#and to be clear not everything has to be practical

[thepitlanepress]

EVERYTHING –

↳ oscar piastri + rb driver!fem!reader

⌗ :: masterlist

⌗ :: a/n: I AM LIVING FOR THIS OSCAR DOMINTATION ACTUALLY LIKE YESS THATS MY AUSSIE !!!! also ahem excuse me sorry i disappeared for a month i lost the will to write 😭😭😭 i also think i forgot how to write bc why is it SO BAD??? anyway

oscar was the first who saw it. the first who brought his car to a stop, the first to launch out of said car and run towards you.

other cars stop behind him, george, lando, max, so many drivers come to a stop and bolt over to where you sat frozen.

marshals were running, but they were slow. drivers were climbing over the tires, scrambling desperately to get you out, get help.

-

it was your mistake, you had gone too wide and tried to correct yourself, but you didn't see carlos behind you and collided you briefly, he was able to correct himself. you were not.

the car spun, flipped four times your body being assaulted with each tumble before you eventually black out.

you had landed on an angle on the tires, half the car propped on them and the other on the ground, you weren't moving. the crowd was freaking out, screaming loudly in worry.

oscar was following behind you when he saw the incident. "is she okay? shit that was bad. has she said anything?"

"we're waiting for an answer," was his engineers response.

but that wasn't good enough, that was his best friend sat in the seat of that car he was doing something. quickly stopping, he launches out of his seat like his ass is on fire, max your team mate, hot on his heels.

"y/n!" oscar yells as they approach the car, you probably can't hear him, but it was a knee jerk reaction, one he was waiting for a response back for, a sign that you were okay.

you weren't moving though, your head was still, you were still. not even your signature, goofy middle finger you usually give after a crash. nothing.

oscar was ten thousand percent panicking now. you were fine. you were fine. you were fine, right?

more drivers arrive beside the car then, helping unbuckle your limp body and pulling you gently from the car just as marshals and a medic team arrive getting straight to work.

you were loaded into a ambulance and oscar, much to his dismay, was told to stay back, that there was a race to finish. not that he would be focusing on the race at all.

max clapped him on the shoulder as they both made their way back to their cars, "she'll be okay osc, its y/n, when has she ever been been taken down, knowing her she'll be giving the paramedics shit for getting there so slow?" his words were light and clearly meant jokingly but oscar couldn't think past your limp body.

you have to be okay right?

please be okay.

he couldn't lose his you, his crazy, his everything.

–

the crash looked awful on tv, you winced everytime you saw it - mainly because you had been replaying it for as long as you've been awake - but thats not the point.

the point is you have been awake for a little, while in an immense amount of pain and watching the rest of the live of the race and then replays of your crash.

probably a stupid thing to watch but you wanted to make sure you never made a mistake like that again.

also it was nice seeing the way oscar bolted out of his car, his pure desperation clear in his run - this was not something you should like considering you we're literally unconscious. but what, can't a girl have hidden feelings for her best friend that come out at the worst time?

speaking of that, loud shouts catch your attention from outside your room "i don't care. i want to see her! let me see her!"

your heart practically melts at his tone, oscar piastri never yells but he is for you. and thats special because you said it is.

the door bursts open and in rushes the man of the hour, his face pulled in a tight frown, worry clouding his eyes. worry that only dissipates (a little) when he sees you propped up in bed wide-eyed at his current outfit choice.

"y/n," he says rushing over to your side and picking your hand up careful not to hurt any of your injuries. "im so glad you're okay. are you? i can go yell at some more nurses if need be."

a small laugh erupts from your chest and you try not to wince, instead focusing on oscar.

"are you okay?" he asks his hands cupping yours.

"i am," you smile back at him, relishing in his hands warmth because this stupid hospital is way too cold.

"really?"

"i am osc, don't worry," you try to reassure him, but his frown only becomes more prominent.

"you were unresponsive, you weren't awake, do you know how scary that was?" he asks resting his head down on your blanketed lap, exhaling sharply. "i was petrified. so beyond scared and then i had to stay back and finish that fuckass race-"

"which you won oscar, by a whole thirty seconds," you cut him off trying to get him to see how amazing that was.

"that doesn't matter i was just trying to get the whole thing over with," he raises a hand and drops it on you leg - softly. "i had to stay and enjoy a win while who knows what happened to you. do you know how annoyed my race engineer was because i was asking for updates on you that frequently?" he takes a shake breath. "i was so fucking scared."

"osc..." you raise you hand and run it through his hair, a shudder running through his whole body. "i had no idea you were that scared."

"i was petrified baby," he mumured.

if this were any other moment you would started screaming internally at the fact he called you baby but now, now you just comforted you very best friend in one of his darkest moments.

–

after about a day or two, you were moved from the hospital to your home- well not your home oscar's. that was something that popped up when the nurse asked if you had anyone to help care for you, or look after you at all, oscar instantly stepped in of course.

so now you're curled up on a couch, wrapped in possibly the worst most comfortable blanket ever, sipping a hot chocolate and watching as oscar makes his way around the kitchen in the afternoon sun.

he's wearing your personal choice of a fitting white tee, and grey sweatpants- best decision you've ever made. you cannot lie.

he's also cooking pasta- the second best decision you've made. because oscar makes a heavenly bolognese.

he finishes plating the dishes and brings them over to the couch opting to sit down next to you rather than have you move to the table.

you practically inhale the food, being stuck for a few days with only hospital food is no joke. "this is so much better than the dog shit we were given at the hospital," you smile licking your fork clean.

oscar stilled, his mind replaying the moment your car flipped in the air, then flashing to your smiling but fragile body in the the bed just laying there.

you notice his change in demeanour right away, "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to say it like that," you whisper, putting your plate down and gently touching his shoulder. "its probably a little too soon to start that type of talk."

oscar puts his own plate down and looks over at you, "it was so unbelievably scary seeing that y/n, i don't think i'll ever get that image out of my head."

"i'm still here," you say, your voice soft, you place a hand over his, squeezing gently.

"but you almost weren't," his voice is also soft, scared almost.

"but i am, look at me oscar," you say, your voice firm. his eyes drift to yours, a swirling mix of fear and adoration and- wait adoration?

"you're still here," he whispers, looking back down at your hands, threading his fingers through you own, and squeezing your palm.

"i'm still here."

he brings you joined hands to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. "you're still here."

"and im not going anywhere okay?"

"okay."

"good, now eat your pasta before i do," you shove him gently.

"eat up," oscar says letting your hand go and picking your empty dish up pressing a kiss on your forehead. he heads over to the kitchen running the tap and washing the plates.

once you finish your second plate you stand up tenderly walking over to the sink and placing the plate on the counter, not noticing the way oscar stops and watches you. the way he sees your slight winces.

what you do notice, is when he envelopes you in a soul reviving hug, not hard, simply a fierce reminder he was there for you, and that he was scared. he was scared he would lose you again

"i'm not going anywhere, osc, i promise."

"don't make promises you can't keep y/n i nearly lost you," his voice is muffled in your collarbone.

"well this promise i can keep oscar piastri, because no god or heaven or crash could keep me from you. you're my oscar. and nothing will ever change that, yeah?"

he smiles, you can feel it. "... yeah."

"i love you osc, always and forever."

you said those words, hiding your feelings and simply telling the truth. with or without your feelings though, you loved him. like a friend, a partner, like an everything.

because he wan your everything.

and you were his.

you were each other's everything.

2025 © thepitlanepress | please do not steal, use, translate or repost any of my works

– comments, likes and reblogs appreciated !

[crazy-pages]

The Pathfinder Facebook group did something like this on purpose as a honeypot and immediately banned all the bigots coming out of the woodwork, and immediately eliminated more than HALF of all incidents requiring moderators. Not just about bigotry, everything.

And that is TACTICALLY USEFUL.

Because game companies spend so much money moderating chat spaces (both forums and in-game chats) and they lose so much business when dominant third party online spaces associated with their game turn toxic. Hell moderation is the big money sink for social media. Managing that cost is one of the most difficult aspects of the business.

Now imagine telling a game or social media executive that you can eliminate half of their harassment in a single honeypot operation. Imagine telling them that you have a technique which surgically targets a majority of their most toxic members and immediately gets rid of them. Because that's what this is.

You slap up a big pride or power banner and an announcement that this company stands with [insert group here], or stands against fascism, and you take names on everybody who has angry or quibbling shit to say about that. And then you ban them all. And just like that the moderation load you're dealing with gets so much lighter. Keep it up with a similar announcement whenever a topical opportunity presents itself and you clean out any new trash which walks in too.

And it just so happens that the way to do this is to clear out the bigots and make a safe space for oppressed groups.

There are so many of these companies which are worried that by taking a stand like this they will hurt their user base. There are so many forums online with volunteer moderators who reflexively don't want to wait into politics because they think that will increase their workload. Give them good solid practical examples of this reducing their workload instead, and you will get some of them onboard.

Because this has a real measurable impact with the right follow through, and the impact is a general reduction in all harassment of everyone. And that is worth capital M Money and capital T Time to some people.

only thing that comes to mind today.

[neoheros]

there are very little things in this world that sakusa deems valuable enough to not risk – his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

he isn’t a gambler but he is an athlete and when you’re in his shoes, playing in the big leagues, thousands of people watching, looking, judging, there are a lot of risks you have to look out for.

he has to be quiet, polite, say the right thing, say it in the right tone, say it in the right time, otherwise, he risks his job and reputation.

he has to be focused, agile, ready for any change in the volleyball world the minute - the second - it happens, otherwise, he risks getting left behind, getting replaced by someone better, newer than him.

he has to be a lot of things and the risks of not being any of it puts him in a corner - cold and confining.

all of it, he hates with a passion, he hates with an effort. so he doesn’t take any risks at all. not when it comes to his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but you – you are probably the riskiest person he has ever met.

i mean, you guys work together for god’s sake. it’s an HR crisis waiting to happen. it puts everything he’s worked hard for at risk — his game, his career, his reputation, his name.

but still.

you always know the right things to say to him, always know the right time he’s gonna be there or the right place to sit where he sees you so clearly even in the middle of the court.

everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee, everytime you watch him play or everytime he sees you outside of work — there is a feeling in his chest and he almost hates it.

“there’s a new ramen restaurant in miyagi that i’ve been wanting to try…” sakusa clears his throat, standing a few inches away from the lockers as everyone gets their shoes on.

it’s a little bit after 4pm, practice for the day had just ended, and well, meian always tells him he needed to socialize more with the rest of the group.

the locker room is stuffy and sweaty and to be honest, he’s never really been fond of the smell wafting in the air, so he always makes it a point to be the first one out the door after he’s done changing.

today though, he stays, hangs around everybody, and even if he hates it, he goes, “does anyone want to come with me tonight?”

hinata looks up at him from his shoes, “sorry omi, gotta take natsu to the dentist after practice, i dunno how long it’ll take us.”

he gives hinata a short nod — that’s fine.

“kaashi and i are seeing a movie around 7, but next time, man, i promise.” bokuto says, his hand on his neck, apologetic, almost.

another nod — that’s fine, too.

well, at least now, sakusa couldn’t say he didn’t try to socialize more. it’s the preferable outcome for him anyway, he’s better going off on it alone.

atsumu’s voice tears him away from his thoughts, loud and too cheerful for someone who just performed 4 diving laps, “i could go with ya, omi!”

and out of instinct, he replies “no, thank you.”

his blond teammate looks like he’s gonna say something after his response but you speak before he gets the chance to.

“well, i don’t mind coming, omi.” you say, and he blinks - how long have you been there?

there’s a knot in his stomach. “tonight?”

(he thinks, please say no, please say no, please say no.)

you nod at him, “it’s gonna be snowing so some ramen would be perfect.”

he nods at you - unable to say anything else, really - and he clears his throat, looking at atsumu, who he’s now just been really appreciative of for existing all of a sudden.

“then it will be you, me, and miya?” he asks, and he wants to keep his voice quiet now, untrusting of it.

(in the corner of his eye, he sees hinata step on atsumu’s foot and he goes “ow, whaddya do that for!” bokuto gives him a look, similar to the one hinata has, and atsumu catches on.)

sakusa gives the three of them a warning look, begging, actually begging, anyone who’d listen in that silly head of his for them not to do anything stupid.

“sorry man,” atsumu flashes him a grin, and he feels his knees go weak. “i forgot i had some plans tonight, i don’t think i’ll be able to go.”

lord, forgive sakusa kiyoomi for he’s gonna kill somebody.

he wants to say something, but before he could, you beat him to it.

“perfect.” you smile, “more for us then. right, omi?”

sakusa swallows the lump in his throat, and gives you a short nod, “yeah.”

you gather your things in your hand, “i’ll come over to your place, then?”

(words that make his knees feel even weaker.)

another nod. “yes, that’s fine.”

and he regains his composure, the worst of it over, but before you turn to leave, you flash him another one of your smiles, and he wishes you would just go so he can feel his pulse return to normal again.

“it’s a date.” you say, and you’re out the door.

sakusa’s face has a whisper of a light pinkishness to it and unable to think about it too much, he blames it on the open window letting the cold in.

the second the door closes, the locker room erupts in cheers, “way to go, omi!” “you’re going on a date!” and “it’s finally happening!”

there’s a knot in his stomach, and atsumu claps him on his back.

he rolls his eyes at the group, shaking his head as he whispers something along the lines of “whatever” or “its not a big deal.”

but his face feels hot and his pulse feels like its drumming against his skin, but, he can blame that on the cold too.

the sun goes down quicker than sakusa hoped it would, it’s 6:47pm now and you’ll be arriving in no later than 13 minutes.

he takes a good look at his apartment, ransacked and messy, the complete opposite of its usual state.

there’s a knock on his door and he feels his heart beat out of his chest at the sound.

he opens it with a fervor, “i asked you to come 30 minutes ago.”

“it’s a 30 minute walk.” behind the door is atsumu, sheepish smile on his face, hands shoved into his pockets as he pushes past the brunette and into the apartment.

“woah, this place is a mess.” atsumu says aloud, even him surprised at the disarray.

“i didn’t know what to wear.” sakusa admits, and he feels embarrassment course through his skin.

“i’ll say.” the blond replies, but he doesn’t tease. “you alright, omi?”

sakusa sighs – he really isn’t. his nerves are killing him and there’s an intense nervousness that pools in his belly. you make him nervous, did you know that?

“maybe i should cancel.” he says, and he looks at himself in the mirror again — coat, scarf, gloves, check, check, check.

“what? don’t do that.” atsumu shakes his head, “it’s five minutes ‘til 7.”

he’s probably right, sakusa thinks, you’re probably on your way by now, and even with the chilling weather outside, he feels way too hot for his own good.

he takes off his gloves to alleviate some of the warmth, placing it on his dresser as he paces.

“you’re an asshole, right?” sakusa says suddenly, “punch me in the face, take me to the ER, and i will reschedule whatever this night is to when i’m readier.”

(he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready, to be honest.)

“even if i do really want to punch you in the face right now, that is so not gonna happen.”

“being your friend is useless to me.”

“yet, i’m the one you called over here.”

the doorbell rings and the both of them freeze in their places, sakusa looks over to the clock and how is it 7 already? and must you be on time for everything?

you’re already here and his place is a mess and atsumu freaking miya is standing in the middle of his apartment.

he says the first thing he can think of, “hide.”

atsumu looks at him, “what?”

he insists, “hide now.”

“are ya nuts? your apartment is a shoebox, where the hell am i hiding in here?” atsumu shakes his head, and he follows sakusa’s eyes in response as he tilts his body to look over to the bed.

“no fuckin way, nuh uh.” he backs away, “i am not hiding under there.”

the doorbell rings again and atsumu feels the nerves getting to him too.

“please. i’ll owe you.”

and atsumu wants to say no - really, he does - he’s not some teenager caught with his pants down and has to be stashed away under a bed, but sakusa looks at him in a way that makes him unrecognizable.

sakusa may not know it, but everyone can tell, every single one of them on the team knows, just how much this means to him.

(after all, the only people in msby black jackals who don’t know that sakusa likes you are sakusa and you.)

so he relents, and he gets on his knees near the bed before he scurries off under it. “you so owe me for this.”

sakusa feels embarassed – ashamed, really. he’s actually invested in this - in this date, and he wishes he was kidding, but he’s not, and he hates it.

he opens the door, and you’re there, and it’s always nice to see you outside of work.

“hi.” he says, and he doesn’t know what else to say.

“hi.” you say back, and for a second, it’s quiet.

another second passes, “can i come in?”

and he wants to kick himself, “yes. of course.”

“it’s freezing tonight.” you make polite small talk, “good thing i wore my coat.”

“it looks nice.” he nods, and he is grateful you don’t say anything about the mess of his apartment. it takes him another beat to realize what he said, and he feels embarrassed, although he doesn’t know why, so he follows up, “the coat.”

he wants to hit himself. he sounds like he’s just talking about the coat.

“you as well.” he says again. “not just the coat, i meant to say. you and the coat are nice looking. both of you.” he wants to stop talking – why is he still talking?

he looks at you, “where’d you - uh - buy it?”

great, now he sounds like he wants to take the fucking coat.

there’s a sound almost like snickering coming from under the bed but before you could look over to it sakusa clears his throat again.

“i’m ready to go,” he says suddenly, “are you?”

you haven’t been able to get a word in all night it seems, but it makes you smile - amused, and you nod, “yes.”

the night starts off okay, it’s quiet though, and he thinks, are dates supposed to be quiet?

“you okay there, omi?” you break the silence, and he wonders if you can tell what he’s been thinking.

“yeah.” a short reply, “just cold.”

you nod, “ah.”

in an effort to keep the conversation going, and the sudden realization that he may be the reason why it’s such a quiet evening, he looks to the side, and tells you, as the two of you walk the pavement to the train station:

“i forgot my gloves.”

there’s a pink hue on his ears, and he’s grateful you don’t tease him about it.

you stop walking for a moment, so he stops too.

he watches you as you work, taking the left glove on your hand off and he says nothing when you ask him to give you his left hand.

“here.” you slip on your left glove on his left hand, and it’s a snug fit, but it is warm.

then you say, “do you mind?”

and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about until you put your - now, ungloved - left hand to his -also, ungloved - right hand. fingers interlacing.

“this way, it’ll stay warm, don’t you think?”

he doesn’t trust his voice and he’s more grateful for the snow now as he finds it being his excuse for how red his ears are getting. he can only nod his head, keeping his nose tucked in under his scarf.

his lips tremble and he’s not so sure if it’s from the cold or from you.

sakusa doesn’t gamble. he doesn’t like the risks of it all. he always feels there’s always gonna be too much to lose rather than gaining anything beneficial for him.

so no – there are very little things in the world he cares enough about for him to risk anything for.

“better?” you say, and he tries harder to focus on your voice rather than your warm hand.

“yes.”

you smile and he thinks it’s really nice. “so, why was atsumu under your bed?”

his face feels hot now, his first instinct to deny that there ever was any man named atsumu under his bed, but he knows that look you’re giving him, and he knows it would be pointless to lie.

still, he doesn’t know what to say to you.

“omi?”

but then again, he never knows what to say to you.

“… i asked him to come help me get ready.”

you tilt your head, “get ready for?”

the silence becomes your answer and sakusa feels his face burn. it feels like embarrassment – but it also feels like something else.

“oh.”

and unexpectedly, you laugh, and when he hears it, for the first time all evening, his nerves finally cool on him, and he laughs too.

you bump your shoulders with his, playful, “if it helps to know, i was nervous too.”

“because of me?” he doesn’t really believe you, he doesn’t think anything can make someone like you nervous, but you, on the other hand, make him nervous all the time.

“well, you don’t really talk to me at work,” you shrug, your voice sounding teasing, “i didn’t think you liked me all that much, to be honest.”

“sorry.” he says in quiet laughter, and he can’t bring himself to look at you.

you look at him though, and he wishes that you wouldn’t. he can hear the smile in your voice still, “for what?”

“for this shitty date.”

that makes you laugh even more and he feels like it’s gonna make him fall over.

“well, we haven’t even gotten to the restaurant yet so jury’s still out on whether it’s shitty or not.” you squeeze his hand, teasing.

(and he rolls his eyes, nerves gone, and feeling much better now that he’s talking to you.)

you are probably the riskiest person he’s ever met. you put everything on the line.

by all things considered, he should stay far, far away from you — you jeopardize it all, you could take all he’s ever worked for away.

but everytime you talk to him, everytime you touch him, everytime you say his name or bring him coffee — there is a feeling in his stomach that envelops his entire body and the corner he’s been backed into doesn’t feel as cold or as confining.

you smile at him and he wants it all: he wants to wake up next to you, he wants to fall asleep and you’re the last person he sees, he wants to drive you to work and he wants you to come home with him after the day is over.

“besides,” you say, and the snow may be cold, but his face feels warm.

your voice is soft, “you can just keep taking me on them until we get it right.”

the risk is you could take everything he’s ever worked for, his game, his career, his reputation, his name. but you smile at him and your hand is warm against his and your laugh feels like it’s gonna make him fall over, and he thinks, okay — take it all, it’s already yours anyway.

[angel-writes-skz-here]

Dance Practice Workout

Bang Chan x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: Chan gets jealous when all your attention is on Felix. Warnings: SMUT! Unprotected p in v, oral (both receiving) fingering, use of pet names. A/N: Thank you for the request, sweetheart! I do hope you enjoy and I appreciate your patience! Follow me for more fics!💛 Requests are OPEN

You walk into the dance studio, the love of your life talking with his Aussie buddy about the dance they’re trying to learn. Chan see’s you in the mirror and his grin spreads from ear to ear.

“Baby,” his voice rings capturing the attention of the other group members. He jogs over to you and gives you chaste kiss.

He has you sit over in the corner, watching the dance as they practice, your eyes are on Chan but you notice how fluid Felix’s body is, and it captures your attention. Chan seems to notice and he feels a pang of jealousy but brushes the feeling away.

“Guys that was amazing!” you cheer once they finish. You get smiles and a few quiet thank yous from the guys.

“Felix, seriously, your hips on that one part where you go like,” you imitate the move to show what you’re talking about, “Is amazing. You move better than I do!” Felix chuckles at your dramatics and places a hand on your arm, an all too innocent gesture between friends.

The whole rehearsal you and Felix drift toward one another, you cheer him on, watch him closely so you can give him feedback, like he so kindly asked, and Bang Chan was getting a little sick of it.

On a break you and Felix are sitting on the floor, you’re showing him the newest tiktok trend he has to do with the boys when Chan walks over, frustrations hitting an all time high.

“Can I talk to you?” his voice is slightly rough and impatient. You both glance up at him, eyes innocent.

“Uh, yeah sure,” you turn to Felix, “Be right back,” Chan practically pulls you up by your arm and takes you out of the studio. He pulls you into a smaller practice room across the hall.

He doesn’t face you at first, Chan’s big on trying not to speak when he’s angry.

“Babe, what’s wro-,” he cuts you off.

“I thought you were here for me, not Felix,” his hand gestures to the door. You look at it like there’s something new there. Chan walks over, pinning you to the wall, gently pushing your face to look at his, your noses oh so slightly brushing each other’s.

Your eyes are wide, not out of fear, but just simply caught off guard.

“What is going on?” you stifle a slight giggle.

“What’s going on is,” he clears his throat, “oh Felix that thing you do with your hips,” he slightly mocks you playfully. You smirk when you realize what ‘s going on.

“Jealous, Channie, huh?” you taunt and his eyes darken.

“I’m not jealous, I just think you need to remember who you’re here for,” he leans in, his lips brushing your ear, “and what my hips can do for you.” You squeeze your thighs together and gulp, he feels your body respond to his words and he chuckles darkly.

“Aww, is my baby girl excited?” His tongue flicks out over the shell of your ear.

You whimper as you feel it, the sensation pulling goosebumps up onto your skin.

“Channie,” you wiggle under him.

“Tsk tsk tsk. To think if you’d just kept your attention on me, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving behind a mark.

You whine underneath him as his tongue darts out of his mouth, licking over the mark in an attempt to soothe it. His hand slides into your underwear, barely brushing over your clit, but its enough to make you jump. He watches you, every little move, from your eyes closing to your lip between your teeth.

“You still thinking about Felix, baby?”

“N-no,” you gasp as his hand rubs circles just a little faster. He hums in your ear.

“You gonna cum on my hand? Hmm?” his words are causing your head to spin. Right as your hips start to grind down he removes his hand, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact. He pulls you to sit down on the small couch in the room, a mirror showing you everything. He gets down on his knees and flips up your skirt. Your underwear is torn off and discarded across the room.

“Did you lock the door?”

“Nah,” he kisses your thighs.

“Chan someone could walk in and see us,”

“Let them, they’ll know you’re mine,” he smirks and your heart starts to pound against your chest.

“So wet all ready,” he hums satisfied.

“Chan,” you jut your hips, trying to get him to give you what you want.

“So impatient,” he tuts. He continues taking his time. Teasing your hole with his finger, watching you squirm as he blows air against your center.

“Christopher Bang Chan, I swear if you do not,” you gasp at the end of your sentence as his mouth finally attaches to you. You groan, louder than you originally meant to. His tongue tastes you, savors you, as he watches you from his lashes.

“Look in the mirror,” he mumbles against you, causing vibrations to flood your core and your hips rise up, Chan putting his hand on your stomach gently to help hold you down.

“Look or I stop,” he says cockily as he pulls away from you. You roll your eyes frustrated.

“Look how crazy you make me, how desperate I am when you come around and flirt with other guys in front of me,” he says. Chan knew you weren’t trying to flirt, but right now that didn’t matter.  You force your head to the side, the mirror showing you how Chan’s hips try to grind against the air as he hears your moans and whimpers from his tongue.

“Fuck you taste so good,” he mumbles as he reattaches his mouth to your soaked slit.

“Ah, fuck, baby” you gasp breathlessly as your eyes are stuck on the mirror.

“Fuck, fuck,” you feel the warm coil in your belly and Chan notices, adding two fingers quickly thrusting in and out.

“You wanna come baby?” he asks and you arch your back off the bed in response.

“Fuck,” you choke out as it the coil gets tighter.

“I’m close,” you whine as he picks up the speed, thrusting and licking, getting you off as if it’s his life’s mission.

“Ah, ah, fuck,” you gasp as it hits, white hot pleasure courses through you. Your hips roll with Chan’s fingers as he begins to slowly fuck you through your high. Your chest begins to heave as you catch your breath. You feel a slight sweaty feeling coating your body.

“Fuck,” he kisses your pussy once before he brings himself up to you, lips connecting with his shiny ones from your arousal.

“Say you’re mine,” he growls against your lips.

“I’m yours,” you smile against his lips.

“Prove it,” he determines.

“You get on your knees, undoing his belt, casting a quick glance at the door. Chan glances in the mirror, the look of you between his legs causes his cock to twitch. You pull him out of his pants, his tip red and leaking. You lick your lips before your eyes dart to his and he nods his head once.

You lick the tip, slowly tasting him, he shutters beneath you, his head falling back, a throaty moan coming from him.

“Fuck baby,” he breathes as his head comes back up, watching you slowly wrap your lips around him. He can see down your top just a bit.

Your head begins to slide down on him, slowly taking in every inch. He gasps at the way your mouth feels around him, warm, wet, and smooth. You hollow out your cheeks as you begin to bob your head up and down on his cock, at times it feels as though it’s going to hit the back of your throat.

“Fuck, take it baby, you’re doing great, just a little,” he chokes out a soft moan, “ just a little more,” his eyes shut tightly as his own orgasm starts to stir in his core.

You slowly massage his balls forcing his hips to lift off the couch.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he whimpers. The wet sounds of the room are loud and you swear people can hear, but you really don’t care. Without warning, you feel Chan’s hot load shoot down your throat. His hips sputter as he cums, his face scrunching up. You take it all, swallowing up every drop.

He opens his eyes, his vision slightly fuzzy from how tight they were shut.

“Come here,” he pulls you up, dazed and euphoric and smashes his lips to yours in a messy kiss. Tongues gliding against one another, teeth slightly knocking and you can feel his cock begin to get hard again as it rubs against your thigh. He whimpers at the stimulation. The noise causing you to feel the pulse between your thighs.

“You want me?” you whisper breathless against his lips. Once Chan is fucked out, he’s so submissive.

“Fuck you know I do.” His vocals straining with the amount of desire he holds for you.

You sit up, and Chan’s hands are on your hips, helping guide you. He positions his cock at your entrance and you slowly sit, allowing it to fill you up completely. You both moan and your head falls onto his shoulder, pussy already clenching ever so slightly.

“Baby,” he whines in your ear, hips moving beneath you.

You begin to bounce, feeling the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot. You mouth falls open as your head tilts back. Chan looks in the mirror across the room, mesmerized by the way you look bouncing up and down on him.

“Fuck, I’m getting us a mirror for our bedroom.” He grunts as his hips can’t help but thrust up, meeting yours as the sound of skin slapping skin fills the quiet room.

He can feel your pace becoming inconsistent, he can feel that your close, so he takes you and flips you back onto the couch, raising your legs up to give him better access to you.

“Oh God,” you scream out, knowing good and well the boys could probably hear you.

“Fuck, Chris, ah, I’m gonna,” you groan as he hits your spot once again, taking pleasure in the fact that the whole building could probably hear you. He’s definitely steaking his claim.

“Come on baby, cum for me. Be a good girl and make a mess all over my cock,” he grunts as he messily rubs your clit, sending you over the edge into a state of true euphoria. Chan comes just behind you, he hips stuttering as he gasps out his groans.

“Fuck,” he says as he fill you up. You pull him down for a passionate kiss before he pulls out of you, his body and yours slick with sweat.

“God you know they heard us.” You complain as your face blushes.

“Good,” he smirks and helps you stand. Luckily a bathroom is on the other wall across from the main door. Chan helps you clean up and you both get yourselves put together. You exit the practice room and take a deep breath.

You both hear music playing as the door opens and you notice Hyunjin, Lee Know and Changbin practicing. Meanwhile Han, Felix, and Seungmin are against the wall, I.N eating his food as he watches the first three practice.

“You guys have a good talk?” Felix asks with a suggestive tone. You whine as cling to Chan embarrassed.

“Yeah, it was fine,” he kisses your forehead.

“Just had to get some stuff worked out,” he smirks at the guys.

Tags: @breakmeoff @lov3lycosmos

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[laursdomain]

xaden riorson as your boyfriend...

pairing: xaden riorson x fem!reader

synopsis: sfw & nsfw headcanons for sexy shadow man

warnings: nsfw, 18+, mdni

ྀིxaden riorson masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

sfw 𐦍

Possessive. Everyone knows that you are Xaden's girl, and he doesn't exactly hide it. He's constantly being possessive, telling everyone silently to not touch what it is. Most of the time, especially before you two got together, his possessive gaze on you at all times was loud and clear for everyone. Everyone but you. Once you two get together, though, his possessive glances turn into possessive touches, and they don't go unnoticed by you and those around you. Sometimes its a hand gripping your thigh, his arm wrapping around you waist, or simply standing behind you.

Nicknames. He loves calling you love. Growing up, Xaden was always taught to never portray his emotions, to always keep it locked up. Others have always perceived him as having no emotions and no empathy for anyone, unless it was someone close to him. Calling you love is his own way of showing how much he truly loves you and lives for you. With you, he is truly himself.

Thoughtful. Xaden is constantly doing things that have so much thought put into it. When you're at Aretia, he'll wake you a little earlier for some breakfast in bed, getting in some quality time before classes. When he has to leave early for either a meeting or patrol, he always writes you a letter to read before you start your day, reminding you of things to do such as eating breakfast. And don't forget randomly finding bouquets of flowers in your room after an especially grueling day.

Protector. Xaden is a natural protector. He protected the marked ones when the rebellion ended, and that never faltered throughout the years. He instinctively feels the need to protect you, even know he knows you can hold your own. He'll always be defending you, either it be verbally or physically, against anyone who dares. Every night, like clockwork, he's always showing up at the gym to spar with you, helping you strengthen your muscles, defense, and strikes.

Quality time. Xaden loves quality time with you, especially in the solace of the morning or night. Either it be watching the sunrise with your dragons sleeping behind you, eating breakfast in bed early in the morning, or eating his favorite chocolate cake as you watch the sunset, he's always finding ways to spend quality time with you. To Xaden, as long as he is with you, everything is alright in the world.

Jealousy. Xaden doesn't necessarily get jealous, but he definitely gets territorial and possessive when someone attempts to flirt with you. He won't bother saying anything to them, he'll intimidate them by using his shadows, then he'll throw you over his shoulder and walk away with you in tow. However, when you laugh at either Garrick or Bodhi's jokes, he's instantly getting jealous of them, scolding them later for making you laugh. Even though he knows you'd never go for either of them, Xaden doesn't like sharing.

Kisses. Xaden always kisses the air out of you, every time. Especially when he's been away for some time, either it be at an outpost or going on a quest, he'll practically run to you, scooping you up into his arms as he kisses the life out of you. In the solace of the morning, you always enjoy the different soft and lazy kisses he gives you, pouring all his love into them.

Love language. Xaden doesn't have a specific love language, moreso a combination of all of them. He's constantly craving your touch, the feeling of your body under his hand or arm constantly grounding him in the middle of an ongoing war. He's constantly showing his love through acts of service, loving your reaction to the bouquets of flowers and the little trinkets he makes for you. While you two are training, he's constantly praising you on how well you're doing and how you've improved since the previous attempt.

𖤓 nsfw

Oral. This man lives for going down on you. He loves the sounds that come out of your pretty mouth, the way your hands dig in his hair, and the way you clench around his fingers and tongue give him more pleasure than it should. He loves being the one to pleasure you, and has so much pride in being able to make you come multiple times without having his cock inside you. He typically doesn't prefer getting a handjob or blowjob, simply because he'd come too quickly. But he'd never confess that to you.

Dominant. Xaden is always in control of the bedroom. He'll always be on top, no matter where you are. His grip on your hips surely leave marks, but it's his way of telling you who's in charge. Even on the rare occasions that you are riding him, he is still in control. His hands still have a tight grip around you, guiding you up and down on his cock as he meets your thrusts, creating an insane amount of pleasure that should be impossible.

Signet. Xaden never shys away from using his signet in the bedroom. If you two are in a risky spot, his shadows are constantly covering you, making sure you are away from anyone's lingering eyes. Otherwise, his shadows are constantly caressing your breasts, making your nipples peak as he adds more stimulation to your pleasure.

Reading. Xaden, though he tries not to read you, can't help it in the bedroom. He wants to give you everything you want, and uses that to his advantage by reading your intentions. Knowing what you want him to do, and executing it perfectly, makes your pleasure increase, making you come too many times. Even though you never know how he knows exactly you want, you'll never deny that you absolutely love it.

Kinks. Xaden loves trying new things, especially when you initiate it. He nearly comes on the spot when he notices your hand wrapping around his, bringing it to rest on your neck. He understands what you want immediately without needing to read you, tightening his grip on your neck. The pressure of his hand on your neck, losing only a little bit of your airflow sends your eyes to the back of your head, your pleasure becoming intense to the point it sends you tumbling over the edge.

Location. Xaden makes it his personal mission to fuck you everywhere in Riorson House. It is his house after all, why not claim you everywhere in it? Your favorite spot was the kitchens, where you had wanted to share a slice of chocolate cake with Xaden turned quickly into him wanting a different snack. You thanked the gods he put a sound barrier around the kitchen, keeping some of your dignity intact. As for Xaden, his favorite spot was the throne. The view of you riding him as he sat on the chair was absolutely mesmerizing, and Xaden secretly enjoyed how if his father was alive, he'd be scolding his son for doing something like this on the throne.

Positions. Xaden is the king of finding new positions to try. The usual missionary, doggy, and cowboy positions are always great, but Xaden loves seeing your reaction to a new position. Every time he initiates a new position, you wonder two things--how he even came up with it and how he's able to go deeper and harder, making your orgasm much more intense.

Aftercare. Xaden is always so tender after you both come down from your highs, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor during the day. It's almost as if a switch goes off in him, going from a scary, brooding man to a soft teddy bear. You secretly enjoy the way he takes great care of you, making sure you are properly cleaned up, clad in his warm clothes, and sharing soft kisses under the blankets until you lull to sleep.

≪ °❈° ≫

[juicykvnture]

SPRING BREAKERS

Jason Todd x fem!Reader x Roy Harper | Challengers AU

tags: substance (alcohol & marijuana) use, mean!Reader, oral f!receiving (though clothes), hair pulling, like one smack?

a/n: yes. It’s inspired by that scene, thank you and goodnight.

wc: 3.7k

masterlist

Dating is just a distraction, relationships have to take a backseat. Anyone who disagrees just doesn’t know what tennis is, tennis is a relationship. The most important one in your life.

You didn’t exert yourself to the point of passing out for no reason, all those scraped knees, all the sweat, the blood, the tears, it’s all part of your purpose. You were meant to be number one, no doubt about it.

It started on the court, like any sort of interaction you’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even your opponent.

Nope, just the two dolts standing in the corner staring at you. Two sets of eyes. One calculated, watching every swing of your arm and every single tilt of your head. The other? Flicking between you and the racket in his own hand with an almost dumbfounded grin.

On the left, is Jason Todd. His eyes narrowed with every single step you take. Ice they called him, his expression calculating, unwavering. How fucking cliche, huh? You’ve played against him before in practice matches, even though you two never really got conversational, you had a silent understanding of each other. No bullshit, no chitchat, just some good tennis. It’s not like you’ve got a high opinion of Jason or anything, sure he can play but he’s a goddamn Wayne at the end of the day, whether his Daddy’s money has anything to do with his place in Stanford or not.

On the right? The opposite. Roy Harper. He’s all dumb little grins and wandering eyes. Fire, cause of that stupid red mane of his, slightly swooped to the side behind his sunglasses. He’s quick though, you have to admit. Quick with his serves, quicker with his conquests, and a never-ending roster it seems. You don’t get it, truly. He can hardly have his head in the game if it’s constantly between someone’s legs.

“I’d let her fuck me with that racket.” Roy hums into his can of Coke, his eyes flickering from you on the court to Jason beside him.

“You’d let anyone fuck you with anything, Harper.” Is Jason’s only response, seemingly indifferent as his hand goes to snatch the can out of Roy’s hand, finishing what’s left of it in a quick swig.

“Hey,” Roy’s lips curl into the beginning of a stupid little pout, but he’s quickly distracted by the whistle blowing, Jason tossing the now crumpled-up can into his lap, already on his feet.

Wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand, you’re crouched down on the court, staring at your laces as you catch your breath. You won again, of course you did. A wound to your own ego would bear greater pain than any physical injury you could ever imagine.

“You’re good,” Jason observes, his shadow blocking out the beating sun. Yeah, fork found in kitchen.

“I know.”

———————————— ☆ ————————————

It’s been abundantly clear since you three started whatever the fuck this even is, there are no friends in your game. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with drinking socially to quell your loneliness, but this isn’t meant to mean anything, why would it? Tennis is your life, anything and everything else is secondary.

You blink, staring at the joint in Roy’s hand. You’re usually strict about this kind of shit, for your own good. You’d honestly rather tear every ligament in your shoulder before failing a fucking drug test before a game. But you’ve got all your stuff shoved into a suitcase anyway, tossed under your bed and ready for spring break. All of your practice games are done and dusted until the real thing this summer. You’ll be fine, it’s just one laid-back evening, besides Roy and his stupid puppy eyes kinda got you into it.

“Hey.” Jason sighs, unceremoniously tossing the case of beer he had to drag here from his own dorm onto the carpet, the bottles clinking against each other.

“Seriously, not an ounce of alcohol to your name, what’re ya, a nun?” -with a sigh he slumps himself down on the floor beside Roy, letting his head thump back against the dresser.

“No, it fucks with my focus.” You correct him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you reach for a bottle, cracking it open against your side table, leaving a small scratch in the wood.

“Do you shit diamonds or something? Loosen up a little.” Roy hums as he stares up at the ceiling, the joint hanging between his lips. You’re not uptight, really! You’re just committed, okay? There’s a difference.

Though still, in an effort to shut him up, you take a drag, sticking your tongue out as if to prove a point.

Jason just watches in silence, sipping at his beer until his gaze narrows just by a fraction, his eyes flickering down to your mouth until he receives a huff of smoke in his face, snapping him out of it.

“So,” you sigh, passing the joint over to Jason, your head tilting over to Roy, “How long have you two been-”

“Oh, we’re not really-” Roy begins with a sheepish chuckle before he’s swiftly cut off by Jason sweating like a sinner in a church,

“No, it’s uh, it’s not like that,” -his voice more than a half-dead drawl for what seems like the first time ever.

You’re in no position to be judging their homoerotic friendship by any means, but you have a functioning pair of pupils in your eyes and at least two brain cells to rub together, and judging by their reactions you aren’t that far from the truth.

“You don’t sound too sure there, Jay,” Roy mumbles into his bottle, chewing on his tongue piercing under the dim light of your dorm room. Within the last couple of seconds you’ve definitely felt a shift in the atmosphere, the air heavier and you swear it ain’t the weed. The glances shared aren’t so subtle anymore, especially with how Roy’s lying back with his head against your side table. He’s got that same grin on his face that he always wears but his eyes ain’t boyishly wide like usual, they’re half-lidded, his t-shirt riding up his torso just a little bit.

“We’re just close.” Jason clarifies as he clears his throat, downing another sip of beer. He hates how unsure he sounds, He’s Jason fucking Todd, he’s ice.

“We met when we were like ten at a tennis camp or something.. and he just stuck around like gum on my shoe.”

Roy shoots him a saccharine little pout at that, his tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of beer that slowly drips down the neck of his bottle.

You almost feel like you’re walking in on something here, and honestly? Maybe you are.

“Redheads aren’t my type,” Jason grumbles, passing the joint over to you. He’s gripping that glass so hard that he’s got the condensation dripping down his fingers. He’s also sulking like a moody toddler, you’d laugh if you weren’t so weirdly intrigued. You’re not entirely sure just who he’s tying to convince here.

Roy just grins, tucking a stand of his messy hair out of his eyes before going for another drag, “You’re full of shit, Jay. What about-“

“Enough. C’mere.” You suddenly pipe up, rising to your feet, only to promptly slump back on your bed, your fingers drumming against the mattress.

Dumb and dumber just stare at you, Roy tilting his head to the side like a puppy seeing snow for the first time in his life, Jason’s expression faltering for just a moment before he washes the knot in his throat down with another swig of beer.

“Huh? Me or him-”

Before you even think to answer Jason’s question, both of them are perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, Jason still gripping onto his beer bottle for dear life, while the other offers a sheepish grin, dragging his blunt nails over the fabric of his shorts.

“Hi,” Roy breathes, slumping his head against your shoulder like one of those great danes who thinks it’s a lapdog. You can feel his eyes on you under his messy red bangs, unfortunately it’s almost cute.

“Hey,” Without thinking, your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb moving in little circles against his flushed cheeks. You can’t even laugh at him right now, his eyes as half lidded and teary as yours. He’s absolutely baked, all three of you are.

Tilting your head to your left, Jason isn’t much better at the moment, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the neck of the cold bottle, holding it to his face. He’s staring down at the floor mostly, but occasionally over at you two, how Roy leans into you like a plant chasing the sun. You can tell he’s a little tense, his chin on his knee as his free hand twirls the white streak at the front of his hairline around between his thumb and forefinger.

“S’all fuckin’ spinnin.’” He mutters, his voice oddly soft for once. The room, his brain, his feelings, everything.

Slowly, he feels a a hand tugging on his wrist, his fingers curling up slowly before his hand falls back down against the covers with a small thump. He’s not sure why your touch grounds him, truly. It’s like he’s smoked away all his pride, nudging at your palm with his head.

“Close your eyes.”

You’re not sure why you even said that, you’re not in the right state of mind either. Perhaps you’re subconsciously testing these two, seeing if they’ll actually listen to you.

Sure enough, they do. Of course they do.

You chew on your tongue, glancing between the two of them. Roy caved in first, but that’s only cause he’s barely able to focus on anything anyway, anything other than your thumb tracing under his jawline. After a blink, Jason followed, setting his bottle down on the floor with a small clink against the metal leg of your bed frame, his lashes fluttering shut until like Roy, his head lands against your shoulder, subconsciously nosing at your neck.

It’s spring 2006, you smell like weed, sun cream and that little perfume that lives on your bathroom counter, that pink one with little green diamonds. Jason isn’t sure what it’s called, he doesn’t particularly care. But every time he smells it, he just knows he’s going home with a busted up ego and an equally busted up racket.

You’re gnawing on the insides of your cheeks now, thinking. You were tempted to call bullshit on Jason’s defensiveness earlier, but that would’ve only ended in an earful and him not speaking a word to either you or Roy for the rest of the night.

You test them once more, tilting your head back to Roy, letting your lips brush against his. Despite his slow and sluggish movements otherwise, his hand finds your knee, crawling up your thigh and curling into the fabric of your shorts. His response is immediate, bumping his forehead against yours in a clumsy attempt to tilt his head and let his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He’d whine about it under any other circumstances but it’s just muffled by your own teeth tugging at the bar of his tongue piercing.

Jason barely has the chance to even let his eyes open before your hand moves to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the dark curls at his nape and giving them a firm yank, just to fuck with him, of course.

Roy being loud is a given, literally look at him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer whine of filth to leave Jason like that, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his hands move with urgency equal to the one of his lips against yours, he’s pawing at you at this point, pulling your shirt in every which way.

Roy is busy mouthing at your neck, biting at your skin and soothing it with the cold ball of his tongue piercing as if to apologise.

The second you pull your mouth off if Jason to as much as breathe, he looks like he’s about to sob, near going cross eyed when he sees that thin string of spit break.

“No, no, no, come back,” He’s shaking his head like you’ve denied him his one and salvation, tugging at your shirt, the fabric closed tightly in his fists.

You’re quick to shut him up once more, briefly brushing your mouth against his before you tilt your head back, letting him trail his kisses down the other side of your neck.

Shit, your heads spinning now. Like really spinning, staring between them both as you feel hands wandering up your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, everything, everywhere.

As you’re watching this all unfold, something hits you. You’re tempted to mess with them again, like you so often are. Maybe it’s your own inebriation talking right now, but you just wanna test them a little bit more.

Your grip on Roy’s jaw tightens by a fraction, crossing your legs as you lean back a little bit, your hand in Jason’s hair giving him another little yank upwards. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you in that moment, nor are you in any kind of rational headspace, but you can’t help it.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, either hand still on Jason and Roy, cradling their faces in your palms.

Just as Jason tilts his head down to press a kiss to your inner wrist, you yank Roy’s jaw forward, ultimately resulting in the two of them bumping teeth, then lips, then tongue, and then holy fuck, they’re just fully going at it in front of you, Roy lazily cracking one eye open to help you tug your shorts down your thighs, just enough so he can snap the waistband of your panties against your hip.

Bastard.

It’s like making your Barbie’s kiss, just in this case, it’s two grown ass men.

Roy’s been around the block, he knows what you’re doing, leaning back on your elbows like you’ve got front row seats. You’re shameless about it too, which is actually one of the very few things you two happen to have in common.

Jason well and truly cannot formulate a coherent thought other than the raging boner he’s shifting his legs to hide, his eyes shut tight, feeling the ball of a piercing drag against the corner of his mouth.

He knows you don’t have one, you don’t kiss like that.

But he knows exactly who does.

You were right earlier.

That feeling like you’re walking in on something here, and now? You definitely are.

Jason’s so unbothered normally, they call him Ice for a fucking reason. But right now? He couldn’t hold your gaze in a conversation for longer than about two seconds before he was ducking his head with reddened cheeks and staring down into his lap, trying to ignore the throb between his legs.

Though apparently, he’s warmed up to everyone in Stanford but you. He certainly gets on with your Roy just fine, better than just fine. You wouldn’t even bat an eye if you heard those two fucking in the changing rooms.

The weed is just fucking Jason up right now, he knows, but he can’t—he can’t even do anything about it, he’s got his hands clutching his knees so hard they’re almost shaky, It’s weird and embarrassing and he’s been doing so well trying to act like this means nothing, like this is just a causal smoke.

Only Roy knows about his dilemma, and his only wonderful advice all year long has been to get his head out of his ass and a whack to the back of his head, followed by a delighted snicker of, “Fuck, you need to get laid more,” to Jason’s inconsolable grumbles.

Roy is honestly finding this shit more amusing than he has any right to, his words coming in a drawn out pant as he reaches a hand up to ruffle Jason’s hair a little, his grin unwavering.

“You embarrassed, Jay?” Roy hums, all too proud as he glances between you and Jason, his pupils blown like saucers.

You’re not sure whether to speak or not.

“Off,” Jason shifts slightly, letting his fingers uncurl from a fist as he tugs lightly at your shirt.

Roy only scoffs at that, his chin resting atop your shoulder as he eyes his friend, bumping his head against yours with a small huff.

“C’mon, you’re gonna freak out n’forget your manners and everything?”

That makes Jason avert his eyes, though only briefly before he’s staring at you again, tugging at the cotton.

“Off,” he repeats, “Please, take it off.”

You’re not a fan of people telling you what to do, especially guys who think they’re the shit cause they’ve got a couple good matches under their belts. You try to convince yourself that it’s just out of curiosity, that it’s another one of your stupid little tests - just to see how they react.

Your shirt is soon pulled off over your head as you move to lean back against your headboard, staring at them with a slight arch of your brow.

Oh. You’re so dismissive of them almost, just like you would be on the court. Of course you are. God, Jason feels stupid even sitting here. He spends enough time trying to prove himself as a player against you, but this is incomparable.

Roy on the other hand, is well.. Roy, letting out an obnoxious whistle before he’s silenced by your balled up shirt hitting him square in the face, catching it in his teeth.

“I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you lemme keep that.” He mumbles, twirling it around on his finger. He’s staring at you. Yeah, he knows where your eyes are.. but why would he be looking their if you’ve got a perfectly fine pair of tits be could be staring at instead?

“And you call Jason the freak?”

You’re doing that thing with your voice, again. The one that makes his brain sort of go fuzzy, you talk to him like he’s an idiot. He is.

God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Jason isn’t distracted by your stupid chitchat, he doesn’t care if Roy pokes fun at him or not, all he cares about is the pretty girl laid out in front of him. His lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting but not too hard, he doesn’t wanna freak you out yet.

You keep staring at him, with those pretty eyes, with that unreadable expression, and he’s not going to survive this. God. He feels like he’s dying. Maybe from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, or a hard-on; but he feels like he’s dying. Like he’ll pass away any moment, and then never have to live through this moment again.

Roy shifts quietly, thumbing over the drawstring of his shorts as he moves to sit up beside you, the bed creaking slightly under the weight of three people.

Jason glances up at you through his eyelashes, holding the silver pendant of your necklace in his teeth.

He looks sweet for once, the white streak in his tousled hair falling into his eyes as he shifts down the bed, the top of his nose dragging between between your tits, down to your stomach before he pauses, fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I?”

When you nod, Jason’s other hand wanders up your thigh, tracing little circles over your skin before he lifts your leg over his shoulder, anything in an effort to be closer to you as he catches the little bow at the front of your panties between his teeth.

Roy finds it funny actually, how a bitch like you shatters people’s tennis careers with a drawer full of pretty, lacy things.

He definitely wasn’t snooping in your drawer while you were looking for a lighter earlier.

Roy raises an eyebrow for a moment, his lips curling up into another one of his stupid smirks when his eyes drift down to the slight wet patch in your panties, he noticed it earlier when he pulled at your shorts while him and Jason made out.

“And I’m the freak? I mean you’re literally-”

He’s very swiftly shut up by your hand smacking the underside of his jaw, your hot breath ghosting against his lips.

“Nobody’s talking to you, Harper.”

There you go again, treating him like an idiot. Fuck, he needs to get his brain checked out cause that shouldn’t make his dick throb the way it does.

In efforts to muffle another utterly embarrassing sound, Jason pushes his face further into the lacy fabric of your panties, his blunt nails digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave little crescents on your skin.

You’re having none of it though, unimpressed with how he’s trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of his fucking pride. Men and their egos, huh?

Your hand goes down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging at the long dark strands at the base of his neck, the action that resulted in that precious little whine earlier.

This time, it’s paired with an unintelligible ramble into your clothed cunt about how pretty you are, his hips pushing into the mattress beneath him.

Jason doesn’t even care if Roy laughs at him for being whipped for you at this point. He’s mouthing at you through the fabric almost desperately. He’s all over the fucking place, one second he’s got his nose bumping against your clothed clit, and then his lips are at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach, any way he can be close to you.

“Please,”

Kisses all over your thighs, shaky pants as he tries not to grind against the mattress too pathetically, his eyes half lidded as he uses the last of his common sense to try string together a sentence.

“Please let me fuck you.”

Roy can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he palms himself, unable to stop his hand sliding under his waistband.

You’re cradling Jason’s face again as he keeps mumbling into your thigh, tilting your head up to glance at Roy.

“You just gonna sit there and watch, freak?”

a/n: part 1, possibly????

yes I totally wrote this for myself.. yes I may or may not be cooking up part 2 if anyone’s interested..

asks and requests currently open ;)

Okay, I’m gonna go lay down, love you bye bye x

[daylighted]

SCARY STORIES IN THE DARK · . · ¨ : ` · . . · ‘

𐂂 . ݁ ₊ ⊹ . ݁ ˖ . ݁ㅤ LOTTIE MATTHEWS x QUEEN BEE ! READER

the tale ㅤ queen bee tells lottie scary stories around a campfire, and deluded imaginations run rampant beneath the safety of the trees ㅤ the warning signs ㅤ deluded thoughts, lost, pretty girls cuddling in the nighttime, the darkness sets them freeㅤ sit down and listen for ㅤ 1.1k words

it has not yet dawned on you that your life is over. the world has come to a standstill in time, awaiting for your return back to the mainland. the clocks have paused. for now, it is just you and the trees, and the team you love so dearly.

they are furious with you. coach is dead, panic is a heavy deadweight over the shoulders of every surviving member, and you are feet away, weaving the stems of dandelions into rings.

"this is for you," you say when darkness covers the world in a blanket. it settles in between the leaves and branches and nestles itself into the minds of your teammates, letting them drift off to sleep as it lifts their worries into its hands.

you and lottie were always close. she would invite you over to stay with her family, and in between the dosages of her medicine, when the lines between herself and the more acceptable version of herself were so thin you could look into the depths of her eyes and see every inch, she would whisper to you that you reminded her of herself.

you were light, she was dark. together, you eclipsed into something so beautiful that it was dangerous. must have been, with the way the others steer clear of you now that you are the only company each other has.

lottie stays, though. attached to your hip, and now attached to you — she puts your dandelion ring on and admires it in the flickering campfire. "pretty."

she is not looking at the ring, but at you. the log she sits on is too empty, but you are comfortable closer to the earth, where you can brush your fingers across the grass and feel the tickle of dewdrops and flower petals.

you do not notice her lingering eyes, playing with a thick blade of grass. you do notice, though, when she whispers your nickname like a prayer into the listening dark. "queen bee."

and you smile, because how lovely was it to be a queen? you even had the embellishments. a dandelion ring on every finger, and blades of grass woven into the ring finger ones — and into lottie's. you don't tell her this, though, either.

"yes?" you whisper back to her, glancing up from the dark to look into the eyes of the stars. she is pretty, isn't she? her curls are frizzy from the day's humidity and frame her face like they encapsulate gold within their borders.

sometimes you thought lottie could hear into your mind. you used to test it, at soccer practice, to see if she heard your commands. as most queen bees tended to do, whether she heard you or not, you influence her actions and end up in possession of the ball. you were connected; of course she gave offerings to you like a deity.

but she smiles now, like she can hear into your mind, and how high on a pedestal you've put her, too. "what's your head sound like right now?"

it is something she asked you often. while hers had been quieted by the medication, yours was a wild array of colors and music. she loved the way imagination looked in your eyes and told you as much.

"music," you breathe the word as lottie breathes your name — reverently, lovingly, "songs."

"what do they sound like?"

you were not a singer, and she knows this. she knows everything about you, and you know everything about her. the sun and the moon, eclipsed once more.

so you scream.

the sound echoes through the trees and every person asleep in the grass startles awake, some more panicked than others. you do not notice. the blades of grass were startled, too, and you had to calm them with a soothing touch to their surface.

"that's a beautiful song," lottie says over the cacophony of curses and protests in your direction.

it's no time for your psychotics, bee! but you were not crazy.

what the fuck, bee? don't they hear the music in the wind? the hums that leave the queen's lips, pretty stories just for the surviving women of the wood?

"it is haunting," you say to her, finally looking up to meet her through the curve of your eyelashes. "the antler queen haunts me."

lottie's eyes brighten at the sound of her name. she is the favorite character amongst your fairytales. how couldn't she be? she was a fair maiden and a fairer ruler.

"come here." lottie slips down to sit in the grass with you, her legs open for you to sit between. you slot in easily. you were handmade to be her missing piece. "i'll protect you from her cries."

you shake your head, slipping another grass ring around your finger. atop the ring one to match lottie's, as if you'd married her in the glow of the campfire. "she does not cry tonight," you tell her, a gentle correction, "she is very happy with us."

lottie hums thoughtfully, twisting a strand of your hair around her finger. her chin rests on your shoulder, free arm wrapped around your waist to tug your spine into the press of her chest. "what is story and what is true?"

that question tends to lose you a little. what was made up to help you cope, and what was fact? you couldn't tell, not even back on the mainland. thank goodness that the world was on pause, because you would truly be lost if soon, the team returned, and you had to catch up. maybe the antler queen would keep the hourglass on its side forever, so that time could never drain away in the form of sand grains.

"it is all true, now," you tilt your head back to meet her eyes, a little smile playing on your lips. nature called to the yellowjackets so desperately that it grabbed a fistful of your plane and tugged it into the ground, and took a blood sacrifice for the time it took for all of you to arrive. the antler queen was fair and just. she gave, and she took.

lottie's hand traces reassuringly along your ribcage, leaving sparkling shivers in its wake. maybe she presses a kiss into your skin through the worn fabric of your shirt. maybe it is the antler queen reinstating your words with her own physical evidence. maybe, as you have always thought, in the crevices of your mind, lottie and the antler queen are one in the same.

"the antler queen will guide the way. she must. we belong to her, now."

notes this was so fun to write i hope it's not too cuckoo bananas for everyone HAHAHA little queen bee is just a lady with questionable coping mechanisms that accidentally fuel another mentally ill girl's delusions !! you can't blame them !!!

tags @h8aaz @bluemerakis @briisbananass @bloodofswans @funkycoloured @rositaslabyrinth @bldgutsnlove @ultravi0lence14 @stereotypicalbarbie @artificialroux

[woollypoison]

Aprons and Ears

Male reader x (G)i-dle Yuqi x Twice Chaeyoung a/n: Might be the start of something bigger. Don't come at me if it isn't. Word count: 3.3k

“Welcome, Master!” Two voices sing out discordantly, one high in pitch, the other low. The little bell above the door hasn’t even stopped jingling yet before they’re both on you, practically bouncing on either side as they guide you into the establishment.

The outfits are immaculate. Like a fantasy come to life. Down to the little details. The lacy, frilled dresses. The chokers with the bells hanging from them. The little cleavage window. The black cat ears perched atop and the matching black tail hanging behind. And the cherry on top, you can’t forget the black thigh high socks. It sounds like a lot, trying to do a maid cafe as well as a cat cafe at the same time, but somehow these two make it seem like it was always meant to be that way.

“Please, right this way,” the one with the higher pitched voice says. The name tag says it’s Chaeyoung.  She has this airy smile about her, waving you behind her like she doesn’t really care at what pace you’re going.

“Take a seat, Master,” the other one says. Her name tag says Yuqi. She’s more playful about it, big gestures and all, with a grin that’ll have you ordering the entire menu before you know it.

She hands you a laminated menu, and you clear your throat as you pretend to study it. Everything here is themed. It’s to the point you could see someone being too embarrassed to say these names out loud. But not you.

“What can we bring you, Master?” Yuqi leans down, the dress giving you a nice view at the cleavage she’s so proudly displaying. It would almost be rude to not look, with your eyes having nowhere innocent to rest. Chaeyoung catches it though, and stifles a laugh behind Yuqi, throwing you a knowing smirk.

“I’ll take the ehh… the Iced Meowmericano and the Feline Flatbread, please,” you somehow manage without dying of shame. Has to be something in the air here.

There’s a certain brand of indifference to the way Chaeyoung scribbles it down, starkly contrasted by her smile that seems almost too genuine for the service industry. She’s no less good at her job because of it, though, her thighs dancing against the frills of her short skirt as she flashes you a knowing look before sauntering away.

“Coming right up, Master,” Yuqi purrs, giving your arm a little playful squeeze before flouncing after her colleague. 

You take a moment to catch your breath, really take in the vibes. Everything in this place is either maid or cat themed. Seeing it come to live like this, it somehow really works.

Yuqi is the first to return, carrying your coffee, both hands underneath the cup with the utmost care. Arms squeezed together tightly, forcing her chest up and together until you can’t help but wonder what kind of establishment this is supposed to be. She leans in close—too close—and sets it down, her face turning towards you and leaving just a couple of moments for you to wonder what’s next before speaking. “Enjoy, Master… I added a drizzle of something almost as sweet as me.”

There’s a weird and unclear implication that hangs between you before she follows up and makes the implication clear.

“But if you want to get a taste of this kitty, you’ll have to pay extra,” she giggles, not giving you a chance to respond as she steps aside to allow space for an approaching Chaeyoung.

She’s carrying your flatbread pizza, plate steady with both hands, but she ‘stumbles’ at the last second, pressing her tiny body against your arm as she regains her composure and sets the food down.

“Oops,” she smiles with no guilt despite the obvious theatrics, not moving away. “I’m sorry, Master. I can just be so clumsy.” She lets her tongue circle her lips, like a cat getting hungry for its prey.

“It’s fine,”  you respond, skin hot where she touched you.

“After you’re done,” she starts innocently. Not for long though, as she raises her hand subtly to her mouth, before continuing. “Would you like a dessert too?” Her hand now mimicking a quick, tiny stroking motion by her face.

You grip the edge of the table a little tighter. “What kind of cafe is this supposed to be?” you question both girls, looking around in disbelief. Yuqi beams like a kitty getting a dose of catnip.

“The kind where we make sure you don’t leave unsatisfied,” Yuqi purrs, and Chaeyoung’s eyes are trained on you with mischief, raising her eyebrows on beat with Yuqi’s final dragged out “Master.”

Yuqi plops down beside you without asking, her thigh sliding against yours, while Chaeyoung settles on the other side with an exaggerated sigh, like she could fall asleep leaning on you. The difference in size is intoxicating—the way they have to look up even when seated, the way their legs barely reach the floor dangling off the booth.

You almost forget why you even came in the first place.

“Shouldn’t you also be attending to the other guests?” you weakly ask.

Chaeyoung and Yuqi throw each other a knowing glance underneath your chin, before giggling. Chaeyoung’s hand landed on your knee. She twirls a lock of her hair around her finger lazily, pretending not to be unaware about her own hand creeping up higher on your thigh. 

Yuqi, meanwhile, leans in closer—so close her tits are squishing, giving and molding supple flesh against your arm. Her hand is also making illicit moves under the table, hooking her pinky through yours and tugging playfully. Before you know it, your hands on the bare spot of skin on her thigh in between her socks and her skirt.

“You should relax, Master,” Yuqi hums, her hand molding around yours, forcing it to squeeze her. Chaeyoung’s hand is inching higher and higher by the second, getting dangerously close to your crotch. She’s carefully studying your reaction, her expression a mix of teasing and unbotheredness, the kind you find in a girl who’s just getting a kick out of doing things to lazily pass the time.

Your heartbeats pounding, and the ice in your Iced Meowmericano is melting in negligence. “What are you doing? What if someone sees?” You hiss under your breath, disbelief and shock oozing through your tone.

Yuqi’s eyes glitter with mischief. “Just stay quiet and nobody will see, Master.”

Chaeyoung follows up in a soft and sing-song whisper, “Let’s keep this our little secret.”

Yuqi’s hand joins Chaeyoung’s as the latter spoke, both their fingers more daring now, so high they’re brushing the outline of your hardening cock through your pants. But they’re still teasing, quick and subtle, hiding the movement behind raised skirts, folds of your coat or the edge of the table.

“You know I could fire you for this, right?” you mutter, eyes darting between the two girls, an incredulous look now shared between the two at your comment.

Chaeyoung has this soft laugh about her as she responds. “But you won’t.” Yuqi follows it up, the two in perfect sync with each other, working towards their common goal. You. “If anything, you’ll beg us not to stop.”

Both their hands settle over your bulge, cupping it gently through your pants as if measuring it. Then, slowly, their thumbs rub along your length through the fabric.

“So hard already… and so thick,” Chaeyoung whispers. “I don’t think one hand will be enough,” Yuqi follows up.

You could stop this. You should, this is highly unethical, considering your position. But your body isn’t listening anymore.

Chaeyoung undoes your button with a soft click and tugs your zipper down, freeing your cock with casual efficiency. So far for clumsy. She doesn’t even bother to look at you once—not even in your general direction—her gaze remains locked forward, pretending to study the faces of the other customers. But her fingers wrap around your shaft a moment later, or at least attempt to wrap around it, her small hand dwarfed by the size of it.

Yuqi follows shortly after, her hand not much bigger, unable to resist the temptation of taking a look at what you’ve got packing. “Fuck you,” she murmurs. “That’s a lot bigger than what we expected, Master.”

Chaeyoung laughs, and they both start stroking. They’re way too good at this, the friction of two pairs of small hands getting to be too much already. You have to bite your lip to hold back a moan. They’re getting increasingly bolder, less worried about being seen. It’s hard to believe those tiny hands can cause this much pleasure, but here you are, your cock twitching under their touch.

Beneath the table, you slide your hand up Yuqi’s thigh. Her panties are soaked. She doesn’t stop you. She shifts a little to let you reach more easily. She presses her lips together tight, trying to stay quiet. Her small hand falters on your cock when your fingers push inside her.

"Fuck," she breathes, barely audible.

On your other side, Chaeyoung lifts her skirt slightly with one hand and brings your free hand beneath it. No words. Just a soft breath as your fingers meet her heat.

She gasps softly but doesn't move, letting you feel just how wet she is. The contrast is almost overwhelming—your cock pulsing in their tiny hands, your fingers buried inside both girls, every part of you claimed.

Your cock throbs in annoyance as they make you work for it now. The two girls gasp softly when your fingers push into them. They’re both soaking, so easy to push in, and so incredibly tight around you that you can barely move without them squirming and moaning into your neck.

“Faster,” Yuqi demands with a teasing pout.

“Deeper,” Chaeyoung pleads with a needy whimper.

You pick up the pace, thrusting inside their warm little holes as they keep stroking you in turn, never giving just one of them all your attention. They’re both panting now, soft little sounds escaping their lips that would be cute if they weren’t so fucking hot.

Yuqi tightens around your finger with a small cry when your thumb hits her clit just right, and Chaeyoung follows not long after with a shudder that runs through her whole body. They keep moving their hands along your shaft even as their bodies twitch and spasm against yours.

You’re so close now, their hands working you expertly, the two of them giggling as they feel your cock pulse and twitch. Your balls draw up, ready to unload underneath the table any second now. But they don’t let you.

Chaeyoung’s hand leaves your shaft, and Yuqi follows her lead, both of them looking at you with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Really?” Chaeyoung says. “You were going to cum like this? Blow your load against the underside of our table?”

“Who do you think would have to clean that up?” Yuqi adds. 

“Can’t be wasting a tasty treat like that,” Chaeyoung smiles. 

Their eyes meet, and suddenly they’re playing rock paper scissors with each other, leaving you hanging in the air with your cock still hard and throbbing. Rock. Paper. Yuqi grins wide.

"Damn," Chaeyoung mutters, shimmying herself down until she’s completely under the table. Her small hands are back on your shaft a moment later, her lips barely keeping from making contact. Yuqi climbs on top of the table instead, her skirt lifting just enough for you to see her cunt as all pretense of subtlety is thrown out of the window.

You blink. "Wait. You’re not actually—" You glance around the café. "What if someone—"

Yuqi cuts you off with a look, her voice suddenly low and serious. "Come on, boss. Can we stop this trial run play pretend now? There’s nobody here. Do you really want us to act a little longer... or do you want to get what we all know you really want?"

You hesitate for only a second.

Yuqi eases back, legs spreading to display her pretty little cunt. Her tail sways with delight as she speaks, voice thick with heat. "Be a good Master and show us what this pervy café fantasy was really about. Come on. I promise this pussy tastes better than anything you put on the menu."

The little bell on Chaeyoung’s collar gives a soft chime as she inches forward towards your dick. She licks her lips, dark lashes fluttering. "Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that load for you."

You give in. Head first into Yuqi’s cunt as you keep from banging your hips forward lest you give Chaeyoung a concussion.

Yuqi’s taste hits you all at once, salty and sweet and intoxicatingly lewd. You can barely keep up with it all—Chaeyoung’s lips closing around your cock, Yuqi grinding against your tongue—but fuck if you’re going to let them win this one. Not without a fight.

Your fingers dig into Yuqi’s thighs as you suck on her clit, thumb running over where sock meets flesh, drawing these high-pitched whimpers from her that make the blood rush down south even faster. She leans forward until her tits are hanging right above your face, small and perky and bouncing in time with Chaeyoung’s head bobbing up and down on your shaft.

You reach up to play with them as you eat her out, pulling them out from underneath the fabric and forcing them through the window, pinching her nipples between your fingers until she gasps and shudders above you.

Underneath the table, Chaeyoung is taking more of your cock into her mouth than should be possible for someone her size. Her throat tightens around you as she pushes down further still, holding herself there until you think she’ll choke on it for sure. But then she pulls back just enough to breathe before doing it all over again. The bell on her collar making ringing noise with each movement, like the beat of war drums dictating the pace of your fucking.

She uses one hand to jerk whatever doesn’t fit into her mouth and lets the other roll your balls between her fingers. It’s fucking amazing, the sensation enough to drive anyone insane in minutes. You don’t know how long you’ll last like this.

Yuqi is riding your face harder now, hips moving in desperate little circles as she tries getting just a bit more pressure on exactly the right spot. You can tell from how erratically she moves that she’s close already, those soft sounds escaping her lips turning into breathless cries every time your tongue flicks against her clit.

She presses down harder still when she cums, smothering you with pussy and thighs and sweet little mewling noises as her body trembles above yours.

Chaeyoung doesn’t stop or slow down even for a second while this happens; if anything she gets more vigorous about it all, barriers melting and you get lost in the urge with her.

You can’t stop yourself from thrusting into Chaeyoung’s mouth, hips moving on their own as she takes you in further with each push. Her small body is so light you accidentally bump her head against the underside of the table. You pause, brows furrowing in slight concern and a touch of guilt.

“Chaeyoung?” you ask, slowing down. “You okay?”

Her voice comes out muffled but still teasing as she gives your cock a quick kiss. “I’m okay.” Another kiss. “You can be rougher than that. Just try not to cause any brain damage while you’re at it.”

She wraps her fingers around your cock again, sits back on her heels and spreads her legs until you can see the heat beneath her skirt. “It’s definitely doing something,” she says. She slips one hand inside, fingering herself as she lets you use her pretty little mouth like a toy.

Yuqi laughs, a short breathless sound as she catches her breath above you. There’s a hint of teasing, no doubt thanks to the sudden lack of attention she’s getting. “Thank god I won the rock paper scissors,” she says with a grin. “The way you’re fucking her mouth like an animal? I couldn’t take that.”

You pull her down to your lips by tugging on her collar until it digs into her skin and she’s gasping into your mouth. You kiss her like you’re claiming ownership of something that was always yours to begin with. Your hands mold her tits through the fabric, solidifying the claim.

When she finally breaks away, it’s with a shudder, your hands freeing her tits by ripping the window on her chest open.

You lift her hips above you so you can look at where soft thighs meet socks and tease more needy sounds out of her.

“You’re such a perv,” Yuqi gasps, voice turning into shuddering words when your fingers sink into her cunt. Her voice breaks into a half-moan as your thumb rubs against her clit. “Starting an entire cafe just to get hot girls to wear your little fetish outfits.”

You try to protest, but your voice halts the second Chaeyoung pulls away from your cock with a pop. “But lucky for you,” she speaks, eyes looking up, searching for yours. “We’re kind of into this whole fucked up aesthetic,” she muses, before diving back down and taking you even deeper.

You’re so close now. So fucking close. And they both know it.

Chaeyoung doubles her efforts on your cock, small hand tight around the base while she bobs up and down with more urgency, her throat tightens and relaxes as she takes you in again and again, her tongue flicking against the underside in a way that sends jolts of pleasure up your spine. 

Yuqi grinds against your fingers, spreading herself wide enough for you to watch her pussy stretch around them with each thrust. “You better cum for us, Master,” she commands. “Or we’ll never let you fuck us like this again.”

You hold out as long as you can, but they’re too much. The two of them together, tiny bodies and filthy mouths and more than you ever imagined possible when you started this project.

You explode into Chaeyoung’s mouth with a groan, shooting the first thick load down her throat. She chokes on it at first but doesn’t pull away, holding every drop that follows in her mouth until her cheeks are bulging with it. But she doesn’t stop or pull away until you’ve given her everything, sucking softly on the tip like she’s coaxing out the last few drops.

When she finally comes up from under the table, it’s with a satisfied look and cum she couldn't keep inside dripping down her chin. She climbs onto the table next to Yuqi and pulls her in for a kiss, sharing what’s left of your load between them.

“Mm,” Yuqi hums against Chaeyoung’s lips, licking them clean before breaking away. “Not bad.”

“You two are horrible maids,” you say when you finally catch your breath again. “If I catch you doing anything like this with an actual customer...”

“We know,” they chorus together with matching grins.

“You’ll fire us,” Chaeyoung laughs.

“Right after cumming down our throats,” Yuqi adds.

They’re both still sitting on top of the table in complete disarray—their collars askew, tits hanging out from ripped windows, thighs dripping with wetness down to their high socks. They look like this was their plan all along. The end to your plan looked something like this as well, it just had a lot more steps and time to it.

You prefer their plan. They seem to do too.

“Well then,” Yuqi hops off first, smoothing down her skirt and fixing her collar as she stretches like a lazy cat. “Same time next shift?”

Chaeyoung follows shortly after, picking imaginary dust off her dress before leaning in for one last whisper against your ear. “Or do you need a longer demonstration, Master?”

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Braveheart

summary: joel helps you in the middle of a panic attack.

pairing: joel miller x reader

contents: panic attack, firearm mention, illusions to ptsd, romantic tension, soft!joel, a kiss!

wc: 1,459

an: was thinking about joel’s panic attack from season one & wanted to write him helping reader bc i can!!! bc he’s alive and well!!

pedro pascal characters masterlist

You don’t notice what’s happening to yourself right away, you never do.

It’s late. Patrol is done for the night, and you and Joel are back in Jackson, sitting outside the weapons shed, oiling down your gear. The firepit between you crackles, burning hot, but the chill in the air has teeth. Despite the cold, despite the nature of life these days, it’s peaceful.

Quiet in a way you never take for granted.

You’re not talking much. Joel doesn’t need to fill silence. That’s one of the things you like about him; how he lets the quiet be a comfort instead of a punishment.

But then he says something. It’s a simple comment about the western trails being clear. It's benign, or at least it should be. The western trails hold meaning. They were practically your second home at one point— one you got sent out on alone.

You go completely still just at the mention of them, your mind allowing in scenes you try to forget.

You don’t know why it hits you the way it does. Maybe it’s the smoke in the air coupled with the flick of a memory you didn’t mean to touch. But suddenly your chest is tight, your ears are ringing. The world feels ages away, blurred at the edges like you’re not with Joel sitting by a fire in Jackson anymore.

You don’t realize how still you’ve gone until Joel shifts beside you.

“Hey.”

You blink, trying to answer but the words don’t come, a soft sound in the back of your throat. Your hands feel wrong, light and heavy all at once. You can see yourself, see Joel like you’re floating too far above your own body.

“Hey.” He repeats, voice lowering. “You with me?”

Your breath stutters. You try to inhale but it’s like trying to take a breath in through a straw. Your chest goes tighter.

You wish you could say you’re fine, brush it off, and joke about zoning out. But you can’t— you can’t move, can’t breathe right, let alone lie.

There’s a rustling beside you, then Joel crouches in front of you, knees popping, his expression calm but focused.

“All right,” he murmurs, “I think you’re havin’ a panic attack. That’s all it is.”

All it is.

Like it’s manageable, like it doesn’t feel like the world is forcing your chest to cave in.

You barely register when he takes your hand. He does it gently, so painfully gently. There is no tug or rush, just a warm, steady grip that makes you feel here, even when everything else feels far away.

“Can I show you somethin’?”

You can’t nod, but you don’t pull away. You force your eyes to flutter and it’s enough for him.

Joel guides your hand forward, rests your palm flat against his chest. Right over his heart.

“You feel that?” he asks.

You do…eventually. The beat of it like a drum, the solid warmth of his chest. How strong, slow, real Joel is with you right now. It anchors you, because if he feels so real underneath your fingertips, aren’t you?

“I want you to match it,” he says, like he’s done this before. “Don’t overthink it. Just breathe with me.”

You try. The first breath stutters in your lungs, but Joel’s still watching you, breathing slow and deep like you can sync to him. And somehow, you do; little by little, the tightness eases. The tremble in your body evens out.

He keeps his hand over yours. When you look up, his eyes are already on you. Quiet, and encouraging, shining with familiarity in a way that undoes you.

“I didn’t realize,” you rasp finally. “Thought I was just being… weird.”

Joel shakes his head. You notice that his hand stays where it is. “You weren’t. You got hit by somethin’. Happens more than folks admit.”

Your voice breaks a little. “I’m sorry.”

His fingers tighten around yours just slightly. “Don’t be. You don’t owe me an apology for bein’ human.”

You try to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. Not until you stop trying to run from it—from him.

“Why’d you notice?” you ask. “Why’d you know what was happening?”

He hesitates but eventually is honest. “Because I’ve had ’em too.”

The idea of Joel, the one who’s always composed and grounded, the one who people look to as a pillar falling apart like that twists something sharp and tender in your chest.

“When?”

He exhales shakily, looking toward the fire. “First time was years ago, right after Sarah. Thought I was dyin’. My heart was racin’ and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I laid in the dirt behind a gas station and thought that was it.”

He thought that was it? He sounds as if he was so resigned to drifting away, to letting the panic take him under. You’re silent, watching him. His eyes have gone far away, but his hand is still on yours, and his touch is still gentle.

“Tommy found me,” he adds after a beat. “Didn’t say much, he just sat with me. That helped more than anythin’.”

You swallow hard. “So that’s why you stayed with me.”

Joel looks at you again. His voice is lower now, almost rough. “I’d stay anyway.”

Quiet stretches between you, laced with the soft sounds of Jackson. The fire pops, the night sighs, and the weight of his words settles somewhere behind your ribs.

“I didn’t expect you,” you whisper.

He tilts his head, not understanding.

“To be the one who noticed,” you clarify. “To be the one who… stayed.”

Joel’s eyes soften. Not in pity but in something else, something warmer. He lifts his free hand, caressing your hair, slow and hesitant like he’s not sure he should. But when you don’t flinch, he lets his touch linger.

“I notice you more than you think,” he says.

All you can do is look at him, his words winding you. Look at the way the firelight dances along the sharp lines of his face, at the silver in his hair, at the steadiness that you’d come to rely on without ever naming it.

You think about the way he always shows up. The way he knows how to help without making someone feel like they owe him. The way he touches you now—not like you’re broken, but like you’re his.

“I think I’ve been waiting for this,” you say quietly.

“Waitin’ for someone to see you?” he asks. “Or waitin’ to let ‘em?”

Your chest pulls tight again—but not with panic. With anticipation and bravery. With honesty.

“Both,” you admit.

Joel’s eyes fall to your mouth, then flicker back to your eyes. “I see you,” he says. “I’ve seen you.”

The space between you narrows. His forehead tips toward yours—not touching, but close enough you can feel his warm breath.

You don’t kiss him; not at first.

But when he takes your hand again, presses it back to his chest like a vow, and murmurs, “Still right here. Whenever you need it…”

That’s when something in you breaks open.

You don’t crumble or fall apart— it feels like being freed. Like letting yourself go. Like a lock unlatching or a coveted breath finally exhaled.

You lean in slowly, just a few inches, just enough to ask the question without words. Your eyes stay trained on his, and as far as you can see there is no fear. They’re warm, almost amber in the fire light.

Joel doesn’t pull away. His hand tightens just slightly at the back of your neck, to ground you, a reminder that he’s here. And then he closes the last of that space, kissing you.

It’s not a dramatic kiss. It’s not ravenous or desperate. It’s smooth, syrupy.

It’s full of every moment you didn’t let yourself want this—every look, every silence, every small act of care that now blooms into something more.

His mouth claims yours with that same quiet certainty he carries in everything he does. When he kisses you, it’s with reverence. Like he’s known for a long time this might happen—but wasn’t going to take it until you were ready to meet him there.

Joel takes his time; kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. Ignoring the ache in his knees, letting the worry of being seen slip away. There is just your mouth on his, and you taste as sweet as he’s imagined.

When you part, you don’t pull away far, just enough to see him, to see his eyes. Bright and warm and full of adoration. Yours look much the same.

You let your forehead rest against his, and whisper, “Still here?”

“Still here,” he answers, just as softly. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel miller taglist!

joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @yesjazzywazzylove-blog, @lowrisemiller, @ficsavin, @diedorleft, @meetmeatyourworst, @amyispxnk, @marc-spectorr, @luzhesrozes, @arsonhotchner

[zengguos]

a few more yellowjackets soccer hcs floating in my head:

● the defense line are the closet with each other. genlissa left side (sorry jenna, melissa's not midfield material to me, those reaction times, runs and the stalking positioning is giving left back vibes) and lottielee right side. the group tease lottielee for picking up each other's habits like the little lip smile laura lee does, lottie ends up unconsciously doing it too. sometimes van gets super pissed in high pressure matches and has to tell genlissa off for chatting too much because they're her weaker side.

● they usually run a 4-4-2 formation, but change to 3-5-2 by putting lottie in defensive mid-field for pressure, support and coverage if by half time they're tieing/losing (laura lee fully controlling defense now). coach martinez's strategy that he tells lottie to do when she's placed there — "take them down. no matter how risky it is, you're taking them down." and she takes that very seriously and literally. 💀

● lottie is the "emergency goal-keeper". one match van got potentially injured and had to be subbed off. they didn't have the second string or jv keeper on the bench, so lottie had to switch positions with the logic behind it being "she's got big hands, the tallest and has the best footwork, she can cover post to post the best." — every one jokes about that match.

● lottie being given the throw ins and she launches the ball across the field (prime stoke city rory delap style haha).

● tai and van do additional practice at the local park field for a few hours on saturdays. tai is open for anyone to come join them. usually the others show up for a while (laura lee, lottie, jackie dragging shauna along) just to hang out and mess around. but, unspokenly, this time is used for anyone that needs an excuse to get out of their house, away and disconnected from their family stressors and pressures. nat goes to every single one and is usually the last person on the field. they assume it's to make up on the practices that she has missed, but it is because she doesn't want to go back home.

● still keeping that original character pitch of nat being made to join an extra curriculum as part of her deal with the principle to avoid being expelled and stay at the school.

● nat got her first set of cleats from the old starter senior right winger in her freshman year before she left — telling nat that she had natural talent for this. which made nat decide she wanted to play in that position and take the sport more seriously to the point she made varsity in her sophomore year as it felt like someone looked out, supported and had faith in her in the past, present and future for the first time.

● nat is their corner taker for both sides. she knows how to pick a target and start a movement of play from analysing the positions everyone is in. communicating the play she is about to set up with hand signals. usually it's just aiming for lottie's tall head in the middle of the pack that ends up being a guaranteed goal. 😭

● "now look what you've done! now you've made robin cry." van would always say when the lockeroom drama has gotten too intense — that idea makes me laugh so much. I love it.

● laura lee has major team mom vibes when they have away matches. she is the friend that has everything in her huge duffle bag. need a band-aid? a spare hair-tie? didn't bring anything to eat or drink? feeling sick, do you want some tylenol? need some deodorant? mints to cover up your alcoholic breath? broke something? well let her whip out the portable sewing kit she carries around with her and fix it for you before the match. if she doesn't have what you need, she knows who will.

● we know jackie got made captain for nationals. so, I hc laura lee is the vice captain for nationals and takes the band when jackie is subbed off. if jackie is influence, laura lee is balance. she's stubborn and headstrong enough for it, but also compassionate and mindful. she does bring a clear balance to the other hotheads and she is a team player compared to those who are more individualistic in the team, or simply don't want the pressure of leading, or have the experience. she doesn't let the girls the opinions weigh on her, or attitudes waiver her resolve and we see that she can bite back and tease too. she also allows people to have their voice with her and brings that open space for challenges and discussions. she does have captain qualities but not on jackie's level of charisma, infulence and outright vocalness. she's the next best pick to lead if you compare her to the others and their attitudes and reactions to that responsibility in that setting.

● tai was upset over not getting captain or vice captain for nationals.

● shauna is the fastest and likes to flaunt it. tai likes to try and race her every warm up with the full pitch line to line exercise to see if she can finally beat her. but, nat and melissa are the closet to always nearly catching shauna up.

● you just know other teams hated going against the varsity team. not because they were undefeated or had lots of skill and talent. it was purely on their attitude! they were totally the villains of the season that every school in the state wanted to topple on attitude alone. but, they were so good psychologically at getting into people's heads on the pitch. that's how they were able to pull off most of their plays — the cutthroat mentality! influence, power, pressure and risky sometimes boarding dirty tricks. you didn't want to give up possession with them because that was a instant game-over if they were able to control the narrative of the game even down goals. they will and can take you into the last minutes of the game — it's not over until the final whistle.

● mari gets her yellow cards mostly as a disciplinary warning. she keeps flashing her middle finger to the opposition players. ball goes out of play? "ayyyyyy" *wags her finger fingers at them*. scores a goal? middle fingers celebration. the opposition team player pisses her off? boom middle finger. jackie does tell her off for it, but lightly because she does it too. she finds it funny and also joins in too if her and mari have done a set play that's paid off — love the sassy striker duo.

● "things must be grim if you're subbing in." / "I was just decoy bitch!" mari support!! mari being the tactical sub in!! mari being the ultimate assistance!! as the second striker she is supposed to track back and press constantly so jackie can make those runs. oh she is the pit girl because she is the one that is expected to fill the hole between the oppositions defense and mid-field by going in deep and allowing jackie the space to get that opportunity to score.

● when the ref puts the free kick spray down for the ball position, mari will try (or be tempted to try) and quickly scoop the foam up and change the spot positioning. she did that last match before their state final match which got her replaced on the starting line up by allie as her punishment. but, coach martinez does quietly respect her audacity because "in the adult world, in real life, nothing is a 100% fair. survival isn't fair." which makes ben eye roll.

● mari is a serial diver too, like she will take the opportunity to go down in the box if there's a challenge on her so they can call for a penalty kick. tai is their go to penalty kicker and she has a 100% record (she knows how to shoot her targets).

● jackie really does have a passion for soccer. it is one of things she knows she loves despite everything going on in her head, that makes her feel like she is connected to her body and a part of something; living, breathing and in control the ball leaving her feet for the pay off. she goes to see the friday night college matches at rutgers with shauna.

● jackie is the one who creates the little team dances to van's mixtapes as her own little pre-match ritual to get into the headspace. everyone slowly/unknowingly just started copying her moves until it became the joint team dance before every match. jackie/van pre-match lockeroom hypewomen.

● during the school fundraising day: mari, van and jackie worked their asses off to get the most funds in the sports department by running a food stall. mari with her full on cook out of homemade family recipe meals, van with her theatrical persuasive selling skills to get more people to buy more, jackie with her popular pull of attracting people's attention to the stall.

● their little varsity initiation tradition into the first team is making you wear the disgustingly stinky yellowjackets wasp mascot costume after the first pep rally with the team that you have to do the "buzz! buzz! buzz!" chant and dance in.

● they have bets on who gets carded during the match (lottie is the safest option to put your money on). but, there's also a rule that if you do get carded you have to chip in to pay for the post-match pizza for everyone who didn't. it is also a team tradition that the person with the most cards throughout the season has to organise the end of season party as the punishment (which jackie ends up helping with anyways).

● during post-match pizza parties van makes them hit up the arcade with her and there's an all out war. jackie, tai, lottie, nat and van (and secretly shauna despite being terrible at them) get super competitive in trying to beat each other in mortal kombat and street fighter. laura lee doesn't like playing the fighters, but is insanely good at racing games like daytona usa and rave racer which pisses van off because she can't ever beat her. (yes I'm keeping the pilot script childhood best friends between van and laura lee running).

● all the seniors instantly adopted akilah and were pissed when the coach chose allie to move up to varsity from jv and start over her.

● smoking sessions behind the gym before practice usually with nat, lottie and shauna after ap history. but, they have to keep rotating spots because ben keeps busting them for it.

● the photos at the reunion were taken by jackie (and misty). jackie was on the yearbook committee too and always had a disposable camera on her, snapping away. she would give one to misty to capture random moments between the girls too when she's too busy playing to capture the moment.

● misty tries to help beyond being just equipment manager. she writes strategies, player weaknesses and strengths for the team and their opposition in her horrendously amazing lisa frank white cat themed notebooks (laura lee has the horse one that misty gifted her for her birthday that she uses). she shows her strategies to ben during practice. he skims through them and loosely praises her enough to make her happy, but doesn't really push for them against coach martinez's strategies in the varsity team on game day (but does try some with jv). jackie does genuinely read them though and tries to push them into their tactics with her plays.

● ben usually does take over practices because the only time coach martinez cares is when it's match day and he reworks all ben's plans. he gets annoyed that the credit gets given to coach martinez when ben is the one doing the majority of the work with varsity and jv. everyone knows ben is the true head coach at heart.

[d-criss-news]

‘Maybe Happy Ending’: Darren Criss’ New Musical Shows the Lovesick Side of AI

Whether he’s standing  under the glare of a spotlight on a Broadway stage, or perched in front of an open window at a bustling Nolita coffeeshop, one fact stays the same: Darren Criss practically vibrates with energy. And that observation isn’t just because Criss currently stars in the new Broadway musical Maybe Happy Ending, where in a world filled with robots, energy is everything.

Criss plays Oliver, a life-like “Helper-Bot” living out his lifespan in a small apartment in Seoul, Korea. For all his robotic tendencies, stiff limbs, and jointed movements, Oliver is clear from his very first song that he cherishes his simple, unwavering routine: chatting with his potted plant Hwaboon, listening to old jazz records, and waiting for mail from his owner James. But when Claire (Helen J. Shen), the Helper-Bot across the hall, crashes into his life because of her broken charger, the two’s budding friendship and matching dream to visit South Korea’s famed JeJu island catapults them onto a journey about the importance of memories and the complex nature of love. 

Written by Hue Park and composed by Will Aronson, Maybe Happy Ending is a charming addition to a Broadway scene usually dominated by revivals and shows based on established intellectual property — with Criss’ performance giving Oliver passion and heartbreaking depth that feels like it should be impossible for a battery-powered assistant. But what shows the musical’s strength and staying power is its extremely dedicated online fandom, also known as Fireflies, who have used word of mouth posts on TikTok, Reddit, and Tumblr to drive up ticket sales and take the musical from scrappy newcomer to a Tony contender. And whether it’s kismet or something more magical, there’s something incredibly significant about a musical thriving from its online fandom being led by an actor whose career is defined by them. Criss tells Rolling Stone he doesn’t take lightly how much fans feel attached to the Broadway musical. After all, he was a fan first. 

“You don’t go to school for this,” Criss says, black-painted fingernails curled in front of a shot of espresso. “Nothing can prepare you for the oddness and the beauty of [fandom]. It’s a mutating organism. I get it. And whenever anyone wants to be a part, I’m very grateful, because I know what is driving that engine.”

When Criss exits the stage door left of the Belasco theater after a performance of Maybe Happy Ending, it’s always unclear which version of the 38-year-old people are cheering for. The average person might recognize the actor for his time on the Ryan Murphy teen-comedy Glee, where he played a cappella group leader Blaine Anderson, love interest of Kurt Hummel (Chris Colfer). There’s also Murphy’s 2018 FX limited series The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story, for which Criss took home a Primetime Emmy for his portrayal of killer Andrew Cunanan. He’s also been on Broadway for How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, Chess, Hedwig and The Angry Inch, and American Buffalo. But what the layman might not be aware of is Criss’ digital start via the now-famous YouTube musical theater group Team Starkid. He played boy wonder Harry Potter in Starkid’s theater parody A Very Potter Musical, which was filmed during he and his friends’ final semester at the University of Michigan. The show went viral on YouTube in 2009 — kickstarting Team Starkid’s presence online as a generation-defining digital theater company. 

Before A Very Potter Musical was quintessential YouTube history, it was the school’s annual basement musical theater show for “shits and giggles.” His senior year, Criss played Potter and wrote several songs two days before the show. Because they performed in a classroom that was set up with performance cameras and mics, the group convinced lead writers Nick and Matt Lang to cut the footage together, which ended up on a DVD the group gathered to watch together. After graduation, the friends decamped to different cities, but people kept asking to be sent the DVD. So Criss uploaded it to YouTube to save money on postage. “It was literally just a means to share with our friends, unaware that anybody outside of our dumb group of friends would be interested in this very niche thing,” he says. “But I just remember waking up and getting a notification that we were the number one subscribed channel in 50 countries.” 

While Criss describes the experience of going viral during such an early stage of the internet as  “uniquely terrifying,” he also notes that his jumpstart into the online world with Starkid has made him realize just how rare it is that collaborations with friends not only succeed but are well received. Maybe Happy Ending’s director Michael Arden is married to Criss’ college classmate, Andy Mientus, who was an associate director of the show’s first run in Atlanta. Criss’ co-star Shen is also a recent graduate of the University of Michigan and Criss describes her as both an actress with “supernova potential,” and a dear friend. 

“The thing that scared us about [Starkid] at first was the thing that ended up being a huge asset to us, which was this sort of scrappy, me and my friends quality to it,’” Criss says. “It’s a moment of great pride and joy for me, because it was what you dream about, which is like, ‘Oh, if I could just make stuff with my friends.’ With a lifetime of creating stuff, I know the feeling of being into [a project] when other people aren’t, or vice versa. But I’ve loved this show since we started making it, and the fact that other people responded to it is really validating.”

Even if there was a good way to spoil the magic of the show — there isn’t — it would be a disservice to try here. But Criss, a father of two, calls Maybe Happy Ending “the greatest possible thing that could be happening to me and my family creatively, spiritually, emotionally and mentally,” because the schedule allows him to have time with his wife and kids. “These are very valuable years I will not get back,” he says. “And I’m keenly aware of that, so I get very emo about this very beautiful moment in my life.” But it’s not just a return to Broadway for the actor, it’s a return to the very theater where he starred in Hedwig and the Angry Inch in 2016, but with a friend making her Broadway debut. 

“The fact that Helen and I are now just sharing this moment, and that marquee, there’s a real poetry to it,” he says. “I get to behold this staggering Broadway debut. I think this is gonna be one of those moments that we talk about many years from now. ‘Oh, I saw Sutton [Foster] in this,’ or ‘I saw Audra [McDonald] in this.’ I saw Helen in this eight times a week. And I had the best seat in the house.”

Fandom aside, Maybe Happy Ending also has a clear draw with the prescient questions it raises about artificial intelligence and the idea of planned obsolescence in an actively growing tech field. Yes, that doesn’t sound particularly conducive to a no-intermission musical helmed by a talented predominantly Asian-American cast and a jazzy, romantic score. But that’s the sheer surprise of Maybe Happy Ending, which manages to tackle giant thoughts of romance, trash, and a human devotion to tech, all within an hour and 40 minutes. 

“I got asked a question today, like, ‘How soon do you think [robot helpers] are gonna happen?’ And I was like ‘It happens now,’ We have emotional relationships with our technology,” Criss says. “You lose your phone in a fucking cab, you go insane. Your phone is an extension of yourself, for better or for worse. I always tell people like when they’re trying to get their head around the pitch for the show, ‘Well, how many old iPhones do you have in a drawer?’ How many old pieces of technology do you keep for reasons beyond rational belief systems? We ascribe parts of ourselves into these things that are part of our story, and we can’t let them go.” 

Broadway fandoms aren’t something that can simply be manufactured to help with a show’s appeal. Theater is a notoriously inaccessible medium, with filmed versions either expensive or entirely unavailable. It’s an art that is experienced best in person. But that proximity can also bring a bit of a taboo about digital fans, where their fervor and intensity can put off actors or creatives. Criss notes that while this can seem weird to some, he always encourages people to double down on the love for their interests. After all, he says his intense love of musicians and movies is what got him to this stage in the first place.

“People say ‘Don’t chase your heroes.’ No,” Criss says . “Wait outside of buses for them. Go to a store and get your sneakers signed by them. Keep track of what they’re doing. And then cultivate your mind and your skill set to get to a level where your abilities put [you] in a room with them. That’s the way the inspiration wheel works.” 

[windvexer]

It's actually been on my mind for a while so now I have an excuse to talk about it!

But I think it's a good idea to read public/beginner oriented/teaching posts with a critical eye to ask how the author might have edited or adapted that information specifically to communicate a concept in only a few hundred words.

In my faith reciprocity and mutual support with spirits is central. It's both spiritually sacred and sorcerously vital. This reciprocity is multifaceted, individualized, and impacted by my bioregion. To fully step out my beliefs on this topic in a public-facing way might take 20k words or so. Longer if it's explicitly for beginners and more things have to be explained along the way.

But in a 400 word post about spirit-working sorcery, this entire sphere of my practice gets distilled down to: "always pay the spirits for their help in your spells."

Over time I've received a few asks (and a couple vagueblogs! lol) which implicitly assume the basis for my spirit-working is transactional, cash-in-hand gig labor.

I do think that people want to take public-facing posts written for the masses and use them to reverse-engineer insight into someone's practice. I think wanting insight is perfectly fine, of course.

But I also think that it's good to question exactly why Content™ posts are saying what they're saying.

Is the author just parroting what they heard? Do they claim to have direct experience with the topic at hand?

Is the author claiming to be providing insight into their real practice, or are they writing a general how-to on the topic?

Who is the target audience of the post? If it seems like it's for beginners, is it likely the author chose to present only beginner-friendly information?

If the author didn't include disclaimers and warnings, is it likely they would have been scolded for not including them? Does this have an impact on how much of the post relates to their real practice?

Maybe this is just me, but I feel I have very often run into the following 2 situations:

It's pretty clear to me the author has no direct experience, they just learned about something and they're excited about it, and they're parroting warnings, disclaimers, and "rules" because everyone else says them.

It's pretty clear to me the author has a lot of direct experience, knowledge, and insight into the topic, but that they have edited their work to either avoid being yelled at, and/or to surgically install training wheels into the topic to help beginners avoid breaking an ankle.

("Why don't people just be honest with their practice without everything being edited for polite society or the palates of beginners?" because they will be yelled at and driven off the website, lol)

If you want my opinion... I think there are a lot of great writers out there trying to provide good information on how to practice witchcraft. I just would be very hesitant to assume much about what they're actually practicing based on those posts.

[sweetlyvibe]

REQUEST : Can I request Obito x PossesiveGirl? Someone that has literal heart eyes at him and lovergirl but is easily jealous and obsessive..Like it doesnt matter if you write it like headcanons or like a short drabble, whichever you like. — anonymous

There’s a fire in your chest every time you look at him.

Not the kind that burns out. Not the kind that flickers quietly in the background. It’s a wildfire—consuming everything in its path, especially the pieces of you that used to be rational. You used to think you were calm, maybe even chill. But then you met him. And suddenly the idea of someone else even looking at Obito felt like being set on fire from the inside.

And still… you smile. You smile so prettily whenever he talks, nodding like you’re the sweetest girl in the room. Heart eyes, literal. Glittering. The others say you look enchanted—like you’re permanently caught in some lovesick daydream. And they’re not wrong. You are.

He could cough and you’d gasp like he just confessed his undying love. He could brush past you and you’d hold your breath for ten minutes, trying to memorize the feeling of his sleeve against your arm. You are so in love with him, it’s ridiculous. Gross, even. And completely, hopelessly obvious.

But Obito doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact… he likes it.

The first time he noticed, he blinked at you with that confused, squinty frown like is she okay? But then your hand brushed his, and you practically melted, staring at him like he’d just performed a miracle. That’s when something in him shifted. Maybe it was the part of him that never got enough love. Maybe it was the part of him that still craved something unshakable—something obsessive. Whatever it was, he started leaning into it. He started teasing you.

“You’re looking at me again,” he’d mutter without looking up.

You wouldn’t even try to deny it. “You’re the only thing worth looking at.”

His ears would flush pink. His mouth would twitch. And you’d smile like the sun was trapped inside your chest.

But it’s not all sweet sighs and heart eyes.

Because you don’t share. Not even a little.

So when you see some other kunoichi giggling around him, laughing too loud, leaning too close—your heart doesn’t flutter. It clenches. Tight. Sharp. Ugly. You stare her down like you’re planning a murder in your head. You don’t say anything—yet. But Obito feels it. Feels your energy shift like a storm rolling in behind him.

He excuses himself mid-conversation, makes his way to you, and gives you that look. The one that says you’re doing it again.

“Jealous?” he asks, voice low, smug.

“I don’t get jealous,” you lie, head tilted sweetly. “I get territorial.”

His smirk grows a little crooked. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it. Because truth be told, he does.

You’re not like anyone else. You don’t play it cool. You don’t pretend you don’t care. You make it very clear that he’s yours. That he belongs to you. And somehow, to a man like Obito—someone who’s lost everything and has always been overlooked—being wanted like this? It’s addictive.

He doesn’t need to guess how you feel. He doesn’t have to fight for your attention or read between the lines. You worship him. You stare at him like he’s the last man in the universe. Like if anyone touched him the wrong way, you’d rip them apart without blinking.

And the best part?

He believes you would.

So sometimes, just to see it, just to feel that crazy love swell in your chest, he lets someone get a little too close. Lets someone touch his arm or laugh too long at his joke. He always keeps you in his peripheral. Watches the shift in your expression. Watches how your body stills, how your fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a kunai.

“Relax,” he’ll murmur, grabbing your wrist and lacing your fingers together, like that’s enough to anchor you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. “Because I’d never let you.”

And he knows you’re not bluffing.

You’d kill for him. You’d die for him. But most of all…

You’d never let anyone love him the way you do.

Because no one could.

No one dares to love Obito Uchiha like you do.

And if they try?

They don’t last long.

BONUS HEADCANONS :

You don’t just love him. You study him. You know his favorite tea, the way he likes his eggs, which shoulder he favors when he’s injured, and the exact pace of his breathing when he’s lying. You notice when his hair is slightly flatter than usual (he forgot to towel it dry). You notice when he sighs too heavily (he’s overthinking again). Obito finds it eerie at first. Then comforting. Then… hot.

You don’t always confront other girls directly. Sometimes you just exist. You stand close to him with your fingers loosely curled around his sleeve. You look at the girl like you already know her secrets and you’re bored. She gets nervous. Obito sees it every time. He doesn’t say anything, but when your hand brushes his, he subtly links your pinky with his. Silent victory

You never go too far in public—but you definitely leave little marks. A scratch behind his ear. Lip gloss smudged just slightly on his jaw. His shirt smells like your perfume. The other shinobi know. And Obito lets them know it’s on purpose. He never hides it. If anything, he lowkey shows it off.

You leave him notes—cute, sweet, unhinged notes. Things like:

• “I hope your mission goes well. I’ll be dreaming of your hands around my waist. Come home soon or I might lose my mind.”

• “If anyone touches you, I’ll break their fingers. With love, of course.”

He keeps them folded in his coat like they’re lucky charms.

Alone, you’re attached. Wrapped around him like a vine, arms locked around his waist, head buried in his chest. If he tries to move, you make this tiny, sleepy whine that stops him dead in his tracks. “Stay.” Just one word, and he’s staying. Always.

Obito never thought he’d be into possessiveness—but your brand of it? Oh, he’s obsessed right back. The way your eyes darken when someone compliments him. The way your voice dips into something dangerous when someone gets too close. He eats it up. Sometimes he even teases you just to trigger it.

When you’re in your feelings, you drop wild truths out of nowhere:

“I could live without food but not without you.”

Obito stares at you like you’re insane. Then kisses your forehead.

At first, you’re the one always clinging, always watching. But after a while, Obito catches himself doing it too. Holding your hand tighter. Pulling you closer. Shooting glares at random guys who look at you too long. You infected him with it—and he doesn’t want the cure.

[sillygoofyqueer]

I'm becoming sick over the mad scientist AU and it's negatively impacting how I view everything in life (I was in Psychology and I started thinking about how Wen Ruohan would so take a look at Milgram n fucken Bandura n Skinner n be like "how can I use this to fuck up everyone around me") so I'm fuelling the addiction. Wei Wuxian. Whipped, recovering from a fever, slowly starting to ponder the reliability of what the Wens have been telling him, as well as the implications of it. Turning to Wen Qing while she's rebandaging his wounds after he opened them during sword practice - she's not allowed to heal them, they're supposed to be a message - and asking her if she would tell him the truth if he asked her something someone else had lied to him about. She pauses, and he isn't able to see her expression as she tells him that no, she wouldn't, not if it meant the rest of her family being in danger of death. Of course, this is more than answer enough, and he doesn't ask her any more questions; he can't have his family getting hurt in his hunt for the truth, and he can more than definitely find out everything without having to get any of them involved.

He starts his hunt for knowledge with a carefully timed trip; the moment that his back is given a (sort of) all clear by Wen Qing, he's back to his regular self, bounding around the place and telling Wen Ruohan that he wants to go back to the cave of the Xuanwu of Slaughter to see if there's anything cool to be found in its remains. "After all, it was built off resentment!" He explains, carefully not mentioning the fact that there was anything in particular so that the man doesn't get suspicious. Wen Ruohan allows him to go, but Wen Zhuliu (who is basically assigned to him, much to Wen Chao's chagrin) has to go along, 'just in case'. That's fine - Wei Wuxian's used to getting things past him at all times, so it's easy to get a messenger bird to start following him from a distance on the travel there, and embarrassingly easy to get a message attached to it under the guise of climbing a tree just because. Wen Zhuliu doesn't question it when a bird flutters off, obviously just startled by the boy disturbing its home.

Then there comes the actual searching of the corpse - it absolutely reeks already, but he's more than used to the smell of rotting flesh and doesn't even blink twice before he's diving into the water to search for that sword he lost earlier (yes, Wen Qing did tell him not to get his wounds wet). Wen Zhuliu watches carefully from atop the shell of the corpse, but a well-timed talisman that sets off a crumbling near the entrance to sound like someone slipping or something sends him darting off to check it out just as Wei Wuxian locates the sword half buried beneath the corpse sludge pouring out of the shell. He shoves it into his qiankun sleeve and then grabs a couple other old weapons that could be used for some experiments to appease Wen Ruohan and beams at Wen Zhuliu as he returns with a "look what I found, Zhuliu-ge!! These are going to be so fun to work with!"

It's a few days before he gets a response; he's just glad that the messenger bird managed to make it to his chosen correspondent without getting shot down or lost, and it's made better by a response from the boy (he shouldn't feel so surprised, Nie Huaisang most certainly owes him after what he's been through after letting him escape). He just asked him to tell him about the different clans, and Nie Huaisang has gone above and beyond with a letter detailing the basics of each main clan, and then going into extra detail about what the Nies are like. It's different to how Lan Wangji talked about his home, much more excited and enthusiastically proud of Qinghe compared to the other boy's quiet pride of the Cloud Recesses, but they both just have so much love for places that Wei Wuxian had been raised believing were literal hellholes of their own special kind. Not fit for someone like him.

I should keep talking about how Wei Wuxian becomes more aware of the surrounding world and how he corroborates those answers with different books smuggled in by Xue Yang (who found all of Wei Wuxian's correspondence with Nie Huaisang and demanded to be included because heeeyyyy :[) He's obviously leaving a paper trail so that in case of something going wrong, nobody else can be blamed for Wei Wuxian finding out about the lies the Wen have been raising him on. I actually don't want to because I'm tired and this part is boring me - it's basically just hyjinks mixed with Wei Wuxian slowly starting to break apart because he's learning that he's been assisting the real monstrous sect all along. He's killed people, innocent individuals that had not volunteered to have different resentful energy pumped into them and their organs be systematically taken out. He's really not doing well because of it while trying to act So Normal around everyone else.

I think this all comes to a head when Wei Ying finds out about his parents. He's just received a new letter from Nie Huaisang, yapping on about how honestly, he thought that Wei Ying would "not be this chill at all!! You know, considering all of the horror stories and the experimenting and the blood and the fact that you work for the guys who killed your parents-" W h a t . What. What. He keeps rereading this sentence, over and over again, but it doesn't seem to stick. He feels colder every time the words slide through his brain. No, his parents were killed on a night hunt. The Wen had...but why would they? It's become clear that they don't care about things that aren't useful to them. This teenager, this boy who is already emotionally unstable right now, snaps. Qi deviation mixing with the resentful energy crawling through his body just grab him all at once.

Wen Zhuliu is standing outside Wei Wuxian's experimenting rooms as usual, ignoring the noises coming from inside as usual, until there's a particularly large crash inside. At this point, he can't ignore it anymore and opens the door to be greeted with Wei Wuxian obviously qi deviating and covered in blood which would be normal if not for the fact that he just got new robes and there is no corpse in this room. So it is his own blood. His breathing is heavy and uneven, his fingers are curled inwards with Suibian ever faithfully in his hand. Raw qi and resentful energy crackles around the room and Wen Zhuliu is ready to call for Wen Qing when their eyes meet and he realises that they are clear. Focused. They look upon him and they are filled with a visceral, feral hatred of what they see. The man of course tries to brace himself for an attack, gearing up to crush Wei Wuxian's core, but he is not ready for the power coursing through the teenager's veins in his distress.

When other guards (and Xue Yang) come running at all of the commotion, they are met with Wei Ying sat in a pool of blood, using nothing but his bare hands to rip at Wen Zhuliu's already mutilated body, chunks of flesh and muscle dropping around him and different shredded organs splattered around the gore stained room. The man's throat lies next to his head. When Wei Ying notices the other guards, the only thing stopping him from attacking them as well is the fact that Xue Yang is the one standing in the doorway, staring down at him with actual, real concern and horror - not for Wen Zhuliu, but for Wei Ying.

[wincestwhispers]

SABLE!! i need to know if freak father sam ever crosses the.... you know line? does he make advances?? does dean jr make advances?? because he saw the nudes of his uncle and maybe that’s was his dad wants?? i'm torn on this but you’re expert so pls tell me 😫

Saskia!! Delicious question!! My answer isn’t very simple though there’s a few ways i like to envision Wincest Junior.

I think the most realistic writing of it would be Sam adamantly refusing to cross THAT line, but everything else goes. This isn’t quite as fun but i have reasons for it. For Sam, it would feel almost like a betrayal to Dean. To touch Dj the same way he did Dean, to love him the same, to treat him the same. He can’t do that because it’s not the same, no matter how much Sam and Dj want it to be, and it becomes so achingly clear whenever he indulges those thoughts. There’s also the fact that to be so intimate with Dj, he would be forced to acknowledge their differences in every way. Sam knows it wouldn’t satisfy him, not how Dean could, but there’s this cavern in his soul that he can’t help to try to fill with everything but sex with Dj.

Sometimes Sam thinks (knows) his son has picked up on it; becomes painfully aware when Dj practically climbs on his lap to show him something at 16. All Sam can do to control himself is let Dj do what he wants until he accepts Sam won’t react to it. It’s not like God’s watching when he jerks off to it later. Sam would take secret photos of Dj and print them out to keep in a similar but separate box to Dean’s. Occasionally he gets both Dj and Dean’s pictures out and stares at them next to each other. Despite their glaring similarities, all he can see are the small differences and it consumes him sometimes. Sam watches his son for far too long and far too often but he doesn’t touch. He won’t do what John did to Dean. (He doesn’t know John also followed Dean to his hookups and listened or watched him get fucked).

Also in this version I am very partial to the idea of Sam having a second son (like John with Adam) that he doesn’t learn about until the kids a teenager. He looks eerily similar to a young Dean when Sam meets him at a bar the kid’s definitely too young to be at but he’s just drunk enough to convince himself it’s Dean and they fuck in a motel. Then he finds out a few weeks later that that was his son (the mother reaches out) and well.. the damage is already done. His second born becomes his outlet for all of the feelings he refuses to put on Dj. Of course Dean jr knows nothing about this, he only hates whoever or whatever steals Sam’s attention from him.

Now Dean jr on the other hand, would do anything to please Sam and keep his attention. Much like his late uncle. There’s a big difference though— Dj inherited his dads manipulation skills. He’s careful about it, trying to turn into Dean so his Dad will love him the same. After he finds the tapes he starts slowly showing more skin because he’s too hot, or needs to wash his clothes, etc. Dj leaves the door to the bathroom open “accidentally” every once in a while then more and more until it’s normal. Dj masturbates a bit too loud in his room when he knows Sam is home. Dj eats his food too sultry to not be intentional but it’s not like his Dad is gonna say anything about it. Oh but he wants him to.

Dj knows exactly what he’s doing and it’s to his endless frustration that Sam doesn’t do anything about it. Dj knows from the tapes that Sam can and will get rough and take what he wants, so what does it mean that he won’t with him? Is he still too different? Is he still not enough?

He intentionally wears Sam’s dirty clothes around the house that are always oversized. He finds bracelets that look like his ones Dean wore when he was younger and never takes em off. He tries to get Dean’s scent down (he never can, the impala and hunting is integral to it) and he touches Sam any chance he gets. Sometimes he’ll make an inappropriate joke just to see his Dad twitch and pray he finally breaks. He never does. Dj obeys his father so well, he’s such a good son. He cleans Sam’s guns for him at the kitchen table, only when Sam’s home to see of course, he cooks dinner for them when he has a long work day. He’s perfect. He also pushes and gets defensive and hostile when Sam has been too calm too long. There was a time when he ran away as a teenager and sought out monster trouble so Sam would have to go save him and hopefully be reminded of his old hunts with Dean. It was his worst idea. He’d never seen or heard Sam so angry in his life.

However! Even with all of this, I personally like to think that after all that time holding himself back, when he gets old enough to start having memory problems, Dj jumps on that immediately. So Sam doesn’t think he ever crossed that line. And he didn’t, when he was of sound mind, but Dj cherishes the memories of his aged father treating him like Dean (thinking he was Dean) even if it wasn’t real.

Now that’s my realistic answer but I do have fantasies/preferences outside that! I love love love Sam only crossing that line when he’s drunk, just like his daddy. The reminders of Dean just in drinking itself, the loosened control, Dj wearing Dean’s clothes.. it happens enough that Dj starts trying to make it happen. Up to personal preference if Sam remembers doing it, I like when he truly thinks he’s never crossed that line because he forgets about drunk fucking Dj into his mattress when he’s a few whiskies too deep.

There’s also the scenario where Sam descends into a different madness and tries to focus solely on Dj, to a point where sometimes he won’t realize he’s trying to shape him into his brother. It’s just so easy to get lost in his son, to escape his grief through Dj’s touch and loving innocence. He’s so much like Dean but he’s not, and sometimes Sam can momentarily forget Dean as he memorizes the unique texture of Dj’s skin, lips, insides— the different pressure and higher pitched noises. It’s easier to indulge and forget than to face and regret.

[myjjongie]

☾ CLOSE YOUR EYES ── p.jongseong

IN WHICH: your telepathic powers spiral out of control after a mission, and the only person who can anchor your mind is jay.

PAIRING: cyclops!jay x jean grey!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, minor skinship, fluff, hurt, comfort, friends to lovers, slight slow burn WORD COUNT: 1.3k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: very very late bday post for my number 1 man. this au pairing has to be like my favorite thing ever for jay, and no its not because i'm a scott summers girlie (lie its cause of that). love the x-men sm growing up, so this is everything to me rn.

the mission was over.

laughter filled the hangar. as young students—as well as the dignified x-men—walk out from the blackbird. the mission party was small, but that didn’t mean a celebration wouldn’t be in place for everyone.

yet, you were the last one to exit the plane. a searing headache etching into you. you were quick to slip out of everyone’s view—almost everyone. your trembling hands pressed against the wall, in hopes to steady yourself.

finding a secluded hallway to breathe, the pain only worsened. palms rushing to the side of your head—hoping to ease the growing noise.

living at the institute within the last couple of years allowed you to foster control over your gift. yet, it was moments like this where your said gift became unbearable. as a telepath, your mind was sensitive. your thoughts effortlessly became an echo chamber of voices and emotions.

you could feel the hair on your skin stand—the chaotic mix of noise ringing inside you. so lost desperately helping yourself, you didn’t notice the approaching footsteps.

“yn?”

you could hear your name being called, but all it did was mix with the noise inside your head. the sudden yet soft, warm touch of someone’s hand is what brought you back, allowing the heavy fog within to briefly clear.

eyes focusing, you looked up to see jay. combat visor already swapped out for his signature red-tinted sunglasses. even if was hard to see his eyes, you could tell he was worried.

“jay it’s okay. i’m fine.”

your voice came off as a whimper, the noise heightening as you spoke. jay took notice of your demeanor, his hand finding its way to yours, holding onto it tightly. helping to ground you down—even if it was for a short moment.

your relationship with jay was different. out of everyone in the institute, jay was the only person that helped quell the ringing headaches. due to this, over the years, you both grew closer.

you didn’t think you needed jay’s help this time around. yet, as the minutes went by, the voices only got louder. your hand tightened around jay’s. lips trembling, unable to bear the pain anymore.

“it’s too loud. it hurts.” your voice cracked, the pain doubling at this point. tears began to brim your eyes, unable to hold back everything.

“yn it’s okay. i’m here.” his voice was soft as he rubbed his thumb on your hand.

jay helped settle you down to the floor, hoping to ease your weak body. once sitting down, he kneeled in front of you.

“yn listen to my voice. everything is gonna be okay.” jay was now at eye level with you—even if his eyes were obscured by his sunglasses. you knew his focus was only on you in this moment.

shutting your eyes tightly you listened out for jay’s voice—that sweet voice which always helped pull you from your mind. the exact thing that became your anchor over the years.

to help jay continue talking, he began to reminisce on moments. moments that were only of you. “do you remember when i first came to the school? to be honest, at that time i was so afraid of my powers i kept my eyes shut the whole time. even after the professor told me many times to open my eyes, i was still scared. yet when i finally did i caught a glimpse of you, before i practically blew up the professor’s favorite tree.”

you softly laughed at him. remembering the way jay had split the old oak tree in half. “even if it was brief you were the first person i say after my abilities manifested.”

your smile grew at jay’s words. you could feel your headache clear. the buzzing of noise slowly dying down. yet, when jay began to recall another memory, the pain came back. the memory it’s self wasn’t a direct recall, but more so, a trigger to something you remembered.

a while ago, you had lost control of your powers—enough to almost blow up the school. it took a little over a month for you to feel comfortable again with yourself, as well as your gift.

jay noticed the regression. “come on yn. i’m right here.” he tried to ground you, but this time you were in too deep.

your powers began to fluctuate. now you were scared. not of how things were playing out, but yourself. your mutant gift was the biggest fear you had in life. afraid you’ll never be able to truly perfect your innate abilities.

“jay i’m scared. i don’t know what to do.” too weak to speak, you used telepathy to communicate.

“yn it’s okay. you’re so much more stronger than your powers. don’t let it control you.”

“but. what if i hurt you. hurt every again…”

“you won’t do that. i know you won’t. you could never hurt us yn. if you don’t believe me, look inside my head.”

your breath hitched, uncertainty clouding your decision. jay wanted you to look inside his head. he invited you so freely—so openly, he trusted you more than you could ever know.

with trembling fingers touching your temple, you reached out, not physically, but with your mind. jay didn’t flinch. he didn’t guard his thoughts from you or raise any defenses. simply put, he let you in.

you saw flashes of memories rush by. your laughter echoing through the mansion’s halls, your hand brushing against his in the garden, the way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. everything that jay had showed you—every flicker of feeling—held something deeper that you didn’t dare to name.

jay trusted you. even when you couldn’t trust yourself.

you felt more at ease now, finally understanding everything. “but. i’m still scared. what if i lose all control one day…” your voice trembled out.

“yn. you’re more powerful and in control than you think. i want you to prove you can.”

you looked up to him, a questionable look creasing your brow. “what do you—“

before you could continue on, jay’s hand reached for his glasses. your eyes widened. “jay—“

“i know you can do it. i want you to understand why. i believe in you so much.” he voice softened as he reassured you, comfort washing over you.

you hesitated for a slight moment. as you brought one hand to your temple, the other was placed at jay’s. “i’m ready.”

taking the queue, jay began to remove his glasses. eyes still closed just incase. your eyebrows wrinkled as you focused deeply. then you found it.

“you can open your eyes.”

you watched as jay opened his eyes. a faint flash of red slipped past his eyelids—then faded. and there they were, deep brown eyes you had never seen before.

for the first time jay wasn’t looking through a crimson tint. he was able to see the world’s natural color. he was able to see you outside of all that red.

“see, i told you, you could do it.” jay gave you a cheeky smile, his eyes staring into yours. savoring the moment, wishing it would last forever.

jay quickly retrieved his shades, not wanting you too overexert yourself. before any words could be shared, you leaned forward and hugged him.

“thank you. really… thank you, jay.” your arms tightened around him, holding him closer. jay’s hands moved gently along your back, his touch warm and comforting.

before anymore words could be exchanged, a voice called out from above—the announcement that dinner was almost ready echoed through the hallway. you both pulled away from the hug, quickly standing up as the weight of the moment lingered.

“we should start heading up stairs. i’m sure everyone is wondering where we are.” you frantically spoke.

jay nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. as you walked down the basement hall, your hand brushed against his—just for a moment, but it was enough. without a word, you both reached out, fingers finding each other in quiet understanding.

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