dancers ran formations. There were pauses for water, quick mic checks, and tiny arguments between Dean and the lighting crew.

Sevika remained close through it all. Always nearby. Watching. Quiet. Her eyes followed you each time you crossed the stage, hands tensed whenever you so much as looked unsteady. But she never interrupted. Never hovered.

She just stood there, like a shadow made of steel.

Eventually, Dean clapped his hands and called it.

“That’s a wrap! Let’s reset for show day. Everyone hydrate, rest up. And someone please get this girl a smoothie!”

You exhaled hard, sweat dripping down your spine, heart still thudding.

One rehearsal down.

The real show was coming fast.

The trailer was quiet now, the hum of rehearsal distant, muffled by the walls and heavy heat of the afternoon. You stood in front of the mirror, your metallic top now folded neatly on the counter, the chain belt looped over the back of a chair. You’d changed into something more comfortable—just a cropped band tee and cotton shorts—but your skin was still warm, still buzzing with adrenaline and exhaustion.

You stared at your reflection.

At the sweat still glistening at your collarbones.

At the smear of eyeliner under one eye.

At the scar that curved softly along your stomach.

Your hand hovered over the small bottle sitting on the counter next to your water bottle. The label was peeled at the edge from too many times being opened with shaking fingers.

You popped the cap.

One pill. Then another.

The familiar dull rush started to trickle in, slow and warm.

Then—

Knock knock.

You jumped.

Sevika.

You didn’t even need to hear her voice to know.

In a second, you snapped the cap back on the bottle and shoved it into your bag under the table, zipping it up with a quick flick of your wrist. You took a long sip of water, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and smoothed your hair down like nothing had happened.

“Yeah?” you called, keeping your tone casual.

“I’m coming in,” Sevika said through the door, her voice low.

You glanced toward your bag. You knew she knew. You felt it in your chest.

But you weren’t ready to have that conversation.

Not yet.

The door creaked open, and Sevika stepped in, ducking her head slightly from habit, like she didn’t quite trust the trailer frame not to hit her.

Her eyes swept the room first—always the room, then you. When her gaze finally landed on you, it lingered for just a second longer than it should’ve.

“Didn’t see you after rehearsal,” she said, her voice a little rough around the edges. “You disappeared.”

You offered a tight smile and turned your attention back to the mirror, adjusting a wrinkle in your shirt that wasn’t really there. “Needed a minute. It was hot. Loud.”

Sevika gave a soft grunt of agreement, stepping closer, pulling a bottle of water from the cooler. She unscrewed the cap, then paused—watching your reflection more than your actual face.

You caught her eyes in the mirror. She wasn’t saying anything, but the air between you tensed slightly.

Your stomach twisted.

She knew. Or at least, she suspected. But she wouldn’t call you out. Not yet. Not like that.

“You were good today,” she said finally, taking a sip. “Crowd’s gonna lose their shit tomorrow.”

You laughed, quiet and dry. “Hope so.”

She leaned against the small counter by the door, arms crossed again, but looser this time. “You okay?”

You glanced at your bag—just once, briefly.

Then forced another smile, smaller now. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Sevika didn’t push.

She just nodded slowly, like she was cataloging the answer. Saving it for later.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it wasn’t empty, either.

It was full of all the things you weren’t saying.

The trailer door clicked shut behind you, and you stepped down onto the gravel path just as the last stretch of sun dipped below the horizon.

The festival grounds had quieted. Most of the crew was gone or packing up for the night, the buzz of rehearsals replaced by the low hum of generators and the faint thump of distant bass tests.

You looked up.

The sky was a watercolor spill—purple bleeding into orange, streaks of pink softening into a deep indigo at the edges. It was the kind of sky you could get lost in if you weren’t careful.

Sevika walked beside you, hands shoved into the pockets of her cargo pants, her security badge now slung lazily around her neck. You glanced at her briefly, then tilted your head toward the sky.

“It’s so pretty out here,” you said, quietly. “You can actually see it.”

Sevika followed your gaze.

“In the city, it’s just gray,” you added. “All that light pollution... it’s like the sky’s being erased one billboard at a time.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then: “Never really looked up much before.”

You smiled, soft and faint, as the breeze rustled your shirt.

“Maybe you should start.”

Sevika didn’t reply, but she stayed beside you, her shoulder close enough to brush yours if you leaned just an inch.

Neither of you rushed the walk back. Not tonight.

Thursday Evening

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. The sky faded from rich indigo to a deep navy by the time you reached the building, streetlights casting gold shadows over the sidewalk.

You entered the hotel room without a word, the soft click of the door closing behind Sevika the only sound that followed you in.

Then you walked straight past the bed, your bag still slung over one shoulder, and into the bathroom.

Click.

The lock turned behind you.

You didn’t even meet her eyes.

Sevika stood frozen for a second on the other side of the door, staring at the wood like it had answers.

Inside, you dropped your bag onto the counter, hands moving on autopilot. You pulled out the bottle again. The pills rattled like broken thoughts.

You took one.

Then another.

The faucet groaned as you turned on the shower, steam already beginning to fog the mirror. You stripped down slowly, deliberately, the sound of the water pounding against the tile a numbing backdrop.

Your body ached.

Your chest was tight.

And part of you hated that she was out there, probably knowing, probably feeling it—but saying nothing.

You stepped into the shower and let the heat wash over you, eyes shut, water rushing down your back as you pressed your forehead to the cool tile wall.

Trying to breathe. Trying not to drown.

Steam billowed around you, wrapping your body in a cocoon of warmth that did nothing to settle the cold sinking deep in your chest.

You stood under the stream, head bowed, water cascading over your shoulders and down your back, masking the burn behind your eyes. You pressed your palms flat against the tile, letting the water thunder over you like it might wash the thoughts out too.

It didn’t.

You stayed in there until your fingers wrinkled and the room was thick with fog, your heartbeat heavy behind your ribs. The pills dulled the edge, sure—but not enough. Not in the way you hoped. Just enough to make everything feel far away. Floaty.

You finally stepped out, wrapping yourself in a towel as the mirror slowly began to clear, the outline of your face appearing in the fogged glass like a ghost.

You stared at yourself again.

Still you. Still that same scar, peeking just above your hipbone. Still that same ache behind your eyes.

You cracked the door open a few inches, steam rolling out past your bare legs and flushed skin. You didn’t hear anything at first, but as you stepped into the room, you spotted Sevika sitting on the edge of the bed.

She hadn’t changed. Still in her cargo pants, boots unlaced. Her elbows rested on her knees, head bowed slightly, one hand running along the back of her neck like she’d been sitting there thinking too hard for too long.

She looked up when you stepped out, eyes scanning you quickly—not in a lingering way. Not right now.

Just… checking. Making sure you were real. That you were still there.

You said nothing.

Neither did she.

The silence sat between you both—quiet, steady, heavier than before.

You walked past her, towel clutched tighter around yourself than you needed, and reached for your pajamas.

She still didn’t speak.

But she didn’t take her eyes off you either.

And maybe that was the part that scared you most. That she saw everything—and stayed.

The room was dark, lit only by the pale glow of the city bleeding through the window. The curtains fluttered faintly with the hum of the A/C, and the hotel bed—massive, soft, overstuffed—creaked with every restless shift.

You lay on one side, curled beneath the thin sheet in your favorite nightgown—soft, pale, barely clinging to your skin in the heat. Your leg shifted against the cool fabric again, trying to find comfort, distraction, anything.

Sevika lay a few feet away on the other side, in a worn tank top and fuzzy, oversized pajama pants that didn’t match her usual vibe but somehow suited her. She’d been silent since the lights went out, but her breathing was too shallow, her presence too tense.

Neither of you had said it aloud.

But neither of you were sleeping.

You tossed. Then turned. So did she.

Got it—let’s adjust that:

Sevika couldn’t take it anymore.

She threw the sheet off her legs with a frustrated grunt, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighter from the dresser. Wordless, barefoot, still in her loose tank and fuzzy pajama pants, she crossed the room and grabbed her keycard from the nightstand.

You turned your head slightly but didn’t ask where she was going.

She didn’t offer.

The door opened with a low click, a rush of hallway air brushing over your skin. Then it shut behind her, leaving you alone in the thick, heavy silence of the hotel room.

You stayed still for a moment, listening to the soft hum of the fridge, the distant traffic outside.

Then your arm slipped off the side of the bed.

You reached for your little leather backpack, the one tucked underneath the edge where Sevika wouldn’t notice. The silver stars caught a glint of passing headlights as you unzipped it quietly, your fingers wrapping around the familiar shape nestled inside.

Your breath hitched—just slightly—as you pulled the vibrator out and sank back into the pillows, heart racing with something that had nothing to do with nerves.

She was gone. Fully gone. Probably standing outside the building, cooling off or burning through half the pack.

You had a few minutes.

And you were so wound up, you didn’t even try to talk yourself out of it.

Outside, the air was cooler than Sevika expected—almost sharp against her bare arms. The hotel parking lot was mostly empty now, the festival buzz having died down for the night. A flickering streetlight buzzed faintly nearby as she leaned against the stone wall, cigarette perched between her fingers, smoke curling slow and quiet into the night.

She lit her second without thinking, gaze unfocused, fixed somewhere between the concrete and the sky.

It wasn’t just insomnia.

It was you.

The way you looked in that nightgown, slipping under the covers without a word, your back turned but your thoughts loud. The way you tried to hide things you were certain no one could see—especially not her.

She could see all of it. Too clearly, maybe.

Sevika let the smoke sit on her tongue before exhaling slowly, the weight of everything pressing in again. Her hand slid into her pocket, pulling out her phone. She stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Then she scrolled to Vi and hit call.

It rang a few times before a groggy voice answered, rough with sleep.

“...You serious right now?” Vi mumbled, followed by the sound of rustling sheets. “It’s like three in the damn morning.”

“I know,” Sevika muttered, staring at the ground. “Shut up.”

Vi was quiet for a second. Then, more alert: “...Is this about the popstar?”

Sevika didn’t answer right away. She just took another drag, letting the silence speak for her.

“Oh my God, it is,” Vi groaned. “What did she do now? Wear glitter near you again? Breathe too sexy? Say thank you with a smile?”

Sevika sighed, tilting her head back against the wall. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That makes two of us, babe.”

“She’s... not what I expected.”

Vi let out a sleepy chuckle. “Is that a bad thing or good thing”

“...good” Sevika said quietly.

Vi was silent.

Then, gentler: “Yeah. I figured.”

Sevika stared off into the dark, thumb brushing over the edge of her lighter.

“She’s hiding something. Lot of somethings,” she said finally. “And I don’t think I’m supposed to care. But I do.”

Vi sighed. “You always care, Sev. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Yeah,” Sevika muttered. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Sevika pushed through the hotel lobby, the last drag of her cigarette still lingering on her tongue, her head low, hands stuffed deep in her pockets. The cool night had done nothing to clear her thoughts—it only made them quieter, sharper.

She reached the door to the suite and grabbed the handle, pausing for a moment before sliding the keycard.

Then she heard it.

A sound, faint through the door—soft, breathy.

A moan.

Sevika froze, her fingers still wrapped around the handle, her body locked in place.

Her brows furrowed immediately. Ten minutes. She’d only been gone ten minutes. Was someone in there with you? Had you invited someone over?

A hot twist of jealousy curled low in her stomach, ugly and immediate. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath.

Carefully, she pressed her hand to the door and cracked it open just an inch, the room still dim with only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. And what she saw—

Her breath caught in her throat.

You were alone.

Sprawled on the bed, one knee bent, your nightgown pushed down around your waist. The sheet had been kicked off entirely, your skin glowing under the light, the soft rise and fall of your chest quick and uneven. One hand moved over your stomach, your other cupped around your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

Your lips were parted, glossy and flushed, brows slightly drawn as you shifted against the pillows, lost in the moment—your head tilted just enough for Sevika to see the faintest hint of a smile.

She couldn’t look away.

Her chest rose and fell, slower now, heavier. Her hand slid off the doorknob. She didn't dare open the door further, didn't dare let herself be caught watching—but her feet wouldn’t move either.

Because god help her, she wasn’t angry anymore. She was starving.

A/N : after rewatching lilo and stich (the animation not that god awful live action) ive been thinking about doing a beach special in this fic, thoughts

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