#Take Two IG filter

[thatoneluckybee]

uquiz answers round one

some of the best (and worst) things you atrocious freaks (affectionate) have given me

[deardev0teddelicate]

bitchin'n'moanin' |

jmxf!reader

Pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

Trekking west, walking all day, every day can get boring. You decide to entertain yourself, even if it pisses Joel off.

WC: 5.7k

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, female reader, no use of y/n, established relationship (of some sort) smut (oral [m receiving, mention of f receiving], brat/brat tamer dynamics, Joel is a little mean at times, dacryphilia [if you squint], choking, name calling, bondage, face fucking, manhandling, unprotected p in v [hearts before parts pls, don't be stupid like these idiots], creampie), mention of weapons, profanity, but of fluff at the end, no ellie au, personally i pictured pedro initially but then it got to the point where i started thinking about game joel so picture whoever you want ig

^if i missed anything lmk

Author's Note: it's done, thank god. i dedicate this to my handle of tito's.

Sexual content below, MDNI, 18+

It started when you woke up.

Your eyes fluttered open, the sky still soft and glowy from the sunrise over the horizon. Sitting up, you immediately noticed the rush of arousal that lay between your legs and the pang of need in your abdomen. You groaned knowing that the rest of the day was going to be hell, especially when you would be following behind Joel, watching his every step, his every move.

You turned to your side, bringing a hand up to your eyes to rub the sleep away. Sure enough, Joel was there. Awake.

He was already packing his equipment, rolling up his bed roll as tight as he could to optimize the limited space in his bag. Wearing the same denim button down he had on the night before, you noticed that he had haphazardly rolled up the sleeves past his elbows, exposing his very large forearms. The same very arms that would wrap around you when it was cold at night. The ones that would hold you in place as he buried himself deep into you.

Soft rays from the sun filtered through narrow spaces between the overlapping tree branches, caressing the contours of his face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together tightly. Darker bags than usual hung beneath his eyes. Must've not gotten the best sleep last night, you thought to yourself. Though, sleeping on the rough of the Earth every night left you tossing and turning too, when it was his turn to take watch.

You did feel guilty about that.

Joel planned out the shifts the two of you would take in the night, looking out for any signs of danger. You were well aware that the shifts were grossly uneven, no matter how many times you asked—pleaded—to take more. He would never let you, insistent on keeping the schedule consistent.

However, some nights, the two of you would stay up together, regardless of who was supposed to be watching. Those were the nights when your hands would be in his hair while he would kiss down your body, lapping between your folds drunkenly, sucking your clit, leaving your head spinning in pleasure. Those were the nights when you'd push him back and take him all at once, whether it be in your mouth or your pussy. You'd sit on his dick, riding him till he forgot his ow-

"Get up 'n pack. Gotta get movin'." His voice broke your train of thought, jolting you back into reality. Hyper aware of your too-loud, too-fast heart beat, you tried to reign yourself out of the memory of sharing body heat and passion, and into the present.

"Right," you muttered, looking away from him quickly, scrambling up to your feet, doing as he says. You suppressed a gasp that caught in your throat when the mid seam of your pants hiked up in a way that felt just right. Your panties were absolutely soaked with arousal. Back straightening, you looked over at Joel again. He had moved on to cleaning his gun with very precise, meticulous movements. He used a gentleness with it that you recognized from your late nights together. If only he would look over to you, see the intensifying need reflected in your eyes. You wished he would notice, that he would stride right over and ease the ache that pulsed in you. When he kept his focus on his own tasks, an idea popped into your head.

"Would you clean mine, too, while you're at it?" You asked him. He grumbled something.

"Thought I taught you how to do it."

"Well, yeah, but you're better at it," you looked over to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. He lifted his eyes up at you, finally, with irritation written on his lined face. Your heart fluttered at his gaze upon you. Could he be any more beautiful? "You also already have the supplies out, so might as well?"

His eyes narrowed, chin dropping down in annoyance before he turned back to his own gun. "Hand it over."

"Thank you," you said, walking over to him with your gun in hand. Leaning down to place it on the ground next to him, you stole a glance at him working. His focus was entirely on the gun, tunneling you out of his vision. The thought of taking him right then and there crossed your mind, get yourself off on him while you took his girthy cock all the way down your throat. But you knew that, if you did, precious daylight would be lost. There would be time for that later.

Instead you opted for something else. Reaching over, you placed your hand dangerously close to his dick, and licked one long stripe on the side of his neck, from the crook of his shoulder to beneath his ear. He stiffened under your touch and a muscle feathered in his jaw as he ground his teeth together. The sight of him about to lose control went right to your head, pride and confidence blooming in your chest.

He would never admit it, but you had him wrapped around your pinkie finger. If you knew Joel—which when you're crossing the entire length of the States on foot with only one other person for company, you learn that person like the back of your hand—he was seconds away from setting down his gun and pinning you under him. But before he could turn to you, you stood up, brushing the dirt off your knees.

Who says a girl can't have a little fun?

"I'm gonna go refill the canteens in that creek we saw last night." Turning on your heel, you left to go do just that. Joel watched as you walked away, his knuckles white and jaw clenched.

By the time you finished filling the canteens—gathering the water, boiling the water, letting the water cool and then pouring the water into the canteens—the sun was hanging above your head, warming your hair and face. You knew Joel would be more than done with his and your gun before you even finished your task, but that didn't stop you from lollygagging and stopping to look at a cool rock every once and a while. You weren't even at the campsite you and Joel had settled into the night before when he stepped into your line of sight.

He was carrying the bags and the guns, and a very unhappy look painted his features. Guilt washed through you, maybe you shouldn't have taken your sweet time. He dropped your bag at your feet and snatched his canteen from your hands, replacing it with your gun. The aggression that laced his movements should've diverted your antics, a not so subtle hint to cut it out.

You did not cut it out.

"Aw, thank you," you smiled at him. He scowled back, and turned to walk the direction that y'all were going in the night before. Your smile fell, and agitation wove into the back of your head. He wasn't playing with you. Shame. Frowning, you said, "You got dirt on my bag. You know you can just give it to me next time?"

It really didn't matter if he got dirt on it, though. The raggedy sack was covered in a film comprised of dirt and blood and soot. Your brows furrowed as he continued walked away, snapping at you by his thigh. Like you would a dog.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way his attitude made butterflies of anticipation dance with snakes of vexation low in your gut. Jogging to catch up with him, you made it a personal goal to push every single hairline trigger of his throughout the day.

Time progressed, the sun beat down on your heads, causing sweat drip from your forehead. Sexual frustration and heat exhaustion stirred together, blurring the line between your intended playful teasing and genuine grievances that you were not afraid to let him know.

"Joel, lets take a break up here under that oak tree. It's really hot."

"We're not taking a break. Drink some water."

"But I already drank some earlier and I don't wanna run out."

"Swallow your spit then." You knew he's Texan, but where the fuck was this guy from?

"That won't do anything." You whined, dragging your feet. Under the relentless sun everything was too much. Your legs felt as though weights were tied to your joints, and your temples pulsed, your heart beat pounding in your skull.

Holy. Fuck.

"Joel, it's so hot, c'mon."

"Not even that hot. Keep up 'n stop complainin'." His southern drawl bit his words. If it were normal, and it weren't miserable, usually that southern twang would send you into a sick and twisted frenzy that could only be helped by his hands on you.

"It is that hot. And my legs are really hurting, can we please take a break?"

He never responded to you.

This back and forth went on for most of the day. At one point, you decided that kicking around a stone, about as large as your palm, while you walked would be entertaining. You tapped your foot against it, sending it tumbling forward a few feet. You would smile as it rolled, walking up to it and kicking it again. It drew your thoughts from everything, quieted the words in your head and the jittery nerves under your skin. Till Mr. Stick-Up-the-Ass turned around with a sharp 'stop it'. You huffed intentionally making it loud enough for him to hear your dismay. He didn't acknowledge you.

When the sun hung low in the sky, y'all stopped, setting up camp for the night. When he pulled out his rations and began to eat, your mouth dried up and your stomach sank. Dehydrated mystery meat—for whatever night in a row it was—sounded the very least bit appetizing.

"Can we hunt?" You asked Joel, hope filling your eyes. Every once in a while, Joel would go out with you to find some critter, usually a squirrel, or if you were lucky, a rabbit or something larger. Together, you would catch it, kill it, skin it, gut it, and cook it. Hunting was one of the rarer events in y'all's life, but the hearty, makeshift meal prepared and consumed in the comfort of each other's presence meant everything to you.

"No." He didn't even look at you when you started talking.

"But why not? We haven't in a while…could be fun," you tried to reason with him, your stomach beginning to grumble at the thought of food that hadn't been sitting in your bag for who knows how long.

"You have your rations," was all he responded. You just stared at him incredulously.

"Fine, whatever." You got up and walked out of the camp site. Most nights, he'd take first watch, but seeing him was making your blood boil and your head reel. Fuck his schedule. You needed some space to calm down.

You walked out a few yards, pacing as you rubbed your temples, trying to ease the dull ache that was ever growing behind your eyes. The whole goddamn day he was short with you, and in part it made your pussy throb with need, in another, it drove you up the wall, and not in the way you would prefer. He was driving you bat-shit crazy.

Huffing, you plopped down on a rock, trying to bring your heart rate down. You sat there, observing, breathing, trying to get rid of the thought of Joel, and this fuck ass day, and his shitty attitude. Tried to get rid of the thoughts of him slamming you down and fucking every thought from you. He captivated you, intoxicated you. God, dammit.

The inky, night sky arrived with your slow, careful breathing. It was only a matter of time before you'd have to go get Joel and swap out. Moving from your rock, you walked back to the camp site y'all set up earlier in the night. Surprisingly, Joel was asleep, leaning against his bag, arms crossed over his chest. He looked peaceful when he was asleep, despite his soft mutters and tensed shoulders. His face would relax, a state of tranquility washing over him.

Sighing, you trudged to your mat and thanked God he was getting rest. Man fucking needed it.

But when you sat down, he said with his eyes still closed, "You calm down yet, darlin'?"

The pet name rattled in your brain, your body suddenly on edge.

"I've been calm, thank you very much. I think you're the one who's not been." You replied calmly.

"That so?" He opened his eyes, moving to sit up and stand. "That why you've been complainin' all day?"

"I wasn't complaining all day. You were the one who was being short and rude to me." You shifted the blame to him, defending yourself.

"Short 'n rude? Wouldn't've had to be if you weren't whinin' every second." His voice rose a little, standing only a few feet from you.

"Maybe I wouldn't whine and complain if you weren't such a dick all the time."

"Name callin' now are we? Real mature, darlin'," his arms crossed over his broad chest, making his shirt stretch taught. Jesus Christ. You were about to say something in rebuttal, till you glanced down ever so slightly, to where you saw his cock hard against his jeans. Looking back up as fast as you looked down, you changed tactics. He was in the palm of your hand. You knew it, he knew it, though he tried to hide it.

You rolled your shoulders back, relaxed your face, and pointed down to his crotch, "You wanna take care of that before we keep going?"

Joel clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing down at you.

His lack of response only encouraged you further. Sighing, you said to him in mock condescension, "I would offer to help, but we both know that you'd finish before you even put it in me, and then I would complain because you would be spent before I could even get there myself, and then I would get bitchy, and you would get all pissy and, you know, it would be a whole ordeal."

A beat. And then, with a quiet firmness, he said, "Shut your damn mouth."

"I thought you liked it open," you taunted, trying to suppress the smirk that was tugging on your mouth.

Joel strode over to you till your chests were pressed up against each other.

"You wanna say that again?" He grumbled, looking down his nose into your eyes. Despite his words making your legs feel a bit weaker, you squared your shoulders, narrowed your eyes and didn't back down from his attempts to intimidate you.

"I said I thought you liked my mouth open, Miller," you made sure to punctuate the last few words and emphasize his name. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but doesn't high risk yield high reward? Well, you were cashing in.

Joel lifted his hand to wrap around your throat , pushing you back against a nearby tree. "Fed up with your bitchin'n'moanin'," he hissed, reaching his other hand down to the apex of your thighs, palming you through your pants.

"And I'm tired of you bein' a grumpy old man all the fuckin' time," you retorted, working your fingers into the waistband of his pants. Two could play at this game. "You wanna boss me around? Fine, but some manners and a conversation every once in a while would be nice."

He leaned in close, so close you could feel the flickers of his breath on your lips, a ghost of a kiss. "Like you know what manners are. All day you been actin' like petulant child, throwin' a tantrum when y'don't get what you want."

You felt the hair on his stomach, signaling you were close to where you wanted to be. Opening your mouth to give a smart reply, he squeezed his hand ever so slightly on your neck, the pressure utterly euphoric. The words, once in your head, drained away and were reduced to nothing but a resigned whimper. All damn day, you were waiting for this all goddamned day.

"Nothing to say?" He asked, his hand now inside of your waistband, fingers resting at the top of your slit, a feather light touch. "Huh?" His grip on your neck released and blood rushed to your head, dizzyingly. In a swift movement, he pulled your hand from his pants and pinned it above your head, against the jagged bark of the tree. "Maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' brat all day, I'd let you touch me. All ya had to do was ask, darlin'."

You looked hungrily into his darkened eyes. Say, all you had to do was ask? You softened your gaze, and pouted your lips ever so slightly. "Will you fuck me?" And just in spite, you added, "Please? Pretty please, will you fuck me, Joel?"

He sneered, pulling his hand from your pants to grip your jaw, forcing it open. As he stuck his index and middle finger into your mouth, pushing down on your tongue, he said, "You ain't gonna say 'nother word, girl. And if you don't control yourself, I swear, 'm gonna fuck the brattiness from that mouth. Y'understand me?"

You nodded, as best as you could, your smirk subdued from his fingers filling your mouth. He pulled away, moving his hand to your throat once again, applying pressure, but not quite squeezing.

"Fucking say it."

"Yes," you whispered. Batting your eyelashes slowly, you held eye contact with him. You could tell he thought he had the upper hand. Hell, maybe he did have the upper hand on you, but you had him exactly where you wanted, so did it even really matter?

"'Yes' what?" He probed, shoving you further into the tree, bark biting into your skin through your shirt. You whined, from pain and pleasure deliciously chasing through your veins, making your heart jitter in excitement.

"Yes, sir." You whined, moving forward so your lips brushed his. How long could you tease him before he really broke?

"Attagirl," he murmured, the approval shooting straight to your core, before he attacked your lips with fervor. Excitement flipped in your stomach, coursing through your veins.

Your lips meshed together, tongue and teeth clashing against each other with the heat of desire. Your moans were captured by his mouth, and his by yours. He dragged his hand from your throat down to your clothed tit, squeezing gingerly. Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver shuddering through you, contrasting the sticky sweat that coated your skin. The juxtaposition of his soft touch on your breast to the fierce attack of his tongue and lips on yours made you feel exhilaration even the most intense drug couldn't replicate.

Your hand that was left unattended by him rested low on the tree beside you. While he was preoccupied, you slowly moved to palm him through his jeans. His eyes shot open at the feeling of your hand on his hardened cock. The pressure you had placed stimulated him in a way his nerves lit on fire. He let go of your tit, and within the blink of an eye, you were on your knees and both of your hands were locked in the grip of his right hand.

"You don't know when to fuckin' stop, do ya?" He began to unbuckle his pants, pulling them down just enough to free his cock from the confines of his clothes. "Since your insistent on getting my dick in your hands, let's see it in that mouth of yours."

His left hand gripped your lower jaw in a strong hold, thumb prying open your kiss swollen mouth. You could see the precum leaking from his tip, glistening in the moonlight, making your mouth water and your pussy ache with need for some sort of friction. Joel pushed his hips forward, his dick replacing his thumb. The change of weight in your mouth was a welcome difference.

He let out a hiss of pleasure as you sucked in your cheeks around him. You looked at him through your lashes, examining every twitch in his face, flutter of his eyelids, bob of his Adam's apple. He was a work of art, and when you had him like this, he deserved to be in a museum. After a moment of sliding your tongue under the velvety skin of him, he moved his free hand to the back of your head and pushed his cock further, down your throat. The tip of his cock squeezed itself into the narrow passage of your pharynx, drawing out a whimper from you. The sight of you must've been absolutely, utterly pathetic.

A guttural groan escaped from Joel's lips as his head tilted back in satisfaction, before he began to piston his hips. Saliva pooled on your tongue, lubricating his dick causing the lewd sound of him fucking your face echo in your ears. A particularly deep thrust sent his cock further down your throat, past where it would could settle comfortably, causing you to gag on his length. Tears brimmed your eyes while you focused on breathing through your nose. You moved your tongue to put pressure on a sweet spot of his, rubbing the spot with the movement of his hips, luring him closer and closer to finishing in your mouth.

"Fuck," His breathing faltered, but his grip on your hands and head tightened as his hips become to be more erratic. "Fuck!" You groaned at his words, sending vibrations up his dick that made him shudder. Tears began to overflow, running in single tracks through the dirt down your cheeks, muddling your sight and enhancing your hearing. The noises leaving him were practically pornographic. He was. So. Close. He was right there, just a little further and you had him.

Then, without warning, he pulled out from you completely, leaving you staring at him with half lidded, watery eyes, the feeling of him down your throat nothing but a phantom, now.

No, no, no, he was close, you were so close. A faint sob escaped from you in protest.

"Need to fuck you, darlin'. Need that pussy o' yours wrapped around me," he panted, chest heaving up and down rhythmically. He placed a hand on your cheek, smearing your tears with his thumb, gently. No matter how much you teased him, you had to admit that Joel's self-control was utterly ridiculous, and maddening for that matter. If he kept fucking your face, for even just two more seconds, he'd be cumming in your mouth by now. Whatever, you could still work with it.

You knew him, knew how close he was. And you could get him there. He just needed a little motivation.

"What's wrong, baby?" You rasped, panting, trying to catch your breath. "You feeling good?" Knowing your patronizing tone would just piss him off, you smiled sweetly.

"Brat," he snarled, pushing you to the ground, your face lying on the very edge of his bedroll.

Bingo.

"Think pissin' me off is cute?" You whined a hum of amusement. "Gonna look real cute takin' ev'ry inch of me."

You tilted your head, so your nose buried into the soft material of Joel's mat. It smelled just like him—fire, sweat 'n' dirt, and the softest hint of gunpowder 'n' leather. The clink of his belt buckle hitting the ground rang in your ears, and was followed by the feeling of smooth leather bind your wrists together, allowing for him to use both of his hands on you. He worked efficiently to roll off your pants and underwear, the night air kissing your now bare skin. More ruffling of fabric was heard, a few grunts from him as he maneuvered his own pants off of his body. A shiver ran down your spine, and Joel's hand came up and over the curve of your ass. Every touch of his, was heaven sent to you. You savored anything and everything he would offer you.

"Look at that, darlin'. You're drippin' f'me." His fingers moved down to your pussy, gathering up your arousal from your hole and meticulously tracing up to find your clit. The moment his fingers passed over it, you mewled in pleasure, the muscles in your legs growing weaker and weaker by the minute, becoming more pliant under his hands.

"That's right," he drawled, circling the bundle of nerves. You felt a low thrum in your lower abdomen as intense pleasure radiated from your core. Your back bowed further as you tried to push yourself harder on his fingers hoping for more pressure, more friction. A deep moan elicited from your vocal folds.

"Joel," your eyelids had begun to feel leaden, and your vision was starting to go foggy at the edges. "Joel."

His fingers circled faster, and you could feel a your muscles tighten, your orgasm drawing close and fast. You felt him adjust himself behind you, lining up with your entrance. God, he was right there, all it would take is one small movement.

"Need somethin', darlin'? Or you just like sayin' my name?" You could hear the wicked grin on his face as he teased you, dragging his cock in your slick. You played games with him, and he had taken the baton from you. It was his turn now, whether you liked it or not—you didn't just like it, you craved it.

"Joel," you repeated, an indirect, direct response. A smile painted your mouth when he reached up to grab the back of your neck and pull you just enough off of the ground. You whined at his hands on you, to which he simply tsked.

"I know, darlin'," he said, his tip teasing at your entrance still. God, what on Earth was he waiting for? "And as much as I love the way you say m'name, I think you still need to learn that lesson o'yours."

Your brow furrows slightly at his words not quiet comprehending what he said to you.

"Jo-"

As you were going to ask him what he meant, he shoved your panties in your mouth. Tasting yourself, you moaned, the sound now muffled. He leaned over your body, and you could feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

"There, got that mouth and those hands o'yours put away. Gonna be good, now?" His voice filled your ear, blocking out all everything that could be heard elsewhere. Joel was all consuming, taking up every nook and cranny in your mind, body, and soul . Letting go of your neck, his fingers traced down lightly to your hips. The delicate touches on your waist tormented you, making you squirm.

"Uh uh, darlin'. I asked you a question. You gonna be good f'me, now?" He tsked, moving his hands further to your hips, suddenly holding you hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. Looking over your shoulder, as best as you could, you eyed him sweetly and nodded a soft yes.

"Good."

Without a second to spare, he pushed into you in one, smooth movement. Your eyes rolled back and your body melted into the roll at the feeling of being suddenly so full. Yes, God, yes. He stilled, the base of his curls at the base of his cock brushing the soft skin of your ass. Together, you breathed deeply, relishing in the feeling of each other.

He didn't wait long, though, till he hiked your hips up, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. The only thing your body could process was him. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. It was all him, and without him holding you together, you were certain that you would dissolve into thin air.

"Attagirl," you bit down on the fabric, preening at his praise. His hips began to move, his dick sliding oh so easily in and out of you, rubbing against all the right places. Out and in, in and out. His movements were slow at first, the pressure building up in your abdomen once again. Molten pleasure sparked from where you and Joel were connected, flowing through where his hands were on you, all the way to where his lips were now kissing just behind and under your jaw. The obscene noises of him slipping through your arousal only turned you on more, your wetness dewing his coarse hair, dampening y'all's skin. Your eyelids fluttered, whimpers sounding from you.

"Was this what you needed? You actin' up all day just 'cause you needed a good fuck?" You sighed, and nodded once more to him. You wriggled your ass further into him. He growled, pulling out of you completely, leaving you empty, exposed. You whined, objecting his rude abandon. Shivers ran down your spine at the chill of the air. You twisted to see what him.

His fingers were working to undo the belt around your wrists, skin burning from the friction, shoulders sore from the awkward positioning they had been resting in. Your newfound ability to move allowed for you to help him as he flipped you on your back. Together, you pulled your shirt up and over head. At the sight of your fraying bra, Joel reached around to unclasp it, revealing your tits to him in the cooled night air. His eyes raked over your body in admiration, taking in every ounce of your beauty. One thing you could say about Joel, he never failed to make you feel like the most gorgeous woman in the world. He would kiss, and worship every inch of your body. It made you feral.

Slowly, as if not to startle him like an untamed animal, you raised your hand to take the fabric from your mouth. He watched you do so and took your panties, stuffing them into his back pocket. Your eyes flashed at that. Taking his face into your hands, you pulled him down to you, initiating a hungry kiss. He took your offer, now fully hovering over you, your legs planted to the ground, knees by his waist.

Grinding into you, he reached down to pump his dick a few times in his fist and enter you again. A whole new feeling of euphoria blooming inside of you. He swallowed your moans, pressing you further and further into the bedroll.

Joel's lips left yours, ghosting down to your jaw, nipping along down to your clavicle. His teeth bit down on you skin, the heat from your blood pooling to the area. Letting go, his tongue washed over the bite, soothing the sting.

"Joel," you whispered, "please."

"'Please' what, darlin'," his lips left your chest, breathing heavily as he rested his forehead on yours.

"I," he thrusted out and into you, taking the breath from your lungs. "I want you to fuck me. Please fuck me, Joel."

And you didn't have to ask him twice.

He pressed your thighs up by your chest, stretching you even wider than you were, allowing him to spear into you deeper, hitting your cervix over and over and over with each thrust. Your eyes rolled back as he fucked you senseless. His thick cock filled your hole, splitting you open, spreading the juices from your pussy all over his dick and the inside of your thighs.

You found control of your body after a moment of getting used to being fucked like a toy. Snaking your hand down, you found where his was on your leg, holding them in place. Taking his hand from you, you brought it up to your neck, placing him where you wanted, letting the weight fall on you.

"Want me to choke you, darlin'? You like that?" He applied pressure, blood draining from your head. You simply nodded, your orgasm just within reach. His was too, his controlled movements in and out of you falling off rhythm, more sloppy.

"Yes, sir," you whimpered, shifting your hips to feel more of him.

"Attagirl," Joel muttered under his breath, coming down to kiss you. You could hear the wetness of the kiss, the wetness of your pussy pulsating around him. It was scandalous. "You just needed me to fuck the attitude outta you, ain't that right?" You hummed, the band in your abdomen tightening, your release imminent, now.

His rhythm picked up, and so did your breathing. You tapped a finger on his hand, and he released his grip on you, bringing it to the side of your face, holding you gently. His head fell to the crook of your shoulder, his lips fire on your sensitive skin.

"Joel, I'm right there. Please, Joel, please. Joel," you chanted, a sacred prayer on your lips, not caring however desperate you looked. Your walls were fluttering and clenching around him.

"Let go, darlin', been so good," his voice was breathy, but calm through his heavy breaths.

His words were the final blow of the hammer as you fell over the edge.

"Shit," he groaned, his motions falling to a stop as you felt him release, painting your walls white. Still riding your orgasm, your pussy milked him, pulling every last drop of him in you, his cum filling you to the brim.

He stayed in you, while your heavy breathing came to a slow. Beads of sweat dripped from his beard, falling on you and sliding down your sternum. When both him and you came down from your high, he pulled out of you, your arousal drenching him. His cum leaked out from you, sliding through your swollen folds.

He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen on him in a while.

"You okay, baby?" You asked him, reaching for him to come back down close to you. He fell to your side, arm resting lazily on your waist pulling you to him.

"'M good. You okay?" He whispered into your neck while he rubbed your side up and down. You nodded, burying yourself into his chest. "Good. You did s'good f'me, darlin'." Your arm reached over to wrap around his neck, holding him tight.

"I love you," you said, just above a whisper.

"I love you, too, darlin'."

In the dark of the night, you laid there together. Just him and you listening to each other's heart beats and softened breathing.

You knew he didn't always say it, but he always would show you how much cared for you. And deep down you knew that you would always be his, just as he would always be yours.

[moon-ttokki-x]

oh my god I’m stupid I requested 8, 9, and 39 for the SKZ prompt list but I forgot to ask for which member. Bangchan pretty please 🥺👉👈

hihi this took so long sorry >< . . . this is a lot more angsty than anticipated but i hope it works. i wrote it a little differently that i normally would, but here you go, love~~

stupidly perfect - (best friend!bang chan x reader)

pairing: best friend!bang chan x reader

summary: chan has never noticed how you feel for him, and one fateful evening, you let it all spill.

genre: angsty as hell, idol!au, reader lowkey enters their villain era, mentions of eating and drinking, overexcited maknaes, chan is kinda oblivious in this fic ngl, supportive felix, itzy mentions (yeji, ryujin, chaeryoung if that counts ig), this is super sad tbh

a/n: this took a while tbh . . . div by @ferretmilkshakezzz

⛓️ prompts: 8. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." / 9. "You can rest now." / 39. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine."

skz masterlist | skz prompt list | part two

"Y/n, do you wanna come to that ramen restaurant with us later?" Jisung tugs at your arm, skipping alongside you. "We've been wanting to go for ages, and we all finally have schedules off tonight."

"Yeah, come with us," Jeongin adds. "It'll be fun."

The maknaes are tagging all around you as you walk down the hallway, trying your best to keep a hold on all the papers you're carrying. It's difficult when they're fluttering around you like overexcited birds.

You'd taken the job at JYPE around four months ago; it was decided after a very long period of doubting and worrying that it wouldn't work out after what happened at your last workplace. But your best friend, Chan, had been super supportive throughout the whole thing, even offering to help you move into your little apartment down the road from the company. He'd brought some of his friends to help with the heavy lifting, and from there, you'd pretty much been adopted into the group he'd formed and was the leader of.

Not like you had a choice in the first place.

But you didn't mind; you'd been worried partly because of the fact that you wouldn't have any friends when you'd moved to this part of Korea; Chan had managed to inadvertently solve that issue without trying. Now, the four excitable boys skipped and bickered around you as you set down the papers on your office desk. Wiping the minimal sweat from your forehead, you sighed and pried Seungmin away from the trinkets neatly lining your bookshelf.

"Who else is going?" You ask as Jisung whines about you coming to the restaurant for the umpteenth time.

Seungmin shrugs, interrupting his friend. "All of the members, you, and a couple of the girls from our dance crew."

You feel your heart sink just as your brain tells you to agree; it's been ages since you went out with the guys, and you honestly couldn't wait for a break. Work was always stressful around comeback season, but you'd all settled into the rhythm of it soon enough. Spending an evening out with eight of your best friends eating some soul food sounded like a good idea. A better idea than spending the evening on the couch in your apartment, eating ice cream in complete silence. Alone.

You bite your lip, anticipating. "Which of the dance crew girls?"

Jeongin shrugs from the sofa, swinging his legs over a disgusted Seungmin's lap as he lounges back. "The usuals; Yeji, Ryujin, Young-hee, and Chae. Why?"

"No reason," you say, turning back to the bookshelf to unnecessarily reorganise something, fiddling with the solid fabric spine of one of your books. "I'll let you know if I'm coming. Now, clear out."

Your last comment doesn't bother the maknaes at all; they know you don't like your office being messed up, so they call goodbyes, and Jisung sneakily pokes your side as he filters out the door. Felix, however, remains.

You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest and keep a neutral expression as you turn the dark-haired boy. He looks so different from his usual blonde-haired countenance; however, no less beautiful, and not for the first time do you hold yourself back from carding your fingers affectionately through his hair.

You exhale. "Do you need something, Lix?"

He sits down on your chair, swinging it backwards and leaning his forearms across the back. An air of resignation flows around him. "You're not coming tonight, are you?"

You bite your lip. "I'll see."

His voice is quiet. "You've said that since Chae started hanging around us. Is it because of her?"

You scoff, dropping a pen. "No. Why would you think that?"

Felix leans forward on the chair, nosy. "It is because of her, isn't it? Do you not like her? Is it because of Chan-hyung?"

You whip around to face him, exasperated. The explanation bubbles out of you like molten lava from a temperamental volcano. "Okay, fine! I just- I can't stand seeing her around him. They're so close, and they always seem so wrapped up in each other-"

You cut yourself off then, not wanting to say anything you might regret. Chae is nice enough; she's never done anything explicitly hurtful towards you, though you secretly have suspicions that she doesn't like you at all. But you stay quiet, trying to dissipate the rising frustration blooming in your chest.

Felix is quiet.

You know he knows; he's known for ages about your little crush on his leader. You were afraid to tell him, once upon a time; but all you got in response from the affectionate chicken boy was a hushed giggle and a gentle encouragement to tell Chan how you feel. He hasn't told anyone else about your feelings, and you know he would continue to keep his mouth shut. But you wish, even just a little, that someone else would notice and find a way to get Chae away from your best friend.

"No wonder she likes him too," you say quietly to yourself, sinking into your office chair.

And it isn't a wonder, really. Chan is sweet, and gentle, and kind, and so, so, supportive and admirable. There's not a single flaw about him, except perhaps his slight dislike towards himself and his irritation when it comes to those soft, dark curls that frame his perfect face so perfectly-

You shake yourself out of it. Felix is still looking at you quietly, his head tilted in thought.

"You do know," he says carefully, "that you're closer with Chan that Chae is?"

"But still," you groan. "He always seems so much happier around her, and he always only talks to her when you all go out-"

"How would you know?" Felix cries, throwing his hands up. "You're not even there half the time, and Chan only talks to her because you're not there for him to talk to. He has to settle for her because he's fed up of us, and he's not close with Yeji, Ryujin, or Young-hee."

You sigh and hop up onto the desk, swinging your legs over the side. "I just can't stand it, Lix. Seeing them together..."

His expression softens. "I know, Y/n, and I know how frustrated you get when they're all over each other, but you have to at least try. Come with us. If not for him, then for us. We miss you."

"I'm right here."

Felix sighs softly. "That's not what I meant."

You rub two fingers along the bridge of your nose, trying to think straight. You can't get the images out of your mind; Chan and Chae giggling to each other, her touching his arm, him reciprocating the affection... no one said it would hurt this bad when you watch your best friend fall for someone else.

No one said it would hurt this much when you realise that you're in love with said best friend either.

"I can't keep pretending I'm fine," you say, so softly you're not sure Felix hears it. But he does.

"Then don't pretend," he urges gently. "Get him to fall for you. You're halfway there already, I'm pretty sure. But it's not gonna happen if you're always at a distance from him."

He has a point, you think. But, being as stubborn as you are, there's still that nagging doubt in the back of your mind that Chan will never feel the same way that you do, whether you're with him or not-

"Y/n," Felix says, a little more firmly.

You know exactly what he's thinking; sighing, and then bending down to pick up the pen you dropped earlier, you slot it back into the holder on the desk.

"Fine," you say quietly, trying and failing to hide the tiny smile twitching at the corners of your mouth. "I'll come."

Felix lets out a whoop.

.

You pull your jacket a little closer around yourself as you head round the corner, the evening wind whipping your hair into a state of extreme disarray. Sighing and then spluttering as you pull strands of it out of your mouth and eyes, you duck around people and head to the restaurant, its warm, golden light drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

You're not late, so to speak; you spot the group sitting at a large corner booth with comfy seats, mingling and chattering, and you notice Felix immediately. His face lights up when he sees you, half with relief and half with something else you can't quite decipher. He makes to get up before you're almost tackled to the floor by Jisung and Jeongin, who are pretty much hollering at the top of their lungs.

Minho shushes them insistently as he tugs them off you, bowing before shoving both maknaes back into their seats.

"Y/n," Jeongin says happily. "We didn't think you'd come."

You chuckle awkwardly and settle into the spot next to Felix, trying not to look around for Chan like you always do. "Yeah, I needed a break. Besides, you two would have come for my throat if I turned the invitation down one more time."

"Damn right," Jisung interjects, all three of you dissolving into giggles.

You look around then; not everyone is here. Hyunjin and Yeji are still missing, both Hwangs late as per usual, and you know Changbin will come by a little later, having decided to work out before treating himself for the evening. You make a mental note to stick to your work ethic as well as he does, but it's interrupted by the familiar tone of someone speaking your name.

"You look nice, Y/n," Chan says from next to Felix, who is sitting in between both of you.

Chae is sitting next to Chan, you notice with some sadness and displeasure; her long, pinky-blonde hair is straight and neat, long acrylic nails coming up to brush strands of it off her perfect porcelain cheeks, flushed with the cold. At least, you hope it's the cold and not the effect of Chan's probably flirting before you arrived.

Despite the indignance rising in your stomach, you can't help but notice how Chan looks tonight; his hair is slightly damp from the chilly weather outside, the adorably messy strands of it curling against his temples and nape. His eyes are crescents as he gazes into yours, and you fight the urge to reach over and wipe the faint remainder of strawberry milk off the curve of his plush bottom lip.

You know exactly where he'd bought the little drink carton of it from; there's a vending machine just down the street, one that the boys always buy drinks from before eating out. It was their tradition, and one that you gladly partook in, that is before you became too shy to be around the boys.

Because of Chan and his stupid perfectness.

You suddenly come back down to earth and realise that Chan is still gazing at you; Chae is laughing obnoxiously loud in the background behind him, no doubt to recapture his attention, but all you can focus on is the fact that you're locking eyes with the most beautiful person on earth. And also the fact that you haven't replied to his little indirect compliment, so you just nod and turn back to the table to fiddle with the menu in front of you.

Felix exhales discreetly and you fight a grin, watching as he unpeels himself from the corner of the table. He'd been bending over it so you could lean back to talk to Chan, and he pokes you affectionately in the side as you thank him quietly, clearing your throat in an attempt to get rid of the flush painting your cheeks.

"Could've warned me about how pretty he looks," you mutter to Felix under your breath. He just chuckles and touches your knee as everyone begins to order.

The food arrives just as Hyunjin, Yeji, and Changbin make their dramatically late entrance; they clatter noisily into their seats, and you bump fists with Yeji just as everyone begins to dig in.

There's brief silence as everyone begins to fill their stomachs with soul food, and then the chatter eventually rises again as the members turn to each other to bicker and laugh. You almost snort a noodle out of your mouth as you watch Hyunjin take a hairclip out of his bag to clip his hair back, before realising it's not there. Seungmin, sitting next to him, runs his hand through the boy's kiwi-like hair before turning back to his ramen.

You almost start to enjoy yourself, but there's still that lingering tension that you feel rests in the air between you and Chan; if anyone else has noticed it, they're not saying anything. Felix, noticing your quietness, tries to fill the space between you with small talk and jokes, but it doesn't seem to help. Once or twice, he even brings Chan into the conversation in a bid to try and get you two to converse, but Chae interjects more and more frequently until you quietly tell Felix to stop.

You feel bad because of it; you know he's just trying to help, but it isn't working. And it's beginning to make you feel worse, the fact that it seems not even the dark-haired sunshine boy can get his leader to try and talk to you. And you realise, all of a sudden, that maybe it's not Chan that's the problem.

There are two possible reasons that Chan doesn't seem to want to talk to you; you thought maybe he would talk more with you tonight, considering it's been so long since you've been out with them, but you're crestfallen as you realise that not more than a few words have been exchanged between the two of you tonight.

And it strangely breaks your heart.

The other reason is that Chae might have been badmouthing you behind your back to Chan, or it could be because of the fact that Chan genuinely likes her. You're not sure, but that belief is confirmed as you look across to see Chan holding out his chopsticks to her, bringing a piece of tempura to her perfect, pink lips.

Watching in horror and completely forgetting about the cooling ramen in front of you, you watch as Chae accepts the tempura with a little giggle, batting her lashes at Chan as he reaches up to wipe a crumb off her lip. The sight is so equally disgusting and upsetting that you immediately stand up, moving out of the booth as tears blur your eyes.

"Where are you going?" Jisung calls after you, Felix looking up from his food.

"Bathroom," you call over your shoulder, your voice surprisingly strong considering the fact that tears and beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Not wanting to make a fuss or arouse suspicion from the group, you do actually head to the bathrooms, locking the cubicle door behind you and sinking down against the door. You couldn't care less if it's dirty right now, the only thought in your head the mental image of your best friend and Chae giggling and flirting all over each other, blissfully unaware of your misery.

It's not fair.

"Maybe it's me," you whisper to yourself, sniffling as you rip off a piece of toilet paper, scrubbing at your face. You feel so pathetic and unworthy; what kind of person hides out in the bathroom crying over a guy who probably doesn't even care about them?

Standing up and checking you have your phone and wallet, you sigh as you feel the weight of them in your pockets. Good. You can just leave without having to go back to the table. The last thing you want right now is to talk to anyone, or have to put up a fake cheerful front.

Heading to the back of the restaurant, the once-inviting golden lights now feeling like a spotlight, you emerge out into the street, the cold wind soothing the hot, sticky tear irritation on your cheeks. You head to the parking garage down the street and try to walk as quickly as you can past the opening of the ramen restaurant, lest any of the group notice you walking away.

And they don't, not least until you cross the street and head down the dimly light footpath.

Someone grabs your wrist suddenly and you cry out, whipping your head back so fast to see who it is you think you might have whiplash.

Chan is standing there, his hand solid and warm around your wrist, the wind ruffling his dark hair back from his bare face. You can see the glint of his silver earrings under the streetlights.

"Wait," he pants. "Where are you going?"

You can't fight the hot, wet tear rolling down your cheek and inwardly curse it for escaping. "Home."

"Why?" He asks, concern and worry painting his expression. "Are you not feeling well?"

You fight the urge to slap him; it wouldn't be fair, however much you want to do it. He just doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of it. And you want nothing more to run into his arms and spill all your thoughts and feelings like you have so many times before, but you can't.

Not this time.

You can't tell Chan that you've loved him since who knows how long; that seeing him makes your heart feel lighter, the way a high schooler might feel seeing their crush in the sunny hallways. You can't tell him how many times you styled your hair to look a little like his, hoping the curls that make him look so handsome might make you a little more attractive too. You can't tell him how many times you ran late for schedules just because you took a detour to his studio to talk with him, even if it was just for a minute.

Even if all of it was a waste in the end. Because he likes someone else, and that someone else isn't you.

So you just shake your head as the tears come streaming down, and rip your wrist out of his grip before turning and walking away. The earth feels like it's shattering around you.

Or maybe that's just your heart.

But Chan doesn't give up; you hear his footsteps continue behind you, hurried and irregular, like he's trying to decide whether to let you go or make you stay.

"Y/n," he pants. "Wait, just- will you stop walking so fast? Please, wait, slow down- What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong!" You cry out, turning to face him as you throw your hands up. A sob rips through your lungs, face contorting with the force of your tears. "Okay? Everything's wrong."

Chan is silent, one hand out in an unsteady attempt to calm you. "What are you talking about? You're worrying me."

You scoff and kick a stone across the footpath, harshly rubbing a hand across your cheekbone.

"Y/n, please," he pleads, his voice quieter. "Felix noticed you were gone for too long earlier, and I saw you walking out of the restaurant. Please, tell me what's wrong. You look so upset."

"Then stop looking."

He recoils, looking slightly hurt, before it's overtaken by a look of determination. You know that look; it either results in an all-nighter to finish a song track, an attempt to wrangle seven naughty kids, or a hard-to-have conversation. You know it's the last one.

"Please," he says, even quieter. "Tell me what's wrong. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's you," you say, broken with utter resignation.

He takes a step forward. "What?"

"It's you," you repeat, looking away as another hysterical sob brings the wind inside your body. It's sharp and biting, and it brings back some of your courage. But only some.

You raise your eyes to look at him. Maybe this is the last conversation you'll have with Chan, before he decides he doesn't want to be around someone who's in a one-way love story with him. Even if that person is his best friend.

"You don't realise, do you?" You whisper brokenly. "You never realised I was in love with you, Chan. But that's just who you are. You may be kind and compassionate and intuitive, but you never realised why I do what I do, or why I act the way I act around you."

His face is contorted in utter disbelief; whether it's from shock or disgust, you don't want to know.

"I realised around the time you helped me move in," you continue. Might as well get all of it out now. "I looked at you differently after a while. I didn't see my best friend anymore. I saw someone else, someone stronger and more clever and more dedicated and more perfect and flawless. And it was strange, because I realised that you changed so much. Maybe I changed too, but it was different seeing you walking around at the company and going about your schedules, because I felt different about it all. I felt different about you. And I couldn't let it go, not least when we actually talked. I used to be late for most of my meetings and events because I would take detours to see you. Some days I would think about canceling my schedules just so I could be around you more.

"And I love the boys, I do, Chan. So much. But I have to admit, I wouldn't be around them half as much if you weren't there. I felt so drawn to you, not like the way I did when we were friends. I figured that if I didn't want to lose you, I would have to discipline myself. So I did.

"I threw myself into my work; I gave myself so much to do, partially to distract myself, partially to use work as an excuse whenever I was invited out, like tonight. Just because I knew you would be there, and I didn't want to end up spilling it all to you, because I knew it would ruin everything between us. Forever.

"And when Chae started hanging around us, I didn't mind at first; I sort of liked her. But I started hating her because of how close she would get to you, how much you two would secretly talk between yourselves, and it made me upset. So I ended up spending much more time by myself so that I would be able to forget she existed. So that I could forget that she ever entered the picture, and that it was just me and my secret that I kept from you. For so long, Chan. You have no idea how much I had to hold myself back from you.

"Did you assume that I never wanted to go out with you guys? That I never wanted to buy drinks from that vending machine the members always go to before eating out, or that I didn't want to spend time with you? Because I did, Chan. But I forced myself not to, because I couldn't bear to see you, and most of the time I didn't know if Chae was going to be there. I told myself I wasn't going to sit there and watch you be with her, not while I felt so invisible and unseen around you.

"Let me tell you something, Chan," you choke through sobs at him, pointing a finger at his chest as though it were a gun. "Every time Jisung or Jeongin or one of the boys invited me out, I did actually show up. Even if you never saw me. I would watch from a distance to see if Chae was with you; if she was, I would turn around and leave, and go home. If not, I would smile from around the corner as the maknaes begged you for money to buy drinks from that vending machine. And then I would turn around and go home anyway.

"I know every single one of their preferences; even if you didn't know I was there to observe them bickering and choosing, faces lit by streetlight. I would go around to the vending machines at the company and randomly buy their favourites for them, even if you didn't know how I knew. I would buy them for you too, and debate leaving a little note for you telling you how I felt alongside it, and I never did.

"Because, despite all of that, it was all a waste," you snap at him. You're not sure why you're angry; you suppose it's the result of feeling unheard for so long. "It was a waste, Chan. Because you never even noticed how I felt. So don't come chasing after me in the night like this like you care, because it was Felix who told you to come after me, Felix who noticed I had been gone for too long, not you of your own accord. And don't look worried or concerned either, because I've told you what's wrong, Chan, just as you asked. You can rest now."

You can barely see him through the blur of your tears.

"Y/n," he whispers, broken as you feel. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't care," you cry out at him, turning and storming in the other direction. And this time, he doesn't follow, still standing under the streetlight with his hand out, though you're not there to take it.

You sob bitterly as you almost flee around the corner, breaking out into a full-on run, like sprinting can fix the problem, fix your heart and your tears. It doesn't, however, and you feel worse as you bolt pass the crossing light, not caring about its colour. Later you will realise that running with blurry vision and a hysterical, heartbroken mindset was not the wisest idea.

You don't see the car speeding towards you until it's too late.

a/n: *laughs in writer*

[zorange13]

— love island, enhypen edition: for jake, xoxo (teaser)

this is a teaser of jake’s story in my love island, enhypen edition “series.” (ig lmao??) so i highly suggest you read that first to get an understanding of what’s happening here!

wc. tba. (1.5k for this teaser)

release date. also tba... (but here's sumn to keep y'all fed for a minute!)

pairing. islander! jake sim x reader

author’s note (please read): i just made up names for the girls (aside from y/n ofc) i’m sorry, i just really didn’t want to use “[member’s girl]” because that would be annoying to keep doing. but of course, you’re free to imagine them as you like.

— Two months later

Since the reunion, things have been great. Steady, yet invigorating and every single day has been something new. Fortunately, your brand has grown exponentially and you’d been collaborating with companies and brands you had never imagined. 

You were an ambassador for one of your favorite skincare brands, Topicals. Attending women’s panels, Alo and Aritzia have been dressing you. Encouraging people to take part in positive causes around the world and communities. With the platform you gained, you truly did want to use it for good.

Very quickly did you become a princess and so beloved by the Love Island fanbase alongside other people that didn’t even watch the show. 

You were comfortable and slowly but surely things were easing up. You did have to filter your comments to fully let go of any and all mentions of your prior connection with you know who. It just got so irritating having people constantly mention such a traumatic moment in your life. Imagine you post something about your workout routine and someone still finds a way to make it about the person that did you wrong.

Nonetheless, you were coasting through life and you haven’t heard from thou who shall not be named. 

But speaking of that!

Jake has sort of disappeared off the face of the earth. 

His socials have had very minimal activity, not so much to make one worry. But whenever he did post, it would be travel posts or fun little stuff. Nothing too insane but he’s done a good job at staying out of the way because that’s the best thing he could’ve done for himself. 

His comments still had you all over them, he didn’t have to heart to filter them. He loved your name. Fuck, he loved to see your name and in some way, he felt that he deserved to constantly be reminded of his wrongdoings. Jake felt he deserved punishment and part of it was ensuring he had a reminder. 

He followed you, you didn’t follow him back but he kept up with you consistently and was heavy in your likes. And of course fans noticed. They always did.

But this fateful day, you were hanging out with Nina and Amani at Amani’s apartment, legs curled under you on the couch as a candle flickered in the center of the coffee table. You were scrolling on your phone halfheartedly when Nina suddenly gasped, nearly knocking her smoothie over.

“Oh my gosh. Oh my—dude what the fuck.”

Your head whipped around. “What?”

Amani leaned over her shoulder. “What is it?”

Nina looked up slowly, eyes wide with disbelief and a dangerous glint of amusement. “Jake. On a podcast. Talking about you.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

“No,” she said, spinning the screen to face you. And there it was—Jake’s face in a thumbnail for The Soul Tied Podcast, a popular show known for dragging Love Island alumni into messy little therapy sessions disguised as interviews. It had been posted three hours ago and was already trending. The caption?

“I’d do anything for her.”

— Jake, on his Love Island regret

You swallowed. Your throat suddenly dries. Amani was already clicking play.

The video cut to a dimly lit studio, Jake sitting across from the host with his leg bouncing like he wanted to run out the room. But it was the look in his eyes that made your chest feel tight. Soft. Vulnerable. Real.

The host leaned in, elbows on the table. “So if you could fix anything or take anything back during your experience, what would it be?”

Jake exhaled slowly, like the words weighed too much. Then, simply: “I’d say that…I’m sorry again. That I wish I can make things right and there isn’t a day that I don’t think about her. Really…even now knowing everything that I did to Y/n, I’d do anything for her. Not even to be with her. Like if I had the chance I would but I just want to make this right. If she’d let me.” 

Silence. Then, the host, brows raised:

“So…her?”

Jake didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah.”

Nina burst out in laughter. “What the fuck, yo he’s insane. This boy is still in love, it’s so sad.” She tossed the phone to the side, her laughter dying down as she realized she was the only one laughing. “Wait…sorry,” she exhaled sharply, closing her eyes to stabilize herself. “Are you okay, mama?” Her voice softened as she reached for your hand.

You squeezed her hand, forgiving her because this was just how she is. Nina laughs at all the things she shouldn’t be. But this was her way of trying to break up the awkwardness. In her mind, as long as someone’s laughing it’s going to be okay. Simply her coping mechanism: she was hurting for you and the best way to not make it seem so bad or stir up negative feelings, she tried to laugh to not make it as big as it was.

You saw that, and you still loved her for it. “I’m good, just weirded out.”

Amani rested her head on Nina's shoulder. “You sure? You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Not upset…I’m over it and I’ve sort of healed from it. But I just think he might be fishing, I don’t know.” You scoffed as you leaned back into the couch.

Nina scooted closer, slowly so Amani can move with her—and rested her hand on your arm. “He is. He’s an asshole that can wallow in his misery because he fumbled the most gorgeous and phenomenal woman in front of everyone. His ego can’t let him live it down.” She adjusted herself to lean her head on your shoulder and lock her arm around yours. “He’s a dick.”

Nina was always the one to write people off. Quickly. Prior to her relationship with Jungwon, she had undergone a very toxic, one-sided relationship that ended in cheating. Once she had gathered herself from that, she signed up for the show and met the most amazing guy. In a way, she got lucky. She won (no pun intended) in her heart and to see someone she got so close to, you, one of her best friends leave so scarred and hurt, really fucked her up. Because she was not one for second chances and she would be damned if one of the closest people in her life got hurt by the same guy again! 

Amani sighed, feeling like she was stuck in the middle. Her loyalty was with you absolutely, but she was nothing if not understanding and perceptive. She saw the bordering desperation in Jake’s eyes and she, however, didn’t want to just write him off completely.

You looked at Amani, waiting to hear her opinion. She always balanced very well and did her best to ensure everyone saw all sides, very diplomatic. But right now, the cogs in her mind were spinning, turning like a well oiled machine and she was seriously at war within herself. 

“What’s up with you?” You whisper with a sympathetic frown. 

Amani looked at you with a furrowed brow. Taken aback that during this moment that was about you, you still looked at her with care. As if she was the one that needed support. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you.” She shook her head. “I…I don’t really know what to make of this either.” She huffs as she adjusts her shiny Cartier bracelet that Jay got for her, sliding it down her wrist and fumbling it in her fingers. “It’s like I want to side with Nina and say screw it, he doesn’t deserve you—because truly he doesn’t. At this point, no one does—no one will ever be good enough for you in my eyes. But…I just—” She pauses and huffs again as she’s doing her best to find the right words.

You nod in anticipation. “It’s okay, just spit it out.”

She nods, “I can’t even fully tell if he’s being genuine. My intuition and affinity for body language tells me he is and he’s been very apologetic verbally. But I really don’t want to risk you getting hurt or even getting your hopes up only for him to possibly let you down again.”

You sat quietly, processing Amani’s words. Her honesty was very apparent—because if anyone could read a situation, it was her. Always level-headed, always watching. But that was what scared you. If she wasn’t sure, then how could you be?

“I don’t even want him back,” you said, not quite convincingly.

“Mm,” Nina mumbled, unconvinced herself.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t. I just…I don’t want to look back on this one day and think I didn’t at least consider the possibility that he changed. That maybe…I didn’t need to hate him.”

Amani gave your arm a light squeeze. “That’s valid. Just don’t let him talk his way into your heart again without proving a damn thing.”

“Exactly,” Nina added, “because ‘I’d do anything for her’ sounds good and poetic in a dim-ass podcast studio. Or even a YA novel, or some cheesy Tumblr fanfic. But love isn’t performative. Love is action, though. And if he means it, then he'd be showing you.”

Copyright: © zorange13. 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, copy, or distribute without permission.

[ahhhwomen]

Long overdue sorrow.

Vampire Empire

Part 7.2

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: I got imposter syndrome, so hehe… also I don’t know what comfort is… but this is it ig? Well its my version, take it or leave it.

Chapter Warnings: Self-hatred, my version of comfort, allustions to past abuse Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 3k

Taglist

You can still feel her.

Stained teeth crush together, grinding and creaking as your jaw suffers to bite down the nausea that settles in the pit of your stomach.

Bits and pieces of adrenaline rush inside you, leaving you unaware of the blood that trickles from your lip, smudging against your tear-stained cheeks as you strain yourself while the remnants of your nightmare float inside your head.

Her hands.

Her claws.

Her teeth.

Her taste.

It’s as if you’re still there. 

Its…

It’s just-

It’s- it’s too dark.

That’s it.

Your enclosure.

It’s just too dark.

You grope blindly against the floor; your eyebrows scrunched together as you search. The cord of your heat lamp had been janky for a while, so it was bound to snap at some point.

Your palms are spread wide to offer the most surface area as you glide them gently atop the space beside your knees. The glide is smooth, lacking the usual bite as skin scratches against concrete. You feel individual sensations against the pads of your fingertips; you can’t, for the love of you, remember having this much space to search through before.

It takes you far longer than you care to admit before you realize something is definitely wrong.

The ground.

It’s soft?

“Hey, baby.” You yelp at the sound of her voice and flinch as the overhead lights flicker on.

Squinting, you lift your left hand to shield yourself from the light that filters above you. A few strands of rouge light shine between your fingers, illuminating them and blinding you as your eyes adjust to the harshness.

Something is obscuring your view of the doorway, which definitely doesn’t make sense because your enclosure doesn’t have a doorway, it barely has metal bars.

After a few seconds, the blob of darkness morphs into the scary older redhead.

Ah.

Right…

It's like a blanket of stone settling atop your frame as the circumstances sink in.

It’s so heavy… pushing and dragging against your neck and shoulders as you dig your hands into the carpet to keep yourself up.

You look at her for a moment. With her right shoulder pressed against expensive oak, Wanda fumbles with her feet as she leans against the doorframe. Seemingly uncertain of which leg to add the most weight to.

It’s so distinctively unlike her…

And yet, though she is clearly unsure of herself, she still holds her head high, shoulders rolled back, and her feet firmly planted.

It’s almost funny… the resemblance.

Goosebumps litter your skin as the chill of the room invades your senses while you take in your surroundings. Shifting your focus to the bed behind you, you see sheets and pillows scattered along the floor where you must have fallen.

There is rustling in the background as the older redhead moves around, but you ignore it. You can’t look at her. You are surprised she can look at you.

The sound bounces off the walls first. It’s like the echo of a recurring nightmare as the heavy sound bounces and rings in a screech inside the brightly lit room. With your head turned, you can’t see, but you know the command well as she knocks twice beside her heel.

The resemblance.

It hurts…

That must be humorous to her.

Which only makes it hurt more…

“Come here.” The two taps against the cushioned flooring repeat. The sound is heavier than before, with more pressure behind each knock. Her clenched fist twitches a little after each collision, and her voice stays firm.

You drag your legs against the strange softness beneath you, seeping into it with more weight than strictly necessary. When your palms leave the designated path for a moment and stride slightly to the sides, the carpet itches against your scrawny fingers.

The floor is entirely carpeted in this room…

Clawing forward, your knees push down upon the material, testing its durability. Your knees don’t ache, and there is no screeching groan as your joints struggle. You can’t feel the movement in your bones.

There is no bite of pain.

You hate it.

The carpet brushes against the sides of your butt as you sit down a few feet in front of the knelt-down woman. Trying in vain to alleviate the slight itchiness, you attempt to evenly distribute your weight between your hands and rump. It takes a few trials and errors before you find a comfortable enough position.

When you stop squirming, Wanda takes a hold of your jaw, twisting your head gently until you are forced to look into her eyes. Your neck strains against the movement, unsure of whether to obey or not, but it’s fruitless; you know you can’t stop yourself.

She runs her thumb, back and forth, against your chin as her slightly curled pointer holds your head up, “You are mine.”

Huh?

Instead of elaborating, the older redhead licks her thumb.

It’s wet and cold against your cheek as she smooches it over the trail of dried blood originating from your split lip. Her finger runs over dried speckles repeatedly, flaking them off and catching them on her spit-covered thumb, saliva rehydrating it until it glistens to life.

She continues like this for a few moments. When she deems her work good enough, Wanda wipes her thumb on her pants, purposefully avoiding the taste of you.

You should be offended.

However, you understand.

You have always understood.

The older woman continues in a firm, yet gentle, tone, “It’s my job to take care of you. You don’t think, you don’t do, you just listen.” Being this close to her, you can feel her breath dancing between the two of you; it puffs against your lips periodically.

Why bother?

If you could, you might have asked her that.

God, you are so fucking disgusting.

For someone who’s been praised for their intelligence since childhood, Wanda feels incredibly stupid at this moment.

Wanda knows that look.

She should have noticed sooner.

It wasn’t like your detached behavior from the last couple of days. This was different. You didn’t cower away from her, and you didn’t look through her either.

You were here, but not with her.

You look angry.

But not at her.

Oh…

Oh no.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

For a moment, everything is a blur of motion as the redhead moves at an inhumane speed. Not giving you enough time to react.

Warm hands encircle your waist. Her left hand rests the lowest, just above your tailbone, drawing small imaginary circles as her right hand sneaks its way into your hair. She gently hauls you into her lap, catching you off guard as a tiny squeak escapes from your lips before you can stop yourself.

You tense, preparing for the harsh tug as claws grip your hair firmly while she feeds from you. Instead, Wanda pushes against the back of your head with an open palm until you are forced to lie your ear against her shoulder, hiding your face beneath her jaw.

There isn’t much time to react before Wanda makes up her mind.

“Come. It’s late.”  Her left hand shifts from your lower back to supporting your bottom as she lifts you up and starts the trek to the master bedroom where Natasha is waiting for the both of you.

All you can focus on is the sound of her bare feet hitting the flooring as confusion and uncertainty simmer below the surface. However, you are too exhausted to think up questions you will never have answered or fight her grip, so instead, you relax into her.

She’s warm against your bare skin; it’s different from your heat lamp. Depending on the temperature outside, your red lamp would either scorch you or delicately balance you between life and death. Her skin was smooth, unlike your own, the subtle smell of roses submerging you in its warmth, softness, and false safety.

She can’t lie…

Natasha has to fight incredibly hard not to gasp out loud at the sight that greets her as her wife carries you into their bedroom.

The sheets beneath Natasha ruffle as she places her book on the nightstand beside her. The cover is leather, far older than you, so its texture runs deep, leaving small pits in the most used positions where the oil of her fingertips has run its course over the years.

She had been keeping a tuned ear on the baby monitor on Wanda’s side of the bed, but she didn’t expect this when she heard Wanda’s command for you to follow.

You are allowing yourself to be held…

But it’s not just that…

Natasha’s eyes are glued to the pair of you as Wanda pats your bottom reassuringly while she works on juggling you while attempting to get you both placed on the bed with the sheets pulled back.

You are resting with your head against Wanda’s throat…

The world’s most powerful vampire…

The mantra repeats inside Natasha’s head in the few seconds it takes for Wanda to settle on the bed with you still atop her lap.

You are resting… with your teeth against the only vulnerable part of a vampire’s anatomy.

Wanda gets squirmy even if it’s Natasha getting close to her throat.

The quick jab to her ribs is the only thing that brings Natasha back from her gob-smacked stare as Wanda flairs her elbow out and tilts her head toward your slumped frame. The lack of proper rest must be getting to you if you allow this much touch, especially from her wife.

Natasha’s lips can’t help but lift a little, seeing your small frame curled like a sleepy kitten on top of her wife’s lap, it was rather cute.

Reaching over slowly, so as to let you retreat from her touch, the younger redhead is delighted to be allowed to run her hand over your back gently while you relax heavily against the warm body beneath you.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The pressure of multiple sets of hands pulls you deeper into the steep waters of your exhaustion.

They will make a fool of you.

The disgraceful pig you are.

Absolutely revolting.

“Stop that, baby.” Wanda drags her fingers through your hair, detangling and smoothing down your frizzy ends.

Your behavior was telling…

She weaves through your strands, tenderly separating parts and placing them to the side of your neck, the opposite side of the one that nuzzles her. Though it doesn’t expose your face to her watchful gaze, she can see your jaw peeking out and leans down to place a quick peck, unable to help herself.

It’s all so very strange…

Yesterday, she could barely look at you.

After… well you know.

You are rather sickening, so you can’t blame her.

But… what is going on…?

Wanda can practically feel the self-loathing that oozes from your very essence; it is her fault, really. She had assumed you would need space after what she did, but looking at you now, subtly shaking inside her hold due to the guilt you carry, Wanda realizes her mistake.

Pats turn into tender scratches. The tips of her nails rake down the back of your neck, the nail on her pointer is distinctively sharper than the rest, it pushes down on your skin, leaving behind a trickle of pressure, tugging lightly against the small hairs at the nape of your neck.

It feels…

Nice?

“I’m sorry, kitten,” Wanda whispers against the side of your head. Again, Natasha is the one who has to refrain from doing a spit take as her wife admits fault in such a caring manner.

The older redhead has her cheek pressed into the side of your head, leaving her words soft as she sighs them against the shell of your ear. The tiny hairs on the upper part of your ear stand at attention as her breath washes over them in a soothing pattern.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” She stills the hand against your neck, shifting it until her palm holds loosely against your jugular, and she pushes down against it. Pushing and prodding until you groan in relief. It’s on the tip of too tight, challenging your every breath.

Just like your collar used to.

“Want to know how I know this?” The question is rhetorical, and Wanda answers before you can think about it, “Because I am not Carol. I’m not a monster.”

Her other hand strokes your back. Her fingertips are warm, yet they leave behind trails of chills as she drags them back and forth against your shoulder blades while Natasha rests her hand against your lower back, “And neither are you.”

Yes, you are.

Your nose digs into her throat, desperately trying to escape the lies that pour from the older woman. You can feel her pulse against you, beating in a rhythm far slower than your own.

You might not have the accessibility to a mirror, but you aren’t stupid.

You aren’t like the other pets. You know how you look and what the meaning of your scars are. There is nothing desirable about you except for being a fucking juice box.

That damn collar was the only thing shielding you from your true gruesome self.

Without it you are nothing.

Nothing but h-

“You are mine.” A veiny hand joins the comforting weight against your throat, and you gently sway to the side as Natasha playfully shoulder bumps her wife in warning while she strokes the other side of your throat. The redhead sighs a chuckle, “Mine. And Natasha’s.”

Wanda leans even closer, whispering directly into your ear, it tickles a little, “But mostly mine.”

Your brows furrow in confusion for what feels like the hundredth time that night, but Wanda beats you to it, “I don’t know why… I don’t know when it changed; perhaps you were always meant to be ours.”

“These-“ The older redhead pushes gently onto one of the many scars that litter your neck, “don’t change that.” Wanda can feel your eyelashes flutter against her skin as you squint in suspicion.

Wanda continues to whisper softly, keeping a layer of calm that she hopes will settle some of your worries for the night, “We will get you a new collar. Natasha tells me she has ordered your name tag, though that one scares me a little because she refuses to tell me what’s on it…” The redhead aims for playful reassurance, but she hears you sniffle long before the first tear slides down her throat.

Isn’t it enough already?!

Why do they never know when to stop…

GOD JUST STOP!

You whine in disdain, horrified with your own reaction as you hear Wanda speak of a future you know to be false. You squirm inside their hold, tightening your hands against the older redhead’s cotton t-shirt as you desperately attempt to collect yourself silently.

“Look at me-“You pull away from her, embarrassed by your own reaction. She guides you back with her pointer while continuing to gently shush you, “No baby, eyes on me.”

You obey, if only to make her stop talking. Screwing your eyes open, your look into her eyes with tears obscuring your view, it stretches and morphs the sight before you, leaving you unsure whether you are really looking at her or not.

Wanda tightens her grip on you, the mere sight of your tears leaving her angry at memories she knows she can’t erase, but her anger can wait.

It needs to be said.

“You are mine. And you are beautiful.” She whispers between the two of you, the words land somewhere between your eyebrows, and you stare down at her. Natasha is glued to your back, keeping you sandwiched between the two of them so you can’t escape.

It’s unavoidable.

In that moment, everything boils over.

Every pot of despair, fear, hurt, and sorrow, bubbles and hisses.

And you?

You sob like the child you never were.

Natasha’s hands grip your midsection from behind. Your pain sears through her, and she digs her fingers in enough to feel your ribs expand and contract as you wheeze your pain through gurgling sobs.

“You are beautiful,” the younger redhead repeats the words of her wife, determined to say it until the end of her life if only to get you to believe it. You have been through so much, and you deserve this. You deserve the truth.

“Shhh… I know, I know, just breathe for me, honey,” Wanda keeps one hand firmly planted against your chest, helping regulate your breathing as she pushes up and down, while the other wipes away your tears.

You heave yourself on top of Wanda, curling into her, sticking your head as tight against her neck as you can manage.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

But…

You claw your hands under her shirt, desperate for contact. Wanda relents, separating herself for a split moment so she can strip off the ugly band shirt she only uses for sleep attire.

With her naked skin pressed against yours and the praise whispered from her counterpart, you feel like you can finally breathe for the first time in your life.

Your body is determined to wring out every ounce of sorrow it has carried for so many years, and the two redheads let it. Cooing and soothing you as you sob.

It’s far passed midnight when you finally calm, only a sniffle here and there remaining. Truly spent and wrung out, you pass out against Wanda’s chest.

Wanda kisses your forehead and lets herself truly feel your weight settling on her chest; she feels your breath against her sensitive neck, your hands loosening.

It feels right.

Like you were always meant to be here.

Nothing is permanently fixed.

Wanda still has some next-level groveling to do after the stunt she pulled a few nights ago.

And in the morning, you will go back to your quiet, reserved, shy self.

But, for tonight; you cry, you cuddle, and you sleep without guilt or fear.

For once, you are free.

(You guys waited 9 months for this absolute garbage... I am so sorry)

Taglist:

@thinking1bee @tobiaslut @esmeseasle @skittlebum @tia-thesimp @maximilfsworld @leenasayeed @scarlethexelove @itsalwaysskorpioszn @observeowl @tekanparadiae @adelareys @anqyuicka @ichala @thalia-is-not-ok @lovelyy-moonlight @wandamaximoff-simp @opossumking03 @confidant-thoughts @delivery-bird @esouliie @geydumbbetch @dorabledewdroop @herwagonempathkid @mommysfavouritegirl @auroraromaximoff @roman0ffsheart @morganna-la-faye @kaosrsing @lizzieswife101 @og-kxsh-420 @chibilauren @sgm616 @cyber-juipter @falloutboy-lover @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @likefirenrain @cole2907 @rahhhha @taliiiaasteria @dehydratedcoffeeaddict @viktoriaromanovaa @julz2000 @ahintofchaos @consti-ss @broimjustadepressedlesbian @rowiebear @crispychaosmaker @mary-20 @romanoff101 @alexawynters @dinno-nuggets @riddlesknot @marvelwomenarehot0 @mommysgoodlittlebrat @purplelandyouth @consti-ss @redwolfphoenix @imnotawitch @transparentflapfarmsludge @gaylorvader @inarayofmoonlight @macaroni676 @xuxxke79 @laserbeam473 @mousetheorist @doyouseetthewords @vanessashands

[starkwlkr]

banned pt. 2 | charles leclerc

welcome everyone to banned pt. 2 ‼️ in this fic, ruby is 7 and mathéo is 3 and making their ig debut, introducing the schumi kids, mikey and demri <3

It had been years since Ruby introduced herself to social media. Everyone loved her and loved how funny she was. No one ever thought they would get another ‘Ruby goes on social media’ video since Charles had stated multiple times that she was forever on a phone ban. All it took for Charles to give up his phone was a couple of drinks and a distraction from Lorenzo and Arthur who had dared him to jump into the pool.

This time, Ruby wasn’t alone. She had her brother Mathéo with her so the media got to see two Leclercs mess around.

It was a Pascale’s birthday and the family had decided to surprise the mother with a cake and gifts. The Schumacher’s were also invited so Mikey and Demri were hanging out with the Leclerc children. By the end of the night, almost everyone was giggly and singing random songs every now and then.

The kids had just taken a bath after spending most of their day inside the pool. Ruby had come down from her room and saw Charles starting to empty his pockets onto the table.

“Charles! No!” Y/n laughed as Charles was debating whether or not to take his shirt off.

“Jump in fully clothed!” Arthur yelled as Carla tried to get him to shut up.

“Okay.” Charles replied, but before he jumped in, he grabbed Y/n’s hand and dragged her to the pool. She had no choice but to jump in as well.

Ruby saw Charles’ phone and quickly ran to get it before anyone saw her. Thankfully they were all distracted by drunk Charles. She ran back up to her room where Mathéo was playing on the IPad.

“Théo! Look!” Ruby showed the boy what she had in her hands. “Want to make a video?”

“Does it have games?” Demri asked, following her best friend.

The boy nodded and put away his IPad where he had found it. Ruby and Mathéo were completely different from their personalities to the way they dressed.

Ruby unlocked Charles’ phone and clicked on the instagram app. The first post that she came across was not her mother’s like last time. It was a family picture that was taken yesterday posted on Arthur’s account. She immediately went to the comments and typed one herself.

charles_leclerc yo u snore 😂😂😂

“Ruby, I want to see!” Mathéo whined since his sister was not sharing like they were suppose to.

“That’s my papa’s name!” Mikey pointed to Mick’s username in Arthur’s instagram likes.

“Go get maman’s phone! She has the same thing!”

So the little boy stood up from the floor and ran to get his mother’s phone. Y/n had been charging her phone in her room so Mathéo knew where to find the phone. When he came back, he saw Ruby pointing the phone to her doll collection that had grown since Instagram last saw it.

“Ruby, how do I get the game you’re playing?” Mathéo asked as he handed the phone to his sister.

Ruby sighed and set the phone down on her bed. “It’s not a game, Théo! Look, it’s this one.” Ruby opened up the instagram app on Y/n’s phone and saw the same post she had seen on Charles’ phone. Her fingers accidentally made the screen go from Y/n’s instagram feed to the camera. Demri and Mikey gasped when they saw filters.

“Take a picture!”

“Wait! There’s funny faces!” Mathéo excitedly said and started to put filters on his face. “I want to show papa!”

“No! If you show papa then he’s going to take away the phone and then you won’t be able to play and he’s going to be mad with you and he won’t give you kisses and he’ll give me more kisses. He told me.” Ruby said.

paddockfashion “he told me” me when i lie

forzacha16 room tour when?

schumacherlegacy this is so unexpected i love it

“I can show you papa’s trophies. Um, you have to be quiet because Uncle Enzo and his girlfriend and Auntie Carla and Uncle Arthur are here. I helped maman with grand-mère’s cake and it’s pink and I drew a heart and she loves it.” Ruby had a habit of talking about one topic then talking about another.

“My papa has a room like that too. But his has more because he said my opa’s trophies are in there too. He has a lot. I counted them the other day and I counted a lot.” Mikey explained.

“Where are you going?” Mathéo asked, still holding his mother’s phone in his hands.

“I’m going to papa’s trophy room.”

totowolffisadilf of course charles has a trophy room

gosports44 WHATS HIS CREDIT CARD NUMBER

nomichaelno tell charles to follow me on tiktok

“TikTok? My maman has TikTok.” Ruby said as her and Mathéo walked to the end of the hall where Charles kept all his trophies and helmets in a room.

“Show my helmet!” Mathéo shouted as he pointed to a helmet that Charles had gifted him for his birthday.

“No,” Ruby simply said and pointed the camera towards all the trophies. “I wanted to show the helmets Dem and I have but they’re not here.”During the Monaco Grand Prix, Charles had gifted Demri and Ruby matching helmets with their initials on the side. Ruby had hers in Mick’s house since she had taken it when her and Demri had a sleepover and forgotten it. “never mind this is boring. Uncle Pierre got me more barbies!”

She ran back to her room and dropped the phone. “Ruby! That’s papa’s phone!” Mathéo gasped.

“It was already broken when I got it,” Ruby picked up the phone and saw the comments and lightly gasped when she saw a familiar name.

pierregasly you’re still banned

pierregasly don’t break your papa’s phone

“What does that say?” Mathéo asked as he took the phone from Ruby’s hands.

“You can’t read, I can! It says listen to me and to give me two euros.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does. I know how to read too!” Demri defended her friend.

“You can’t count, how can you read?” Mikey teased his sister.

yukisrestuarant ruby and demri stan until i die

formulasbitch gaslighting era

wagstyle i agree it says give her two euros

“Ruby? Do you have my phone?” The kids heard Charles shout.

“No!”

[starry-bi-sky]

more about og tue timeline twins danny and dan/jamie

very touchy with each other. you might even say. ccclingy. its to be expected, they're two halves of a whole after all and all they've got of each other. worryingly co-dependent. do not separate. ever.

Danny was really weak and sick after the initial separation, and was for a while after. Jamie knew internally that if Danny died, he'd take the whole world with it. He was the one sole caretaker for him while he got better -- not for lack of trying on Vlad's part, but without his ghost powers he was nothing more than a feeble (albeit handsomely rich) man, and James looked ready to bite his head off if he got within ten feet of either of them.

Vlad is intimately aware that James (or Danny, if he tried) could snap his spine in half like a twig, and is uncomfortably aware of his own lack of ghost half now. It makes him feel self-conscious and exposed, so he never fully returns back to "cocky and self-assured billionaire Vlad Masters". Making deals with other brands feels a lot harder now that he can no longer possess them anymore.

Speaking of, he very quickly has to come up with a cover story as to why there's now a James Daniel Fenton to the public, when no records whatsoever of him existing existed prior. Lots of forging false government documents on his end. James and Danny do not help because it's his fault this happened in the first place.

(Regardless of whether or not Danny actually willingly chose to rip out his ghost half/humanity in canon is true, or if that was Vlad Masters speaking out of his ass, a large part of the blame still falls on Masters.)

(As his primary caretaker and guardian, it's his responsibility to ensure the health and safety of his charge, and since Danny was in clear emotional duress at the time, it can be argued that he was not in the mental state to make such a decision. And, allegedly, couldn't do it on his own which is why he asked Vlad for help.)

I chose "James" as Dan's name since it's a popular fanon middle name for Danny, and since he's half of Danny, it felt like it just made sense lol. Also because of the ensuing comedy of the two of them introducing themselves as "James Daniel Fenton" and "Daniel James Fenton". It's got the same energy as "danny with a y" and "danny with an i" and it's the exact kind of name bullshit you expect parents to give their twins.

I don't have their exact personalities down, but something I am actively writing into this au's bible is that I think Danny should be the quiet and (ig technically) meaner one. There's a lot to go into about interpretations for ghosts, halfas, and the incident itself, but TL:DW; Danny is technically soulless, or at the very least missing half of his soul (altho Jamie is too just in a different direction).

Pair that with the trauma of losing his family in front of him + having his ghost half ripped out + all the trauma he would've sustained as a hero, and he's not doing too hot mentally! i think if the twins met good timeline!Danny, Danny would've mistaken Danny for Dan and Jamie for the original half.

He comes off to others as pretty apathetic and indifferent to a borderline terrifyingly calm degree. He doesn't go out of his way to insult people, but he also doesn't care enough to consider the other party's feelings so he doesn't filter himself, which makes him come off as rude. The only times he looks truly comfortable is when he's near Jamie or talking to him.

His standoffish, ice prince demeanor makes Jamie look like a saint in comparison. When really he's not all that much better? He's more outwardly emotional than Danny, whether that be positive or negative, but at the end of the day he doesn't trust or care about anyone else any more than Danny does, and he's got a bit of a sadistic streak. Danny reigns him in when he starts becoming too destructive.

(Which I think makes sense. Danny asked Vlad to rip out his ghost half specifically so he could stop feeling his human emotions. Dan, despite his monotone voice, does exhibit emotions. He's smug when he asks Valerie if he likes his ghostly wail, sardonic when he reunites with Sam and Tucker, annoyed, shocked at Danny's ghostly wail, etc. He enjoys wreaking destruction and chaos.)

(If Danny had survived his encounter with Dan and if Vlad was successful, then I imagine he'd be rather apathetic to his other half as a whole. That'd be interesting.)

Overall though they're both hurt, bitter, and distrustful of the world around them, with abandonment issues a mile wide. They can get better and they can heal, but it takes time and patience and proper support.

On the DPxDC side of things, they do genuinely hold some kind of respect or regard for Bruce. They also don't become vigilantes for a while. Neither of them are jumping at the bit to enter heroism again, not when it was heroism that killed their family in the first place.

In fact when they find out Bruce = Batman they think he's foolish for it. They think its a fool's errand, and they've been so spurned by their time as Phantom that for a few weeks, Jamie even refused to call Bruce anything but Sisyphus. Danny called him Tantalus, and the two of them had a faux-argument about which one was more accurate.

Bruce does, though, worm his way into both of their hearts, and that's like, the main reason they become vigilantes to join him. So that they could keep him safe and not because of any desire to return to the heroic life. Relearning to care and finding satisfaction in helping others was an unintentional side effect.

(Bruce is so very smug)

Essentially:

The Twins: this is our squishy and fragile adoptive father. If anything happened to him, we're becoming mass extinction events.

Bruce: Nnno.

[acourtofthought]

There's a post on the other side claiming that Lucien wanted to see Elain just once to see if she was worth fighting for and after he did, he immediately turned around and decided he'd rather rescue another female.

This is one of those "IG versus Real Life" Posts. They like their filtered version the best but it's not actually the truth.

Lucien arrived at the HOW where Feyre told him to stay away from Elain for now, only for her to see Elain in her depressed state then turn to leave and found Lucien standing in the door, devastation written across his face.

Lucien was told to stay away from Elain but when he accidentally stumbled upon her in the library, he stayed, thinking on how she was too thin, offering her a biscuit, thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen (something that made him feel guilty because of Jesminda - but sure, he went on and immediately started fixating on Vassa. Makes sense).

Nesta demanded that he leave the library and he in turn demanded that they get Elain outside, that she needed fresh air.

Feyre calls down to Rhys to have the sisters moved from the HOW because of Lucien's insistence to get her outside (it's clear THIS is the reason Az took Elain out to the garden, because they wouldn't let Lucien remain near her and Feyre told Rhys to relay Lucien's insistence that they take her outside).

Elain begins eating, drinking, and sleeping after this and continues having riddles which began within a day of Lucien's arrival to the HOW.

Despite the sisters treatment of him, Lucien tells Feyre he'd still like to help and suggests that a healer look over Elain, asking that Feyre tell him what she says and whether he can do anything more. At the healers suggestion he sits with and attempts to reach out to her through their bond while Feyre, Mor, Amren and Nesta sit around them pretending like they're not staring the two of them down which makes for an extremely awkward situation for someone who has never attempted to explore his bond with a female before. He doesn't have the time he needs before Elain stands up after feeling the tug and Nesta interferes but when questioned about what he felt it causes him to blush.

When he's not thinking of ways to help Elain, Lucien has been offering his assistance to the IC, heading to the library for them, telling Az about the Autumn Court, making suggestions regarding the High Lords meeting, secretly talking to Nuan in hopes she could create an antidote to the faebane.

Elain has the vision that reveals Vassa and Koschei to them and Mor begins arguing in favor of seeking Vassa out. Azriel, despite his proclamation that they need a seer doesn't seem to believe Elain's vision is worth pursing and just as FEYRE is about to volunteer, just as she realizes how much the others are needed in the NC, Lucien offers up his own life because he realizes he is the one that they don't need in the NC. That Elain is still mourning Graysen, that he doesn't really belong in this court, that he is the expendable one.

Please show me where in the text that he's eager to find Vassa because he has any sort of romantic inclination to find another female? Please show me where this was EVER about rescuing one person? The text shows he went after her so he could try and bring back an ARMY. You know, to help them win the war? So they could have a chance at surviving?

As Lucien leaves on what in canon is a dangerous mission, in order to support his mates vision, one even Az wouldn't let Rhys go too far into the human lands for, he bows his head to hide the longing and sadness he has for Elain, not Vassa. While Lucien is willing to pursue Elain's vision, it does not read that he's relieved and happy to be leaving her. He's doing it because he believes it's the right thing to do.

This constant twisting of the events is not going to change what happened in the story no matter how often they try. If Sarah wanted us to believe there was anything romantic about Lucien saving Vassa she would not have written Lucien still looking at his mate with longing nearly two years after the scenes above.

"Longing is almost a genre unto itself. We think of longing as being wrapped up in romance and desire, but it's broader than that. I think of how an intense longing for the past, a person, an experience, or a life drives a story or a character."

This act of longing as it's written for Sarah's males is not about only romance and desire but the longing for a life they want to have with their mates. And when every male that has longed for his mate ended up with her I'm not sure why some in the fandom believe it's not going to work out exactly the same for Lucien when it comes to Elain.

[stay-corner]

im crying. jisung wearing a choker with a heart shaped tag on it. i need him so bad.

–🐿💕

warnings: nsfw, minors do not read! unprotected sex, creampie, hanji wears cat ears and a choker but they don't come into play much, he's desperate and horny and whiny and that's exactly how i like my men, he sucks on your fingers, u choke him, he cries, all that. he passes out a bit but he's fine. overstimulation ig? idk it's also pretty nasty and sweaty

word count: 1.1k words

a/n: hanji anon it has been almost two years since you cried in my inbox about jisung wearing a heart choker and i don't know if you're still around but i'll let you know the recent bow choker jisung incident made me let out an honest to god whimper. so here's a nasty drabble involving jisung, a bow choker with a heart shaped tag on it, and cat ears. jesus take the wheel

[05:31 am - han jisung]

"faster, faster, fuck," he chants in a desperate tone, hands slipping quickly from your hips to your thighs and back up, restless and greedy as he grips your flesh, nails digging in and squeezing painfully. all you can do is moan, whimpers stuck in your throat as you piston your hips on top of his own, legs quivering from both extertion and his needy pawing.

"i'm going... as fast as... i can, ji..." squeezes through your constricted throat between pants, jaw slack and eyes barely keeping open. jisung's so hard and thick for you, you want to throw your head back and fall prey to the enjoyment, but the image of him fucked out underneath you, cheeks flushed, pretty black choker resting on his neck, frilly bow and shiny heart glinting back at you, and the cat ears clumsily clipped in his hair... god, you couldn't have mustered a more erotic image even if you tried your hardest.

jisung bucks his hips up into yours at just the right time, the impact hitting a new angle that makes you keen and pulls an open sob out of him, head lurching off the pillow from the pleasure as his eyes squeeze shut. "oh, you're sopping wet, fuck... fuck..." jisung whines, his high voice reminiscent of the harmonious high notes he hits in the recording booth, now distorted with lust and want and desperation. "please, please, faster, wanna cum so bad," he runs his mouth stupid, brain shut off, and you feel your lungs burning.

"ji, you're so... fucking... insatiable..." you groan back at him, eyebrows furrowing because you're positive that you can't physically go any faster than you're going right now, the sound of smacking skin and wet squelches and unabashed moaning bouncing off the walls of jisung's bedroom. you already forgot how many times either of you came so far, brains gradually turning to mush the longer you pleasured each other, until you were reduced to the mindless animals bucking into each other now, fucking like rabbits.

one of jisung's hands moves down, brushes your clit in its pursuit of rubbing against his pelvis and your thighs, fingers becoming drenched in the mix of both of your slick and cum. he lets out an almost pained sound at the feeling, gaze watching how the substance webs between his spread fingers, and he almost grows cross eyed at the sight, head falling defeated on the pillow.

"that word's too big for me..." he remembers to respond, fingers returning to grab at your body, wherever you'd let him. "it's so sloppy, fuck, i'm... so numb, but it's so good... fuck... make me cum, make me cum," jisung rambles on and on, eyes squeezing and head thrashing from side to side, messing with the ears in his hair, choker straining at his neck. you think it's on a bit tight, but jisung probably likes it. it might leave a small mark, and you clench at the thought.

jisung is still wailing for you, the filter between his mouth and mind nonexistent, and before you think, one of your hands lifts from his toned, sweaty chest, up to his mouth, two of your fingers slipping in effortlessly. jisung responds with muscle memory, jaw falling slack and body relaxing, lids finally lifting as he shows you his beautiful doe eyes, growing glassier by the second. his hands don't flex painfully into your flesh anymore, fingers letting go as he begins rubbing over your torso and legs, mouth alternating between tongueing your fingers and sucking on them.

"that's it.. pretty and brainless for me, ji, hm?" you huff down at him, tone sweeter, sticky and soft for him. it's hypnotic to him - jisung thinks you'll be the death of him, and he's fine with it. "you're fucked stupid, baby," you add, and one of his hands runs over your tummy, catching onto your bellybutton before it descends further, soaked thumb making contact with your aching clit. it's gentle - even in his fucked-out state, jisung knows how to touch you, knows you're sensitive, knows this is enough to make you tighten around him, make your toes curl.

his other hand slips off your thigh, rubbing up his own torso, over his soft tummy, over his raised chest, and finally finds your fingers, coiling them in his grasp and pulling them up, towards his neck. jisung blinks up at you, gaze zoning in and out, and his eyes begin to well up with tears when you finally grab his throat firmly, the feeling of the choker's frilly fabric making the hair on your arm stand up.

"shit, jisung, you're fucking nasty," you mutter, fingers pushing harsher against his tongue as you grip the sides of his throat, and the new leverage allows you to angle your hips better, descending on him harsher, over and over and over again, the sound of smacking skin and wet squelches and muffled gagging echoing against the walls of jisung's head, and he only realizes he's crying when the cold tears roll down his ears, his burning red hot ears.

jisung wants to warn you, tell you he'll cum, but it builds up so fast in his lower tummy, and he sees only bright white behind his eyes as the sensation travels down his legs and up his body, feet clenching and unclenching, hands all but smacking down on you from the sheer force of the feeling, pushing and pulling at once, unsure of where he wants you - he shivers violently, thighs and ass and biceps burning and shaking, his lungs pushing all the air out in spite of the sharp clench in his chest, veins bulging in his throat and forehead and fucking cock, balls clenching as he empties inside you, the pull deliciously painful. your walls milk him too well, and he lets another sob out around your fingers as the tip of his dick throbs, each drag of your pussy sending electric jolts down his shaft, directly into his bloodstream.

jisung only comes around again when you brush his hair off his forehead softly, fingers working the cat ears out of his strands, and tenderly undoing his choker. his ears ring, and he has to relax his muscles manually, body still tensed and jolting every few seconds. you leave a peck on his temple, hand rubbing softly at his throat, down his chest, up to his cheek, and he has half a mind to tilt his head, kiss your palm. his eyes are closed.

"you're so good to me, ji" you whisper against his skin, body lying next to his. you're both sweaty and gross, and jisung is in love with you, so he tells you so.

"... 'm love you."

you chuckle and nuzzle into him. it only takes you two a minute tops to drift off, sweaty, and gross, and in love, and thoroughly satisfied. (for now - he'll agree with you tomorrow, when his brain can finally process more than three syllables at once, that he is insatiable, after all).

sick and twisted. thank u so much for reading, hope you enjoyed! here is my inbox, where you can leave feedback, thoughts, or request an idea! here you can find more of my writing, and here are my guidelines! :> i appreciate every like and reblog and sweet word thrown my way! have a nice (and wet and nasty) day hehe~ - lunar

[ferinawrites]

Teak Shelves from the 60's

This is so real. Honestly, it takes a lot to admit feeling this kind of pressure—but I’ve been carrying it. I’m managing a Tattoo/Barber/Piercing studio, studying Interior Design, trying to be present as a single mom, and still thinking about how our home looks and feels. Sometimes I have to remind myself—that’s already a lot. I’m literally building a future and a home at the same time.

And then there’s Instagram. God, it gets to me. That never-ending scroll of perfectly curated, spotless homes that look like they belong in a magazine. Even though I know it’s all staged, filtered, and probably sponsored, it still makes me feel like I’m falling behind on something I never even signed up for.

But hey—those two teak bookshelves I found on Facebook Marketplace for 1000 kr? Total win. There’s something so satisfying about giving old furniture a new life. They’ve added so much warmth and personality to our rental. Way more soul than a brand-new showroom setup could ever give. And I even got them from a woman raising funds for a local sports team, so it felt good supporting someone else, too.

I’m also really glad I changed the kind of influencers I follow on IG. Lately I’ve been drawn to midcentury modern, secondhand, sustainable design accounts—people bringing back that cozy 60s/70s charm. Feels more real. More within reach. And way more aligned with where I’m at right now, both creatively and financially.

[sgiandubh]

Why would Ashley go to follow and stop following Caitriona? After all aren't sam and caitriona supposed to be just friends and colleagues so why do that? They're the ones creating all the fuss for nothing. If they acted like colleagues no one would go looking 🙄🙄🙄 . I don't understand this need to always dismiss Caitriona as if it's oh my god never associate Caitriona with sam. What a crime to see two friends together ! Following Caitriona means nothing, it doesn't define an affair nor a relationship between them so I don't see the point in avoiding following this woman 🙄🙄 !

Dear Following Anon,

You can try to dilute things as much as you want, but you seem to ignore one of the weird Laws of Thermodynamics in this fandom:

Follows and unfollows are important and relevant. Until they aren't.

I do not share many people's mystique in this regard, simply because I happen to believe social media is nothing more than a tool. Whether it is used for promo and/or manipulation is anyone's guess. What is clear is that there are more things than the bits we are privy to via Instagram, very often with an agenda.

In that particular case, the follow clicked with some info I was shared regarding that get together at the Milady's bar. I was also told Ashley did (help) organize the event, which is consistent with her posting an IG story featuring some Sassenach bottles she was delivering 'somewhere' just before it took place.

And then, there's also this detail:

Clearly she knew the owners/bartending team and arranged things.

But perhaps she thought/was told that would be exposing her too much and then changed her mind about following C? I suppose all we can do is speculate, Anon. Fact is Ashley followed her and she doesn't anymore. Anyone's guess, really.

I will respectfully disagree with you about them deliberately 'creating this fuss for nothing'. You probably are a Fencer and, as all Fencers do, you seem to be unable to connect the dots and never question anything you are told. A most regrettable, unpleasant thing that takes away all the fun and permanently closes all the interesting doors and avenues you could explore in this fandom. Your explanation does not hold: if there is nothing, why condone this ambiguity? For clicks? That is ridiculous. C doesn't give a flying duck about clicks and he just has to take off his shirt: mommies worldwide will instantly unite and drool. How Pavlovian!

There is also another thing: C's Stans really seem to have strong, repressed feelings for her, that might go beyond what is socially acceptable from a fan. They seem to display such a deep sense of possession, it often made me raise an eyebrow in disbelief. If we follow this reasoning, then McGill is the perfect, harmless companion: they see him as no serious threat to their fantasies. S is something else and their minds dissociate - otherwise, as Yeats once famously wrote, 'Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold'.

'Following Caitriona means nothing, it doesn't define an affair nor a relationship between them'. Oh, Anon, I hope you didn't imply Ashley and C... come on, get a grip! By now, all the side players must have been gently, but firmly briefed about people's behavior in this fandom: lack of filter, and all. What would you do, if you were Ashley Hearn?

Finally, let me correct something about the timeline of events - thank you for the opportunity to do so:

I did write in a previous post (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/765519132954329088/seems-sams-mom-has-been-in-new-york-as-well) that the Milady's get together was on October 17th. I was wrong and superficial, albeit in all good faith. It was on October 16th, after C was spotted at the Burberry's 57th Street Flagship Store Reopening VIP Dinner, in New York:

I do apologize for this mistake and would like to thank @mojo106 for rigorously setting the record straight: what would I do without your collective scrutiny? Probably make a fool of myself.

However, the whole rest of it is legit and I am sticking to whatever I could write about it. Never a problem acknowledging mistakes and owning them, here. Warts and all, Anon. Warts and all.

[jokeroutsubs]

📝ENG Translation: 🆕 Bojan Cvjetićanin's interview for May 2024 issue of OnaPlus magazine.

Article written by Daša Mavrič, published in OnaPlus magazine on 03.05.2024. English translation by TT katysmusic77 proofread by IG GBoleyn123.

🗨 Bojan Cvjetićanin, Joker Out: I wasn't at ease on stage for quite a long time

The calendar causes them a lot of issues, Bojan from Joker Out admits in conversation. In one year, the boys experienced things that most of us don't get to experience in our entire lifetime. How can someone avoid mixing up the sequence of events?! Bojan Cvjetićanin is currently in Germany with Kris Guštin, Nace Jordan, Jan Peteh and Jure Maček, where they are recording their third album.

In a long distance conversation he only confirmed his professionalism, which they agreed upon simultaneously with their performance at Eurovision. "We very quickly and unanimously decided to take on the rock'n'roll lifestyle properly; for us to enjoy it, for our fans to enjoy it and to be able to enjoy it for more than a month," Bojan says.

We're talking during your process of recording the album in Hamburg, just before that, you finished the tour. The band members really spend a lot of time together. How has your relationship evolved during all the years of being in a band?

BC: The current line-up is not the original one, we switched two members. But the fact is that the intense band life began two years ago, when both new members had already joined the band. So our common home, so to speak, has only existed for about a year. A lot has changed in fact. I believe we don't even notice all of it, nor do we think about it, because we are together all the time and we filter through the changes regularly.

If I look back, I see that the relationship between us became extremely, extremely tight and a mutual trust has been formed, which can only be built when you spend as much time with someone as we do with each other. The line between our relationships has been blurred. What I'm trying to say is that the line blurred between being a friend, a band member, a colleague, it all became one thing. We are essentially a sort of organism, which evolves and changes together.

The growth of each individual is very dependent on the other four members. We really have been through a lot together; even the biggest moments of shock, which influence our feelings and thoughts, happened to us collectively, we were never alone. We have become very dependant opon one another.

Your pace of life would firstly be ascribed to a professional athlete, rather than a rockstar. And to me it seems you have set out on your career in this way consciously. There's probably no drinking, late nights out?

BC: When we started the first two Europen tours it very quickly became apparent that what we are doing is a lot more serious than people would imagine. At least for us, this is the most fun job in the world, as we get to create and play music for the people who love us. And we love them as well. Together we share these lovely feelings, which is the coolest part of this job. If we want to do this long term and at a high level, we knew that we had to take it seriously.

When you have 22 concerts in one month, you of course think that everyone who bought a ticket to your concert deserves your best performance. When you're living at an extremely demanding pace for a month, late nights out and similar things are a completely unnecessary stress and distraction for your body. We very quickly and unanimously decided to take on the rock'n'rolll lifestyle in a proper way; for us to enjoy it, for our fans to enjoy it and to be able to enjoy it for more than a month.

In the podcast for N1¹ you openly talked about your panic attack. How have you been taking care of your mental health since that episode? ¹You can watch the N1 podcast with English subtitles on our YouTube channel!

BC: This happened to me last summer when, even though I was sick, we played five or six concerts in ten days. Tiredness and probably everything that had happened to us took its toll. After Eurovision, which ended in May, we didn't turn on the emotional part of our brain, because so many things were happening so quickly, we fell into work mode. The combination of all these emotions and events probably mixed together with tiredness and illness. I wasn't really at ease on stage and continued to not be at ease on stage for quite a long time, practically a whole year. But of course to a much lesser extent and less severely. The whole team made sure that it would happen as little as possible. The boys gladly took on the responsibilities for which my presence wasn't necessary and took that burden off my shoulders. I hardly had to deal with the logistics, the bureaucracy and I left it to those, who are better qualified for it. The boys in the band and our team always make sure that everyone feels at their maximum best.

On tours that are behind you, something really fascinating happened, the fans were singing with you in Slovene. We're speaking during your process of recording the new album in Germany. Does it even matter in which language you create music?

BC: On all the tours so far it turned out that for hour and a half, people are singing our lyrics. When some of our friends from Slovenia came to one of the concerts, they really couldn't fathom what was going on, because the people around them were talking in their own languages, but when we started singing, they sang together with us. On stage, we hardly hear any details in the pronunciation through all the noise, so we don't even have the feeling that the people who are singing don't speak Slovene otherwise. We felt very at home throughout all of Europe, which was quite magical.

Regarding the recording of the third album, the songs will be in the languages in which the idea for them was sparked. When it comes to the language in which the song is created, we really don't limit ourselves.

But I can tell you that the majority of the songs will be in Serbian and in Slovene, I doubt there will be more than two, maybe three songs in English.

Who is your favourite to win this year's Eurovision song contest?

BC: To be completely honest, I haven't looked into into this year's contestants a lot. I want to hear the songs for the first time when we watch Eurovision, which will be here in the studio. I was a host at the Eurovision pre-party in Madrid and there I heard some of the songs, but I consciously moved backstage to not hear them in their entirety. I want to experience it with a neutral outlook and base my opinion on what I hear for the first time, and not after I had been listening to a song for three months and maybe even met the artist in person.

But I absolutely strongly believe in our representative Sara. I know that she sings the song live really well. And that's very, very important. I know she has the stage presence, I saw the reaction from the public after her performance in Spain and that reaction was very positive.

For now, Raiven's performance is the only one that I saw in its entirety. I want to experience the rest when Eurovision happens.

How do you look back on your Eurovision experience after one year? You are in fact the first Slovenian representative that really took advantage of it in a completely different way.

BC: Eurovision completely changed our career and our lives. It's interesting that so many things happened to us since last year that we find it hard to perceive time. The calendar represents a big problem for us (laughter). We have problems evaluating what happened three months ago, what happened seven months ago and what happened two years ago. The events get a bit mixed up. If somebody told me that three years have passed since Eurovision, I would believe them.

We had a hectic lifestyle for half a year, we fell into an extremely unique universe, which you can only really believe if you're a part of Eurovision, or if you're an avid Eurovison fan who lives for Eurovision. And there's a lot of them.

Yeah, you fall into some kind of universe and you live in a bubble, completely isolated from your surroundings. We had a blast, we enjoyed it a lot, we met so many wonderful people. Since last year, we saw half of the representatives during the tours and all of them joined us on stage.

We know and we feel, that we did a good job. We are proud of what we have done, proud of what Eurovision enabled us to do. We worked really hard, all of it was very much filled with competitive spirit, but every single moment was worth it. When the opportunity for Eurovision presented itself to us, we knew we would take it full-on, or not at all.

[meraki-yao]

Hi! I hope I don't come across as some hater (I'm really not, I promise). I just saw someone on twitter mentioning that nick filtered rwrb on his ig. If you comment it is only visible to you or something like that. I didn't check myself, but I wonder, if it's true, why did he do that? Is just really sad ngl.. I mean again, no hate here, please don't get me wrong, I love both and nick and tzp! It is ok if you don't want to answer this or something. P.S. If anything please don't block me omg :D. P.P.S. You really seem like such a nice human being and I admire your mindset, keep it up! Take care!

I'm answering this one because 1, you're a sweetheart, thank you for asking so politely, 2, my Chinese rwrb friends did some investigating.

"rwrb" the combination of these four letters, is indeed filtered. BUT, the full name "Red White & Royal Blue" isn't. Neither is "Henry", "Prince Henry", or "❤️🤍💙". It is literally just, the acronym.

The circled is from the recent F1 post:

At the same time, look what they found:

These screenshots are from my friend, her user interface is in Chinese so I'll translate a bit: all of these comments are from the last two hours, all from the same account, this "user24613579811". But if you look at their profile:

0 followers, 0 posts

That's suspicious, right?

On top of that, this account has been commenting under Nick's post for at least the past month

This comment, is from approximately a week ago, under the 18 May post. This is also prove that the phrase "Red White and Royal Blue" isn't filtered.

Also note that in the collection of comments, not only is "rwrb" typed as "rwr*b", but "homophobic" is typed as "homophob*c", so the word "homophobic" is probably filtered as well

So this is the hypothesis: the account has been massively harassing Nick for a while, and originally, they only used the phrase "rwrb" not the full name. Blocking this account isn't really productive because blank accounts like this are easy to set up, if you block this one, the person behind the account can just set up another one in like, five minutes. So they chose to filter "rwrb". This isn't against the project and the fandom, it's against these bully spam accounts.

My friend also said, and I quote "This is just my hypothesis, if you think otherwise, please do feel free to do some investigating yourself. Also, please remember this:"

Take care too!

[urinarythreatinfection]

I had a nightmare that mihawk, dragon, shanks, another character thats a manga spoiler but ill give a hint the character started with an s (i known, insane), and garp were all in love with this one girl and they all had a child with her and it turned out they shared the same mom so zoro and luffy were siblings (im a zolu shipper). Then one piece ended it luffy becoming a super god and fighting buggy who had turned into a demon and they both fought like that while both super huge. Luffy won and that was the end. But for some reason then it kept going and i was reading the manga now and ig oda was taking a break because there was a new artist that drew in color and they were the biggest gooner and kept drawing extremely goon basically softcore porn of the girls and made nami a shortstack (i agreed with that part). Then luffy and perona met and suddenly it seemed like they were gonna get together and it was devastating seeing it because i liked the no mc romance in OP but they were so cute together i remember one moment perona poked luffy's cheek while they were both running and he blushed a teeny bit it was so cute it was devastating. I also had to watch all 5 guys interact with the girl all enamoured with her. Like incredibly. It wasnt even an oc or me or a self insert either i just came up with this girl and the worst part is she was actually pretty cool but it was still heartbreaking seeing it happen (and having luffy and zoro being related). Anyway the 3 luffy, zoro, and sanji all had canon female leads now. Luffy's was perona and the other two were also girls i came up with but for some reason were always canon and i knew them in the dream unlike the mom person. The zoro one was this swordswoman that was like tashigi but more wild ig, longer spikier ponytail and no glasses. Their dynamic was like fun wild (her) and just black dog wild (zoro). Sanji's was this blonde girl that looked like the final boss mom from pokemon sun and moon. She was really mature and their dynamic was him flirting with her like normal and her being like the flirtatious mature type, kinda like the mom from pokemon sun too (luzamine i just searched it up except the girl was bustier and wore black). For perona and luffy it was just both of them were really cute and it was nice to see. All of them fit so well it was devastating, even the mom and the guys they seemed nice even though it physically pained me. And as if it couldnt get any worse splatoon 4 came out and the connection issues were even WORSE and it was super glitchy and there were like multiple spawn points now and it was cool but heartbreaking. Overall the nightmare was that everything i didnt want to happen in media happened and it was done well enough that I couldnt even be mad. It was like sidon getting with that one chick in totk but i couldnt hate her because she was so nice. Connection issues but cool gameplay sigh. It was horrible. Whats worse is I fake waked up too and Shanks still had a kid and the mom was possibly bellemere. When i woke up for real I was panicked and had to filter out for like 10 minutes what happened in the dream and what was real. Also I know it doesnt make sense for the mom to be zoro's bc none of the 5 guys are zoro's dad but for some reason it was just true, it was a plot hole in the dream that just made sense in my dream mind. Also when i say softcore porn i really fucking meant it like girls's nipples were showing and getting squeezed it was almost actual porn and the artist and story person wasnt even oda but for some reason oda just allowed it all i guess.

[dearmura]

HERE'S ME ASKING!! ok have u though abt bf!riki x reader where they are buying stuff at the supermarket and it ends up in ✨️ chaos ✨️

"no riki omg this soap is literally the best!!"

"ew it smells like trash, we're buying this one!!"

"pls i hate u"

just something rlly fluffy/crack <3

behave

☆ cw. some cursing, they bicker/threaten each other A LOT, period jokes, reader is referred to using she/her pronouns, not proofread

☆ pairings. bf! riki × fem! reader

☆ genre. fluff, crack, established relationship

☆ author's note: sort of a drabble ig???

��🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

with a ring of the bell just above the door, you sigh to yourself, hearing feet shuffle just behind you. swiftly turning around before you fully enter the store, you give the boy a stern look

"ki, I swear to God, if you don't behave yourself I'll literally force you into that child compartment at the front of the shopping cart. don't, I repeat DON'T, try anything" you warn, pointing an accusing finger at the boy who only gives you a feigned innocent expression you see right through. someone on the outside looking in would think your attitude towards the boy would only resemble a mom scolding her son when you were in fact his girlfriend who desperately wanted to shop without being publicly embarrassed by the boy's shenanigans

slumping his shoulders in defeat, the boy nods solelmy, paralleling a child after being scolded. sticking to your side like a wad of gum, you two continue on your merry way. though, knowing the boy, you knew this promise would be broken within 5 minutes tops. you even consider timing it but decide against it, knowing it would only encourage the boy further

"oooo angel angel, look at how big this watermelon is" he points with wide eyes like a child on Christmas morning, giving you an expectant look which you only laugh at

"ya, ki, if you put salt on that watermelon I'm actually disowning you" you tease as he places it in the cart, only resulting in him blowing a raspberry in your direction. you playfully hit his shoulder, and he dramatically gasps, falling onto the floor like he was in a telenovela

"riki, I swear to God, get up from there! you're already embarrassing us" you whisper shout, hiding your amusement at his pure stupidity

he fakes a cry, holding the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically as he takes little peeks to see if you're still looking, making you roll your eyes

"how could you. your boyfriend is dying here and you call me an embarrassment" he scolds, gasping dramatically once more, sticking out his tongue to fake his death. pointing to the shelves right above him, you almost burst into a fit of laughter at what you see, a whole section filled to the absolutely brim with kuromi bandaids along with other sanrio characters. sighing in feigned annoyance, you grab a box, successfully 'healing' the boy enough to bring him back up to his feet

"you're a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"and you haven't broken up with me yet. who's the real dummy now?" he states innocently, blowing a kiss in your direction before scanning the aisles once more, leaving you absolutely dumbfounded

✧

"ooo ki smell this soap, it's so good" you take a whiff with a sigh, in heaven by the soothing smell. the boy approaches you and takes a sniff of his own only to fake a gag

"that smells like ass" he says plugging his nose, swatting the air with a grimace dramatically, making you roll your eyes

"how would you know what that smells like" you retort, making him click his tongue at your attitude. you only wink and blow him a kiss just as he did you. you knew he secretly found your attitude insanely attractive so you only smile to yourself when you see him go silent

the boy was wrapped around your finger and he knew it

✧

"oh my gosh!! look look! it's a little coffee filter for dolls!! how cute~" he coos at a package of bright pink "coffee filters." when you finally approach him and see what he's referring to, you laugh, caressing the boy's cheek as you place a gentle kiss on his lips at his pure innocence

"oh my sweet, pretty boy those are menstrual cups" you coo at him like a child, throwing your head back in amusement when his smile drops and eyes widen at your words, a blush creeping up on his cheeks from embarrassment

"y-you mean that you put that up your..." he pauses in pure shock, looking like he's seen a ghost, only making you laugh more. dramatically holding you in fear, he takes your hand to cover his eyes, terrified of the feminine products before him. about to take one to restock for yourself, he holds your arm back, shaking his head quickly

"would you like me to bleed all over our bed next month" you say with a smile way too sweet for your words. suddenly switching up at your words, he searches the aisle

"do you prefer pads, tampons, cups..." he asks with a scared smile

✧

grocery list in hand, you scan the shelves searching for items as you check off ones already in the cart. switching places with the boy so you could actually get stuff done, he was now in charge of rolling the cart (essentially just sitting there and looking pretty cuz he wasn't gonna help anyways)

you knew immediately he would take advantage of the power, which he did. walking peacefully, trying to go about your day, you feel a sudden pain in your calf, making you hiss in pain. looking back at the culprit, you see a smiley riki holding the cart innocently as if he didn't just ram the cart into your leg

scoffing, you slip your sandal off of your foot and hold it up in the air before you start walking toward the boy

"you're really gonna get it now, nishimura"

he was lucky you loved him

[sweetblinginrose]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 | 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖙𝖜𝖔,

(OS Eddie Munson x fem!reader geek)

summary: The girl goes in search of answers and ends up with the metalhead's cock in her throat... who would have thought…

word count: 8,3k +

warnings: obv +18, rivalry, ingestion of alcohol and joints, almost gave Sinclair a withey, spanking, blowjob in public.

a/n: hey guuurls, i wrote a second part since @alastorssimp asked for it and i reconsidered it. not sure if it’ll be as good as you said the first part was, but i think it’s alright, ig. the problem is the translation. if there’s anything you don’t get, let me know.

oh, and sorry for taking so long, i’m busy with my exams hehe.

kisses!!

oh and don't copy my idea, it's my own huh 🦄

masterlist

before reading this part, you have to read this one!

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

In the darkness of the room, you and the long-haired boy lay in an oasis of intimacy, surrounded by an ocean of sheets that kept the secrets of your most vulnerable moments. The sheets, wrinkled and disordered, were a canvas of memories, impregnated with the aroma of tobacco that mixed with the freshness of the night and the sweet vestige of recently consummated sex.

His room, a sanctuary of orderly chaos, exuded warmth despite its disarray. Magazines with their folded pages and worn edges lay scattered on the floor, testimony to many nights of reading and lively discussions. The posters, hung with a nonchalance that bordered on art, danced on the hard plastic walls of the trailer, each telling a story, each a window to a different world.

The laughter you shared, free and genuine, rose and filled every corner, weaving a melody exclusive to your duo. The night breeze, complicit in your union, slid through the half-open window, shaking the faded and torn curtains that hung like banners of a forgotten kingdom. The air carried with it the characteristic aroma of the Forest Hills Trailer Park, a mix of freshness and adventure, which caressed your bare skin, causing a shiver that was both anticipation and delight.

But then, reality knocked on the door in the form of insistent knocks. It was Tom, his voice filtering through the plastic like a discordant melody, his tone a mix of confusion and amusement. His question, thrown into the wind with the nonchalance of someone who has enjoyed the most earthly pleasures, broke the spell of the moment. "Hey, lovebirds! What are you doing in there that your hair can't be seen?" He exclaimed, his laugh a laugh that mixed with the smoke and foam of the shared beers. It was a reminder that, although the outside world continued to spin, in that room, in that moment, only the two of you existed.

You stood up suddenly, as if propelled by an invisible spring, in the middle of the darkness that hung over the room like a thick blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest with the force of a war drum, each beat an echo in the vast cavern of your anxiety. The room, previously a sanctuary of laughter and whispers, now seemed like a mausoleum of silence and shadows, only interrupted by the gasping of two souls that had danced on the edge of the abyss.

Your eyes, two desperate beacons in the night, opened wide, capturing the pale moonlight filtering through the window. The reality of your nakedness, and that of Eddie at your side, hit you with the rawness of an inescapable truth. You remembered, with a clarity that hurt, each step that had led you to intertwine your destinies in the most intimate way. Fear, that old acquaintance, slithered across your skin, a cold snake that threatened to strangle your thoughts. The senses, now sharp as knives, tensed as they captured every whisper, every creak that the old house decided to give away. Fear had transformed into panic, a savage beast that threatened to devour what little composure you had left. You could feel, almost see, your friends' questioning gaze through the closed door, their imaginary eyes piercing the plastic like x-rays.

In an act of desperation, your eyes searched frantically for something to cover your nakedness, but the room offered only the promise of deeper exposure. The feeling of vulnerability was overwhelming, a giant crushing you to the ground with its mountain-like weight. The certainty that something shameful was about to happen paralyzed you, a pillar of salt condemned to look back.

You and Eddie looked at each other, and in his eyes you found the reflection of your own fear, a mirror where anxiety danced with shame. The footsteps outside the room echoed with the certainty of an approaching doom, and in that moment, you understood what it meant to be truly trapped, like on Elm Street, in a true nightmare.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you propelled yourself upwards, attempting to defy gravity and the circumstances that had brought you to that unforgiving ground. But your legs, betrayed by exhaustion and accumulated tension, did not respond as you expected. Instead of standing tall in triumph, you collapsed, your knees hitting the worn and stained carpet that told stories of countless encounters and disagreements. The sharp pain that shot through your knees was a cruel reminder of your humanity, an echo of the vulnerability you had tried to ignore. Your legs trembled, shaken by spasms that robbed you of any illusion of control. Still, in an act of desperation, you extended your arm, looking for the garment that would restore a minimum of decorum, but you only found emptiness. You couldn't find your favorite panties...

With your heart pounding in your chest, you resigned yourself to the urgency of the moment and focused on putting on your bra, feeling the cold sensation of the bonding metal against your bare back. Every click of the closure reminded you of the stark reality of the situation you found yourself in.

Embarrassment mixed with urgency as you wrapped yourself in the bra, feeling the stretchy fabric hug your torso tightly, offering you a modicum of protection amidst the chaos around you. The absence of undergarments increased your vulnerability, but you had no time to hesitate.

In the midst of the mess, your gaze drifted to Eddie, who was awkwardly struggling to put on his pants. His movements were clumsy and uncoordinated, an expression of determination etched on his face despite the hair tie he held between his lips. With each tug of fabric, his face reflected a mix of urgency and desperation, as he struggled to regain a bit of dignity in the chaos of the situation. The mess you were in was palpable, but you were both determined to deal with it in the best way possible.

Tom's thuds and drunken screams intensified, reverberating against the bare walls of the room, each impact an echo of the tension building in the fog-thick air. The atmosphere was saturated with chaos, each discordant sound a note in the symphony of nocturnal anarchy. In the eye of this sonic storm, the voice of one of your friends emerged, a thread of sanity in Tom's madness. His tone was a mix of concern and drunken sarcasm, imploring him to moderate the force of his against the door, that the noise might wake the neighbors and bring consequences unwanted. His words, although tinged with alcohol, managed to cut through the chaos, granting a brief respite, a moment of calm before the storm continued. Tom, distracted by the presence of your friends, walked away from the door, his unsteady footsteps guiding him back to the dining room. There, his voice rose again, a drunken shout trying to be charming, seeking the attention of anyone willing to listen.

Meanwhile, in the stillness of the room, you stood up from the cold, hard floor. Your knees, marked by the pressure of your fall, showed a redness that spoke of the subtle but persistent pain. With movements that belied your newfound vulnerability, you grabbed your skirt and t- shirt, dressing with a haste born of necessity. Eddie, next to you, imitated your movements. He gave a dry clearing of his throat, an attempt to impose some order on the chaotic scene. Unlike you, he avoided your gaze, his attention focused on piecing together his appearance, making sure every detail was in its place. Without looking at you, his voice cut through the silence, "Everything's cool, right? Can we go out now?" You nodded, although you knew he wasn't expecting your approval. With a discreet gesture, he opened the door just enough to enter. His exit was marked by a forced smile, a façade of normality that sought to erase any hint of what had happened.

When you returned to the living room, not so welcoming, everyone's eyes focused on you. Luckily, the known animosity between the two served as a distraction from any suspicion. Tom, impatient, asked in a voice clouded by smoke and alcohol, "What took you so long?" Next to him, one of your friends was trapped in a casual hug, the smell of marijuana and alcohol permeating the air. Eddie, with the skill of a veteran in these affairs, made up an excuse on the fly, something about an item lost in a bet. The explanation, although weak, was accepted without further ado. The others, absorbed in their world of laughter and drinking, dismissed the importance of the matter and plunged back into their feast of joy and excess.

The night unfolded like a dark blanket, dotted with stars that blinked indifferently at the tension that was brewing between you and Eddie. The gazes that had previously danced together in perfect harmony were now diverted, colliding with familiar faces in the crowd. Discomfort clung to you, a second skin made of silences and unspoken words, a transparent shield that isolated you from the human warmth that surrounded you. The bustle of the small gathering became a distant hum, as each one was immersed in a sea of silent reflections and imprisoned feelings. The tension that had floated between you, a dance of veiled contempt and hidden desire, had brewed over the years, growing silently until it became an invisible giant that now separated you.

There you were, at the epicenter of an oppressive silence, as Eddie's laughter and exclamations filled the space, a sharp contrast to your internal stillness. His happiness, so pure and overflowing, was a rare sight, a light you hadn't witnessed in a long time, and the brilliance of it left you with an empty feeling, as if a part of you had faded into the darkness. "I have to go now, guys. I had a great time today, see you on Monday..." you announced, with a voice that seemed to come from afar, from someone that wasn't you. You didn't dare to look back, to face the surprise or the perplexity that could appear on their faces. You felt the weight of her gaze fixed on your back, trying to pierce the armor of your most secret thoughts.

As you left the trailer, the cool night air hit your face, a cold blow that sought to shake you out of the emotional lethargy in which you had immersed yourself. Your steps began to lead you away, each one resounding like an echo in the solitude of the night, marking the rhythm of your retreat from a world of silent confessions and secrets that would never see the light.

It was then that Lucas appeared, his presence so sudden that he almost seemed like a ghost emerging from the shadows. "I'll accompany you," he said in a voice that brooked no reply. His company was unexpected, almost uncomfortable, but there was something comforting about his presence. He was nothing more than an acquaintance, a friend of your sister, a member of the Order of the Sith, but at that moment, his presence was all you needed.

The night had become a blanket of uncertainty and unanswered questions. Lucas, with his unbalanced gait, seemed the only constant in a world that was reeling. You didn't understand why he had decided to accompany you and not Mike, who also shared the proximity of his steps to his house. The age difference between you and Lucas was an abyss of experiences and experiences, three years that at that moment seemed like an eternity.

The silence stretched between you like a suspension bridge, fragile and tense, until Lucas broke it with a simple, "Hey...". His voice was a whisper in the night, but enough to capture your full attention. Looking at him, worry washed over you; his dark skin glistened with night sweat, and his normally lively and alert eyes were half-lidded and tinted a deep red.

"Yes? Are you okay, Sinclair?" you asked, stopping in your tracks. The possibility that he had smoked marijuana assaulted you, and with it, a protective instinct you didn't know you had. Lucas looked at you, and in that moment, the vulnerability he showed was palpable.

"No, it's just... I think you're very pretty..." Sinclair's confession came with shaky honesty, his voice a fragile thread on the night breeze. He was visibly affected, dizziness painted his world with tones of uncertainty, and his body trembled slightly, although adorned with a naive smile that failed to hide his state. You ignored his words, it was not the time for flattery or the vulnerability they exuded. You approached him, noticing how he towered over you in height, a difference that now seemed trivial. “Have you smoked anything, Lucas,” you asked, worry coloring every syllable of your question.

Lucas tried to respond, but his rapid blinks and difficulty swallowing revealed more than his words. He looked around, perhaps looking for a way out of his confusion, when he suddenly lost his balance and fell to the ground. "Shit!" You exclaimed, as you crouched down next to him. You lifted him enough for him to sit, holding him steady. His eyes closed, surrendering to the sleep that called him, a dangerous mixture of alcohol and drugs had brought him to that sorry state. You looked around, searching for a solution, a refuge in the night for Sinclair. That's when you saw the 24-hour restaurant, an oasis of light and calm in the darkness. It was completely empty, as if it was waiting for you. Without hesitation, you decided it was the safe place to take Sinclair and help him recover. Carefully, you guided him towards the establishment, each step a silent promise that you wouldn't leave him alone in his time of need.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you crouched down and wrapped your arms under Sinclair's shoulders, feeling the dead weight of his body. "Come on, Sinclair, don't do this to me," you mumbled, your breathing labored by the effort. The dirt clung to your hands, and you could feel the wetness of the grass through your bare legs. "Sinclair, for the love of God, move something!" you exclaimed, as a vein on your forehead threatened to burst. Finally, with a groan that sounded more like a growl, Sinclair gained some consciousness, his eyes slowly blinking back to reality. With a superhuman effort, he managed to stand up, leaning heavily on you. They began to walk, each step a battle against gravity. “You weigh more than my sins,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood as his body tilted dangerously to one side, forcing you to compensate for the weight.

The cafeteria is filled with the hum of an old refrigerator as the only soundtrack of the night. The flickering lights from the neon sign outside filter through the blinds, casting dancing shadows over Lucas's exhausted form. His head, heavy as lead, oscillates on the edge of the abyss of sleep, leaning more and more towards the table that supports his weight.

The clock strikes 3 am, and time seems to have stopped in this forgotten corner of town. You, with a gesture of concern that you cannot hide, decide to intervene. The waitress, a middle-aged woman with eyes that have seen too many early mornings, walks silently over and places a steaming plate in front of Sinclair. It's an onion soup, with its comforting aroma and melted cheese that stretches with every spoonful, promising warmth and sustenance. Next to him, a large, cold glass water bottle lands with a thud on the table.

Lucas, shaken by the sound, raises his head with a start, his eyes blinking, trying to focus on the reality around him. "You have to eat and drink the whole bottle," he insists, with his arms crossed and a firmness in his voice that brooks no reply. It is not your responsibility to take care of him, but your conscience does not allow you to leave him to his fate.

As Sinclair obeys, he begins to regain the color in his cheeks and the lucidity in his eyes. The soup works its magic on him, and little by little, life returns to his eyes. Outside, the town is still asleep, oblivious to the small miracle that occurs inside. And you, despite your initial revulsion, can't help but feel a pang of satisfaction at seeing that, at least for tonight, you've made a difference in someone's life.

Lucas, with his mind still cloudy, clung to the fork as if it were an anchor in the middle of the storm. His eyes, glassy and distant, were lost in the abyss of the half-empty plate, where there had previously been a pile of comfort food. The cafeteria, plunged into a dead silence, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his next move. Was Sinclair who broke the spell, his voice tearing through the silence like paper thin. "Why did you leave there? It's because you don't like Eddie, right?" he asked, as the water swirled in his glass, reflecting his still trembling hands. Your face, a canvas of contradictory emotions, was contorted into a grimace of discomfort. Memories of what had happened just an hour or two ago assaulted you, forcing your lips into a tight smile, a clear indication of your discomfort. You were convinced that you had made a mistake, that something in your behavior had caused Eddie's averted gaze and silence. "I say this because... he doesn't dislike you, quite the contrary..." Lucas continued, dragging his words with the same slowness with which he cleaned his plate with a piece of bread. The bread, now soaked in the last vestiges of soup, disappeared in his mouth, as if with each bite it could erase the tension in the air.

Surprise appeared on your face when you heard Lucas' words. "What do you say? But Eddie hates me, or at least he did," you exclaimed with an incredulous laugh, as if the idea was so absurd that it could only be cause for a joke. Your eyes drifted for a moment to the waitress, whose curious gaze rested on the both of you. With her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, she looked like a statue, a silent observer of the strange dance of your conversation. Sinclair shook his head, her gesture was firm, denying your words with a seriousness that contrasted with your joking tone. He leaned forward, closing the distance between you, as if every word she was about to say needed the confidentiality of a whisper. "Look, I'm going to tell you, but if you tell Eddie, I'll kill you before he kills me..." His voice was a thread of tension, his eyes sleepy, as if the weight of what he was Sharing would burden him deeply.

Your confusion was palpable, but you nodded, giving Lucas the signal that he had your attention. He cleared his throat, clear preparation for what was to come, and leaned even closer, as if he feared even the walls could hear. "Long before us and your sister got to high school, Eddie was already crazy about you, so it's nothing new," Sinclair whispered, with a seriousness that made you question if it was really a joke. Despite your doubts, you decided to give him your full attention. It was a hard statement to believe; your interactions had always been marked by fights and teasing, a constant push and pull that left no room for deeper feelings. But after the recent sex, you found yourself reconsidering every look and word exchanged with Eddie. What if he was trying to flirt instead of bother you? Sinclair spoke with a rapidity that reflected the urgency and nervousness of sharing secrets that should not be revealed. "Ever since we started sitting with their group at lunch, they made jokes about you, I mean, about how hot you are and all that," his words flowed like an overflowing river, full of confidences and murmurs that had been kept with him. suspicion. "Although without knowing that your sister was your sister," he continued, a wry smile playing on his lips as he remembered the collective surprise, "so, when we were offered to join The Hellfire Club and she said she belonged to The Sith Order, Eddie was perplexed." He readjusted himself on the couch, which seemed to hug him with the comfort of it, and looked you directly in the eyes. It was evident that every word he said was another piece of the puzzle he was trying to put together in front of you, a puzzle that, once completed, would change the way you viewed Eddie and possibly the entire dynamic of your social circle. Lucas looked at you with a knowing smile, his eyes. They shone with a gleam of amusement as you imagined your sister. "And since then your sister no longer sits with us, since Eddie considers her a rival of his," he said, his voice tinged with his humor. It was known that Sinclair had always been in love with her, and his tone suggested that he still harbored romantic hopes. "What I'm getting at," Lucas continued, pausing to take a long sip of water. "It's just that when Eddie wanted to see you, since, just as he said, you graduated before him because of his bad grades, he was talking to your sister so that the battles between the groups would start." His words flowed with the ease of someone sharing a long-kept secret, and you realized that your sister's constant bets were more than just games. "That's why your sister proposed so many bets," he added, with a gesture of understanding. Lucas lowered his voice to a confidential whisper, "And always, after we left the games, he would stare at you as he went, commenting on how beautiful you were, what good taste you had, and how intelligent you were." He paused dramatically, making sure you caught the importance of his next words. "Eddie is totally into you."

The revelation had left you speechless, a whirlwind of emotions washing over you as you tried to process what you had just heard. Eddie, the same Eddie that seemed like a constant in your daily life, was now intertwined with your feelings in a way you hadn't expected. A few years ago, every time you crossed the school cafeteria, your gaze unconsciously searched for his figure. Eddie, always alert, stood up as if he were waiting for you to pass, leaving a clear space for you to pass. You wondered if it was a coincidence or if, in some way, he also felt that invisible connection that united you. You remembered that time he called you a witch with a voice that was intended to be harsh, but his eyes betrayed the truth. It wasn't hate you saw in them, but a spark of fun, a lopsided smile that bordered on flirtatious. It was a game of looks and unspoken words that only the two of you seemed to understand, even though apparently, you didn't.

In the role-playing games you shared, Eddie transformed. He became the supreme narrator, his voice filling the room, creating worlds and adventures with astonishing ease. But when it was your turn, everything changed. His tone softened, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that seemed to want to decipher each of your thoughts. It was as if, in those moments, there was no one else in the room, just you and him.

Now, as you remembered those moments, you felt a shiver run down your spine, causing an involuntary blush to stain your cheeks. Sinclair's words echoed in your mind, giving you the courage to believe that, perhaps, what you felt for Eddie was reciprocated. It was a terrifying and exciting thought at the same time, a possibility that opened a new chapter in the story of your life.

Sunday slipped through scattered thoughts, like leaves blown by the autumn wind. The week became a countdown, each day marking one step closer to Friday, that day that promised practice with your group and, more importantly, Saturday, when you would have the chance to face Eddie once again.

The cabin, with its walls that whispered stories of ancient victories and defeats, welcomed you on Friday. The practice went without a hitch, each member of the group immersed in their role, building a parallel reality where anything was possible. But Saturday came with a bittersweet taste. The Hellfire Club was full, everyone except Eddie. His absence was like a vacuum that sucked the energy out of the room. You had taken care of your appearance, hoping to capture the magic of that previous night, but instead, you were met with words that fell like cold drops on your spirit. "Eddie said he didn't want to see you today," Dustin announced with a nonchalance that hurt you more than you expected. The screams of his friends echoed, a cacophony of reproaches rising like a storm. "What?" The surprise left you speechless for a moment, a pause that felt eternal. "What?! No! It's not what you think!" The boy you had helped was trying to repair the damage with hasty words. "Yes! Eddie literally said that!" Dustin insisted, causing gestures of frustration in the others, hands on their foreheads, mouths covered in an attempt to silence the truth. You didn't want to admit it, but the words affected you, a lot. After Sinclair's confession, you expected something more, something different. You then decided to put on the mask of indifference, pretending that Eddie's absence didn't matter to you, that his presence or lack of it were equally insignificant. You focused on the game, on the chips and dice, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in a maze of 'what ifs'. The game continued, but your heart was playing its own game, one where the rules were unclear and the only opponent was yourself.

Sunday dawned with a gray sky that seemed to reflect your mood. You got out of bed with the heaviness of someone carrying more than the weight of the sheets. College assignments were piled up on your desk, a mountain of words and numbers demanding your attention, but your mind was somewhere else, lost in the echo of a revelation that still echoed in your ears. With every page you turned, every problem you solved, Eddie's image was superimposed on the text, blurry and persistent. Night fell without you realizing it, and with it, the promise of a new day.

Monday came without classes, a small relief in your routine. Your mother, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you, asked you to pick up your sister from high school. You accepted, almost grateful for the distraction, for the chance to get outside and breathe fresh air. You arrived at the school and parked calmly. Soft music filled the space of the car, a melody that tried, unsuccessfully, to calm the waves of your heart. You got lost in your thoughts, looking towards the small forest that stretched like a green blanket beyond the institute, remembering the moments of hanging out with your friends to smoke while hiding from everyone. That's when you saw it. Eddie, accompanied by a girl, entering the forest. Alone. The scene hit you like a punch in the stomach, mixing alarm with sadness and, above all, with anger that burned through your veins. How could he be with another girl after what they had shared just less than two weeks ago?

The car clicked off, the keys still dangling from the ignition, forgotten. You got out of the vehicle, driven by an anger that blinded you. You left behind the responsibility of waiting for your sister, each step towards the woods fueled by the need to confront Eddie, to demand explanations, to understand why he hadn't shown up on Saturday, why he had left you with a heart full of questions and no response.

You walked with a determination that seemed to emanate from every pore of your skin, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails, long and sharp, dug into the palm of your hands, leaving small marks that would be silent witnesses of your contained fury. Your boots, faithful companions of so many days, hit the wet ground with a force that seemed to want to leave a mark not only on the earth but on destiny itself. The mud, stubborn, adhered to the edges of these, as if it wanted to stop you, but nothing could stop your progress. The girl, the one who had come out of the forest, passed by your side, her presence just a fleeting shadow in your visual periphery. For an instant, doubt made you recalculate, but it was just that, an instant. Your determination strengthened and you continued forward, towards the place that Eddie had made into his personal sanctuary. The bank in the middle of the forest was a silent witness of transactions and secrets. Worn by time and the stories he had endured, he proudly displayed his growing moss and cigarette burn scars on the picnic table. The trees surrounded it in an almost perfect circle, as if nature itself had decided to protect that space from intruders. And there was Eddie, oblivious to the world, with his only Walkman for company, moving his head to the rhythm of music that only he could hear. He counted dollars and cents with a precision that belied the apparent nonchalance of his posture.

You approached him, who had his back turned to you, oblivious to the storm of emotions that brought you there. With a decision that admitted no turning back, you turned him around forcefully, forcing him to face you, to look into your eyes. Surprise was drawn on his face, an unexpected and unmanly scream escaped his lips, while he took off his helmets with a speed born of bewilderment. "Shit, what are you doing—?" He began to say, but his question remained suspended in the air, interrupted by your hand that closed on his shirt, bringing him closer until the space between the two of them was almost erased. "Listen to me carefully, Munson, I think you have to explain a lot of things to me..." your voice was a thread of annoyance, but also of a determination that he didn't expect, feeling a tickle in his stomach. Eddie looked at you, and you saw something in his eyes that disconcerted you. It wasn't fear, or even surprise. It was a glow, a spark of something that seemed dangerously close to taste. Did he like that intensity, that fire you had inside? Or was it just another of his facades, another game in which he pretended not to be vulnerable?

"Explanations?" he replied, with a crooked smile that you didn't know if you wanted to erase or deepen. "What exactly do you want to know?" His tone was challenging, but there was a curiosity in his gaze that you couldn't ignore. "Besides, what are you doing here? Didn't you finish high school a year or two ago?"

The tension between you and Eddie was palpable, like a guitar string about to break. "What the fuck do you mean by what explanations?" you repeated, keeping your tone firm and defiant. Eddie's confident smile faded, replaced by an expression of surprise as he realized the seriousness of the situation. "We fucked, Eddie. We fucked, so I thought you liked me, but at meet-up time you don't show up and tell the guys you didn't want to see me? Are you stupid or something?" The words came out of you like bullets, each one loaded with the confusion and pain of feeling rejected, something that never happened, so it hurt your ego. You let go of Eddie's shirt, your hands finding his place on your hips, emphasizing your defiant stance. You were dressed to impress, or perhaps to confront. Your tight, ripped and slightly flared jeans were typical of the time, a cry of rebellion and style that adhered to your figure. The belt, an accessory that marked your waist, seemed to capture Eddie's attention, who was lost in contemplation of it, taken out of his thoughts by the intensity of your reproaches. Eddie blinked, coming to, and for a moment, he seemed to search for the right words. "It's not what you think," he began, his voice a little lower, a little more serious.

The tension in the air was almost tangible, like electricity before a storm. "Oh, right? So what is it, huh? Excuse yourself," you demanded, your words sharp as the red fingernails that were now pointed at him, a perfect contrast to your small maroon jean jacket. Eddie seemed lost, unable to find the right words. “It's just...that...” his voice trailed off, and with each syllable that trailed off, your frustration grew. Your brow was furrowed, a grimace of disgust was drawn on your face, and without thinking about it, you grabbed him by the cheeks. Your nails, now weapons of your anger, dug lightly into his cheeks, scratched by the shadow of a stubble. Eddie had never seen you like this, with such fierce passion, and that, somehow, seemed to light a different fire in him, a desire that grew with each gesture of your discontent. "Speak up, Eddie! You have no right to leave me like this, with doubts and no answers," you continued, your voice a crescendo of mixed emotions. "After everything that's happened, you avoid me and send messages through others? It's unfair and you know it!" Munson finally raised his gaze, meeting yours. There was something in his eyes, a flash of something that wasn't just surprise or fear of your reaction. It was deeper, a mix of regret and something you didn't dare name. "It's not what you think," he said finally, his voice firm but soft.

Eddie looked at you with eyes that seemed to seek refuge in yours, his voice trembling slightly as he confessed, "It's just that I'm a loser and you mean a lot to me..." The words hung in the air, loaded with raw sincerity. and vulnerable. "I didn't pay attention to you after fucking because I didn't want to be discovered at that moment, otherwise we would be the subject of ridicule." He paused, as if each word cost him a piece of his pride. "I didn't show up to the meeting because I knew I would get hard and it would be weird, which I didn't think you would see very well, so I excused myself to the boys with the excuse that I didn't want to see you." His confession was a labyrinth of emotions, a clumsy attempt to protect something that he himself didn't fully understand. And then, with a look that drifted toward the ground, he added, "And I haven't been able to contact you because my uncle has had problems with his diabetes and the only times I've left the house were to sell, you know, as you can see right now. I swear..." His gestures were limited, restricted by the pressure your fingers exerted on his cheeks.

Hearing him, guilt took over you, you let go of his face and looked at him, this time with an expression that mixed understanding with remorse. Eddie felt the cold on his skin where the warmth of your hand used to be. "No, no, you can leave your hand here, if you want... ..." he teased, attempting a smile that didn't reach his eyes, a forced laugh that desperately sought to relieve the tension of the moment.

Eddie stood up with a slowness that seemed to measure every second, his commanding height creating a shadow over you. You looked up, following the contour of his figure until your eyes met his, half-closed and shining with a mischievous light.

His smile, that familiar curve of his lips, enveloped you in a spell that you didn't want to escape. With a softness that contrasted the roughness of her skin, her hand found your neck, sliding to the back of your neck in a possessive gesture. "Let me clarify that that wasn't just one night, really..." The confession came out of him in a whisper, his voice a thread of vulnerability intertwined with the firmness of his words. For an instant, his gaze averted, as if the emotions he carried inside him sought to escape. But you weren't about to let him walk away from her, not now. Your hand acted of its own volition, drawing his attention back to you, demanding the connection you both knew existed. A knowing smile appeared on his face, a reflection of yours, while a part of him longed for you to repeat the gesture, to maintain that contact that seemed to be the only anchor in the whirlwind of feelings that surrounded you.

The atmosphere around them was a mixture of tension and electricity, as if the air itself was charged with the intensity of their emotions. The forest had become a private sanctuary, the tall and majestic trees formed a natural roof that filtered the sun's rays, creating a play of light and shadows on them. The ground was covered in fallen leaves, which crunched softly under their feet, a reminder of the fleeting nature of time.

The physical contact between them was its own language, a wordless conversation where each touch and each gesture had its own meaning. Eddie's hand on the back of your neck wasn't just a touch; It was an affirmation, a silent promise that what was between you transcended the everyday. His rough skin contrasted with the softness of yours, creating a sensation that made you want to get even closer.

Your hands, although they had been weapons of your anger moments before, now became explorers, tracing the contours of his face, feeling the texture of his skin, the firmness of his jaw. The pressure of your fingers was an echo of the pressure in your chest, a mixture of desire and need for understanding.

Eddie responded to your every touch, his body instinctively reacting to yours. There was a dance in their proximity, one step forward and one step back, as if they were on the edges of an emotional precipice, seeking the perfect balance between confession and reserve.

The boy remained waiting full of impatience, his eyes fixed on you, shining with the expectation of what was to come. It was as if he had cast a spell, and you, responding to that silent call, grabbed onto a strand of his long, dark hair, tugging at it with a playful but determined gesture. In one fluid motion, you pulled him towards you, and your lips met in a kiss that sealed all the unspoken words, a kiss that was a promise and a confession at the same time. Eddie's hand, which until then rested on your neck, began its slow but sure descent, tracing the contour of your collarbone before settling on the curve of your waist. His fingers, strong but careful, caressed the skin exposed by your shirt, exploring every inch with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of his gaze and exchange of saliva. It was a caress that spoke of possession, an intimate connection that united you beyond the physical, but right now it was what you were looking for.

The metallic melody of Eddie's headphones, now a persistent hum, becomes the backdrop for a moment that feels suspended in time. The wet whisper of your kisses transforms into a secret language, communicating unspoken desires that only you can understand. Eddie, with a determination that leaves you breathless, he spins you around with gravity-defying skill, leaving you with your back to the bench, where your butt rested on the surface littered with tobacco flakes, adding a rough texture to the scene. You were trapped between that cool surface and Eddie's firm crotch, which pulsed with desire, sending shivers down your spine, which was caressed by Eddie's hand. A shared sigh escaped your lips as you felt the reconnection of that pressure, fueling the erotic tension that intensified with each moment.

Eddie's tongue lasciviously explored from your mouth to your neck, tracing a trail of sensations that made you sway slightly, sliding back onto the picnic table, followed by your neck, giving him just enough room. While Eddie concentrated on his task, he firmly grabbed your sturdy thighs, lifting you up and placing you on the table, causing the money counted earlier to slide on the wet grass on the floor, a detail that added a note of chaos to the scene, increasing the intensity of the moment. Each bill and coin was lost in the undergrowth, as a metaphor for the debauchery and overflowing passion that consumed them.

"I want to fuck you right here. I want to take that stupid belt off you and choke you with it," Eddie said, his voice hoarse and heavy with desire, his words reverberating in the tension-laden air. You gasped as you broke the kiss for air, his hot breath brushing against your wet neck, leaving a new electric trail on your skin. His hands, eager and determined, slid down your lower back, searching for the belt that promised to release the pent-up desire.

Eddie ran his hands anxiously down your abdomen, urgently undoing your belt as your eyes were fixed on his desperate expression. Around you, the world seemed to fade away in a swirl of colors and sounds, leaving only room for the electricity that flowed between the two of you. With a quick tug, Eddie undid your belt, making you wobble slightly as he looked at you with a devilish grin, nimbly folding it. The rustling of the leaves in the wind intermingled with the accelerated beating of your hearts, creating an atmosphere full of tension. "What would happen to that eyeliner of yours if I smacked you in the face?" he asked sarcastically, each word ringing with defiant energy. "Would he cum from your tears, or would I be the only one who would?"

Your playful response brought a flicker of desire to Eddie's eyes, which burned brightly as he watched you. "Why don't you see for yourself?" you challenged with an innocent but mischievous look, causing the tension between you to reach a new level.

Eddie obeyed with a malicious smile, giving you a sudden spank on your cheek, causing you to emit a moan of pain mixed with a hint of pleasure. The sound echoed through the air, mixing with the rustle of leaves moving in the nearby breeze. A slight redness appeared at the site of impact, marking your skin with a warm, burning tone, while your breathing quickened, full of anticipation. Meanwhile, the palpable tension between them increased, making each brush of fabric against skin feel more intense. Eddie's cock, imprisoned in her boxers, pulsed with a exquisite sensitivity, as if she were eager to break free and join the game they were both playing.

Eddie, almost instinctively, pressed his erection, imprisoned by his rock jeans, against your groin, eager to free himself. There was a tangible electricity in the surrounding environment, as if nature itself was aware of the burning desire manifesting between you.

“You look like a bitch in heat,” you teased Eddie with a mischievous smile, as your delicate hands slid to his skull-adorned belt buckle, undoing it with deliberate slowness. Each click of the buckle resonated in the air, generating a slight tremor in Eddie, who awaited with anticipation what was about to happen. His erection rubbed against the fabric, causing involuntary movements that did not go unnoticed by you, unleashing a mischievous laugh that escaped your lips, full of complicity.

You released Eddie from his belt, letting him fall nonchalantly behind you as you focused on pulling his pants down enough to show his erection, remaining careful that he could quickly pull them up if someone showed up.

Seeing his covered but noticeable cock, you licked your lips in anticipation, reveling in the sight. Eddie's white boxers were soaked with precum, revealing the level of his arousal. Your gaze fell on his crotch, where his erection was begging to be touched and pleasured. Without further ado, you pulled down his boxers, leaving light marks on his thighs from the rubbing of your nails, which caused his arched cock to release completely, hitting his clothed abdomen with a light sound. The arousal in the air was palpable, and his cock throbbed eagerly, twitching slightly in anticipation of what was to come.

Determinedly, you wrap your hand around Eddie's firm erection, beginning to pump at a slow but steady pace. A content sigh escapes her parted lips as his body tenses at the contact, letting out a barely audible moan that is lost in the air charged with excitement. His trembling hand finds its way to your hair, gripping it firmly as his mouth curves into a mischievous smile. Every movement you make provokes a response in his body, a slight contraction of his muscles, a ragged inhalation that adds to the ambient noise.

The sound of skin rubbing against skin mixes with the rustle of the breeze rustling nearby leaves, creating a symphony of pleasure and anticipation. Your hand continues to move skillfully, gradually quickening the pace, as Eddie's breathing becomes more labored, his moans more audible.

Every time your thumb brushes the sensitive tip of his member, his body shudders involuntarily, and his moans intensify, filling the air with a heady mix of arousal and desire.

With provocative elegance, you slide from the table you were sitting at, moving gracefully until you are on your knees in front of Eddie. From that lower position, you look at him with a look full of desire and eagerness to please him, while a playful smile curves your lips. Leaning forward slightly, you open your mouth in a clear sign of your intentions, indicating your willingness to take his cock in your mouth. Anticipation shines in Eddie's eyes, his breathing becoming more labored as he watches you with a mix of desire and arousal.

Without warning, in a provocative act, you playfully open your mouth, inviting him to immerse himself in the pleasure you offer him. Eddie's hand, which was firmly gripping your hair, pushes you decisively, forcing his cock forcefully into your mouth. You feel the sudden onslaught of his member, causing a strong tremor in his body as he experiences the humidity, heat, softness and tightness of your mouth. The intoxicating sensation of having him inside you awakens a wave of pleasure that runs through every fiber of your being, noticing how those jeans that you considered favorites began to get wet due to the transfer of your panties.

A deep, desire-laden moan escapes Eddie's lips as he pronounces your name between broken breaths. His voice, full of passion and desire, resonates in the air, further fueling the fiery moment. “Ahh... fuck...” he moans your name, revealing the overwhelming effect you have on him. You give yourself fully to the act, letting desire and arousal consume you completely, as you dive deeper into the pleasure of giving Eddie exactly what he craves.

Eddie’s hands grip the sides of your face with palpable determination, like he’s eager to explore every inch of your mouth. He begins to move at a frenetic pace, fucking your mouth with an unbridled passion that leaves you breathless. Little by little, his member reaches the beginning of your throat, causing an intense sensation that makes you shudder. A gag escapes your throat, caused by Eddie's deep intrusion, but he doesn't stop, instead continuing to thrust hard, causing pleasure mixed with slight pain that makes your moans intermingle with his. The feeling of his tip lightly crushing your palate only intensifies the ecstasy shared between the two of you, causing louder, deeper moans from Eddie.

You could feel Eddie getting closer to climax, his ragged breathing and higher-pitched moans indicating he was on the brink of release. However, something else was seeping into your consciousness: close footsteps, a sound that didn't fit the intimate atmosphere you shared with Eddie. Worry began to bubble inside you as you continued to do your duty, but unease took over. The desire to find out who was interrupting this private but at the same time public moment grew with each closer step, but Eddie's firm grip on your face kept you trapped, preventing you from moving away. With concentrated effort, you fought against his hold until you finally managed to free yourself enough to separate yourself from his cock.

You pulled away from Eddie's cock with a sharp movement, feeling his cream slide between your fingers. Your eyes met those of the step holders, two figures who looked at you with a surprise that seemed carved into their faces. "Eddie?" the Sinclair's voice cracked, revealing his bewilderment, while your sister remained at his side, a motionless silhouette in the chaos of the moment. "Sinclair!" you exclaimed, your voice rising above the murmur of the forest as you realized he was holding a used and tied condom, a crucial link in the chain of events unfolding before you. The long-haired man's erection, now abandoned by his misfortune, collapsed, and a torrent of almost translucent white liquid spread across your face, hiding your shocked expression.

Eddie's deep moan that followed this echoed through the forest, marking the end of one act and the beginning of another. Eddie, Sinclair, and your sister looked at you, their expressions a mirror of absolute shock. None of the four of you knew how to react, trapped in a moment of mutual transgression, a game of secrets and silences that had been broken by Eddie's cum on your face.