#and with terrible grammar and punctuation

[yailtsv]

Unprofessional Line

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Unprofessional Line - A CEO of a shoe company —PBKicks — pushes her assistant across the unprofessional line. y/n has been paige’s assistant since the beginning of the company, she’s paige’s day one. but there are things neither of them are telling each other, which leads to miscommunication..and the wrong path.

Warnings - smut - written terribly, w/ bad grammar and punctuation, some angst, mentions of y/n - only when needed

Tags - rich x poor trope, boss x assistant trope, a little forbidden love trope, mature audience!, fast paced, no slow burn, romance, x reader

All Dividers - @bernardsbendystraws & @saradika-graphics

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moodboard / aesthetic

moodboard / aesthetic

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⌘ Chapter 1: Crossing the Line 18+

⌘ Chapter 2: Mistake? Lesson Learned?

⌘ Chapter 3: Unprofessional Line?

⌘ Chapter 4: Crossing the Finish Line 18+

⌘ Chapter 5: Be a boss & Date a boss - Epilogue

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[m155y-74]

hey gang, so this is some writing i did for Stevo, it might be shit im rlly nervous abt posting this so please be nice. also i don’t believe in capital letters or grammar so just go with it cause i’m doing my best. anyways enjoy before i panic and take this down

Stevo comforting you (fem!reader)

There was a knock at the door, you didn’t move, they’d leave in a minute if they thought you weren’t in here. Another knock a bit louder this time, you rolled over pulling the duvet closer around you as you squinted at the clock, 4pm. Shit. You don’t know what time you went to sleep, was it still today? you didn’t know how long you’d been lying there, knees to your chest, holding yourself together. you didn’t want to see anyone, you didn’t want to exist. You sighed gently thinking they had given up, as you hunkered deeper in the darkness, till you heard a voice. ‘helloooooo, hey i know you’re in there, answer your fucking door’ followed by a punctuating kick resonating from the hall. shit, stevo, out of anyone it could be of course it was stevo. You dragged yourself out of bed still wrapped in the duvet and shuffled over to the door taking a breath before you opened it. he stood in the hall hands in his pockets, eyebrows low and drawn together, his blue hair almost vibrating against the dingy, peeling paint. He looked up to meet your eyes and his expression softened immediately, eyes widening as his lips softly parted, looking for words, for anything that wasn’t him staring at you in shock. you looked awful. truly awful. he’d never seen you look this bad in his life, you looked half dead, skin white and dull, your half lidded, unfocused red rimmed eyes deep set in large dark rings, you had a blanket wrapped around your hunched shoulders, fuck you looked terrible. You turned silently shuffling back towards your bed, he let himself in, gently shutting the door behind him. He quietly followed you into your room, light clawed in, seeping through a crack in the blinds.

He always loved your room. it was like stepping into your mind. every surface was covered in piles of books and magazines and the weird cuttings and scraps of paper you collected. candles and perfume bottles and makeup scattered everywhere. lamps, vases of flowers, a worn red rug, shit that made a space a home, that his house was empty of. your clothes were everywhere always, is piles, draped over chairs and jewellery, thousands of beads and warped silver enough to accessorise an army. Your walls were covered in posters and art and pages ripped from magazines. Everything was you, everything was bright and exuded joy and chaos, yet the girl who this was meant to be lay in a ball on the bed, broken, empty. He felt sick.

You cleared your throat, eyes drifting up at Stevo expectantly. ‘oh shit….yeah’ he mumbled dropping a bangle he’d been fidgeting with.

‘I didn’t see you at my party last night’ he hesitated ‘I was worried’. you forced a laugh ‘the great Stevo Levy worried about me…..’ you looked down as you tailed off, unsure of what you were going to say. ‘are you okay?’ he asked, direct, eyes big staring into your soul in that way he did, it felt like he was stripping you back searching inside you for something, he didn’t know what. ‘yeah yeah i’m fine sorry, just a bit tired’ you hated how he could do that, could see inside you. pulling yourself together you dragged up any speck of enthusiasm you could find pushing these words out of your mouth dripping with fake joy ‘so what happened at this party’ you grinned. he looked at you quizzically as he sunk down onto the bed next to you, fiddling with a ring he had picked up. ‘nothing much, Mark’s back from Miami….’ he tailed off when he felt you lean your head against his shoulder, letting the silence stretch out as you stared glassy eyed at a spot on the wall.

‘I heard your dad was around’ he said after a beat. you don’t reply. ‘are you…okay’ he questioned tentatively.

‘yeah’ you barely whisper terrified to meet his gaze, knowing he could see straight through your bullshit. ‘i’m fine just same old shit’ you turn your head away, eyes sweeping down, hoping he wouldn’t catch the tears welling up in them.

‘oh okay’ Stevo turned away, grimacing, pained at how not right you were, so lost as to how to help you, to let you out of this cage you put yourself in. ‘are you sure’ he whispered, his hand coming up to gently move your hair out of your face. you try to croak out an answer but you finally break, voice cracking.

tears start spilling down your face as you roll into him, body quaking. he looks towards the movement, the suddenness of it throws him off as he freezes, unsure how to help, he was never good at this shit. ‘hey hey’ he says softly, wrapping his arms around you ‘it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna be okay’ he soothes, gripping you to his chest. you cry harder, sobs racking through your body, nearly heaving at the force of the emotion. you stayed there for a while, Stevo holding you, gently smoothing your hair muttering words of comfort as you sobbed into his shirt, breaths quick, body curled and shaking.

‘fuck him you know, he’s an asshole’ stevo whispered, unsure of what to say. He felt you mumble something against his arm ‘i just, i hate him you know’

‘yeah i know’ Stevo sighed ‘he’s a dick, waste of space, fuck him, fuck this, fuck everyone, you shouldn’t have to deal with his shit’ Stevo gushed, picking up momentum, you let out a puff of laughter against his chest ‘fuck him’ you chuckled. ‘yeahhh FUCK HIM’ Stevo laughed, nearly yelling as he pulled you closer in his excitement. he looked down at you smiling, ‘you’ll be fine’ he exhaled, suddenly softer, ‘you’ll be fine’. Stevo stayed there as you drifted off, clutching you to his chest, holding your broken pieces together.

[lckydog]

How naive is the lamb, really? It has seen you around before, lurking in the shadows of the woods. All it can make out are your eyes—gleaming with interest. The lamb has grown curious about you too, ignoring the hushed whispers and warnings from the others because what do they know?

It slips away from the flock, glancing back toward the void as if waiting for something. You’re aware of its movements because you’ve been watching, biding your time for a chance to be alone.

Meeting face to face is strange but exhilarating nonetheless. Your meal has brought itself right to you—what a witless beast.

Circling the lamb, it watches with a sort of giddy anticipation. You get ever closer until your heavy paws press against its thick coat. The lamb buckling with ease under the weight and power.

You expect to find wide eyes filled with fear looking up at you, yet you’re slightly perturbed to instead discover a look of desire. What kind of foolish creature desires to be consumed?

As the lamb presents its soft neck to you, it's a bit unnerving.

Wondering who’s truly prey and who’s predator.

[petercushingscheekbones]

Just more random stuff I felt compelled to note down whilst listening to the rest of the Putting it Together podcast (decided to put it all in one post to spare everyone of the spam)

Love the image of David Tennant struggling to name footballers to look cool in front of his Macbeth cast mates

David when asked about what sports he watches initially saying none then suddenly remembering he’s been photographed there - “I like a bit of Wimbledon”. also who actually watches darts (David tenant apparently)

he cannot take a compliment it’s so funny, the dude simply said “you seem fit” in response to DT worrying about his age and David nearly melted in to the ground. You could hear him blush

I forgot he’s actually funny even in serious talk mode

Brian O’Sullivan (the host) saying David has a way with interpreting Shakespearean text. that’s so real of him

I think I just really like listening to theatre people talking about and geeking over shit they’ve done

I know way too much about Shinda the magic ape (is that how you spell it? Idk). no complaints though

“he was VERY handsome” David, was that necessary?

David IS doing the old actor telling anecdotes thing, as he himself points out but who cares I’m eating this shit up

Both fascinated and horrified listening to him recount bad reviews early on

David talking about getting advice from another actor early in his career about not milking it and then going “look he wasn’t wrong but he was doing it too lol” - this is interesting to me cause I’ve always felt he knows exactly the right balance to get always, without overplaying or underplaying, I guess it’s something he learnt

DT’s revenge on Taggart “I’m going to reboot that shit that’ll show them”

you know he’s good friends with someone when he just starts dissing them

DT with his costars (almost every one of them, including the host) is one of my favourite genres actually

Brian O’Sullivan is a cool podcast host (maybe Ive had bad experiences so far but I find most podcasts by actors really insufferable and annoying - excluding dt, and now this guy)

Bad puddingbowl haircuts and hitler-esque moustaches are not uncommon mistakes among young actors

newsflash! David Tennant has toyed with the idea of writing but gets put off every time he sees a good script

We need your writing David, please

Help not them talking about famous actors having egos and the host says “I mean that is something potentially accessible to you” and dt being like “god I can’t imagine.. maybe I should, but I just couldn’t” and Brian going “nah man we love you don’t change”. Wholesome moment

[free-luigi-mangione]

I'm so sorry you're being bomboarded by trolls. I hope you don't leave tumblr; as it is, most luigi blogs have stopped, and there is hardly any discourse about luigi on the internet anymore. There seems to be a toxic undercurrent in the luigi community. His support is imploding in on itself, and it's not pretty to watch.

the toxic undercurrent isn't brought about by any of us tho. it's brought about by anons who're so terrible i don't even know how to describe them in one word. i don't care about the actual trollish anons – the ones who might pick fights but will never do things that would make you want to deactivate. in fact i wish i could say that the actually problematic anons can be brushed off as easily, but that's the point of those anons i guess, they're there to make people have an emotional response (eg.– panic after getting doxxed, shock at graphic details of violence, both shock and fear at rape threats against the blog owner or subject of blog and after getting death threats) and they definitely succeed at getting the emotional response from us at least. a lot of people have deactivated because of these second sort of anons and since it's pretty clear they're incels and quite probably a single anon, i don't even know what to say.

[amegeddon]

Not usually one to get deep here (is this topic deep? who knows. I sure as hell don't!), but it kinda sucks that people these days can't really accept that people will dislike something they like or vice versa.

Like if I were to say "I gave [popular game] a go. It has its moments but ultimately I didn't like it." then (usually a hardcore minority of) fans of the game can and would take it as a personal attack, in spite of my opinion SOLELY being about the game, not the fans.

Afaik mmo fans in particular can be pretty bad about this, and I get why, it's hard seeing something you've poured HUNDREDS of hours into out of sheer love and devotion to the game end up getting critiqued or just called bad in general, but like. the guy with the opinion is just some rando on the internet, and it's impossible for everybody to like a game (even Minecraft has people who dislike it for one reason or another, which is perfectly valid!).

As someone who's a fan of media that's been widely disliked (for example: I absolutely love the game Forspoken), I've found it's a lot easier (and healthier!) to just. not really care. find joy in the fact that, even if others don't enjoy the things you do, you can still enjoy them! Share them with your friends if they're unfamiliar, they might end up liking them too! and if they don't? it doesn't matter! them not liking it doesn't mean they don't like you.

Basically: embrace enjoying the things that you enjoy. randos on the internet can't tell you what you can and cannot like (unless you happen to like nazi ideology. Please do not like nazi ideology. You are a human and humans should be better than that.) because it's your life and your preferences. enjoy yourself and let yourself be happy in these otherwise pretty shitty times, even if only for a moment :)

[inebriatedpoetry]

I hope you find your life rife with contentment—

Peace, joy, elation, enrapturement, whatever happiness means;

From the height of a freshly met summit,

To the warm solitude your kitchen at dawn—

Because time is as fair and brutal and as needed for life as nature itself,

And,

Like winter must set the slate clean for spring,

Or kings be made of orphans,

Or stars born anew from the ashes of their deserted systems,

So often must we be snuffed too—

well before we have born all of our fruit—

And each drop of passing pleasure may be all we can wring from our existence;

And,

And I mean true happiness, true joy—

Beyond dopamine and chemicals

(Not to which I give fault—

what is the universe’s greatest gift to itself, after all,

than to give it a way to enjoy itself?)

But to truly experience life—

To be vulnerable,

To lend a hand

(Or a kidney),

To be exhausted after a good day’s work,

To have survived what you couldn’t defeat,

To have warm rain on your skin,

To feel,

To feel;

So,

Why is it wrong to enjoy?—

Live, love, laugh—

Lick, leap, lounge—

Do it all, enthralled—

Find your joy and scream it loud

(Or keep it secret in your hands if you like)

The end welcomed us into this life,

And I bet it hopes we enjoyed the ride

When it comes to greet us to make room for the next.

[bunlaozu]

Missing you.

[Redacted] X Reader

type: fluff (this time)

word count: 1614 (not super long this time)

warnings: none! (also this time, more interesting stuffs in the future tho!)

hai this is gonna be basically my intro to tumblr! first post yayyy (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

i thought to myself hey, what is ren really like at home? and im sure my moots will know what i rly think of him but.. i thought it would be cute to write how i think he'd act a couple years post game, a small domestic moment i thought up for u (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

(also pls pls ignore my bad grammar and punctuation, this is very beta)

You and Redacted had been living together quite a while now, almost two years! Really it was just shy of perfect, something was always happening in your apartment with them, some project or puzzle or new game they'd decided you must play together. This weekend was particularly lazy, with nothing to do actively around the house having done all the chores alone for once.

See, Redacted, you'd discovered early into your relationship, was a nerd. He loved his computers and his small robots, he loved to build and tinker and usually left his office quite a mess. He'd found a part he needed for his latest project off some internet forum, something no longer produced, "rare", he'd said. The only downside is that the pickup was almost 4 hours inland, meaning he'd have to be gone almost the entire day.

Redacted had slid out of your bed much too early in the morning and bade you a kiss goodbye, whispering you softly back to sleep before you'd even really noticed. That meant you hadn't seen him properly since the night before, which.. was fine, and it was normal for partners to be busy. but you missed him anyways, terribly even, especially in his absence of usual texts he sent constantly when not home.

It was about 7pm now and the blood red sunset on the beach cast a glow into your home, spreading across the pristine white marble flooring almost like spilled juice. you stood in the kitchen having decided to cook for once, in Redacted's absence who usually always insisted to do this. You stood at the stove, stupid pun apron on and wooden spoon in hand making spam fried rice with a fruit tart dish in the oven. It wasn't much but it was something he loved and you hoped to surprise him with it when he got home tonight, god willing it be before midnight since the location app the two of you shared wasn't picking him up anymore.

You paused a moment to admire the shining gold band on your left hand, a pretty diamond nestled in ornate but simple patterns. Not that it could be seen but when Redacted had proposed to you just 6 months ago you'd discovered he'd had your rings engraved, just a simple “always” but it was perfect. The metal glinted in the light of the kitchen and it brought a soft smile to your face before eventually you needed to pay attention to the food on the stove again but with a warm feeling throughout.

You stood in the kitchen humming along to some new love song off the radio, tapping the end of the spoon against the counter before ultimately deciding to use it as a microphone because, why not? No one was home after all. The sounds of the stove vent running and the sizzling of the rice in the pan coupled with the music covered anything else, a small little bubble of life which a certain someone was hearing from the foyer as he snuck through the front door.

You didn't notice a thing, eyes closed having a playful moment to yourself until large warm arms wrapped around your waist and picked you up for a spin. you squealed in surprise and wiggled around in his arms gleefully, wanting to get a look at your lover after a whole day gone. "I'm home~ did'ya miss me?" his low warm voice hummed beside your ear, making you giggle in his hold and immediately reach to shut off the stove knowing he was too clingy to allow you to continue cooking.

"Yes i missed you!! Let me go!!" his arms loosened around you just enough for you to spin around, coming chest to delicate paper with him and gasping the moment you saw what he held close. Between the two of you was a beautiful bouquet of flowers, an entire spring mix of beautiful blues and whites and purples with his smiling hopeful face above the flowers. "What do y-" "I love them!!! They're so beautiful, did you know you're my favorite?" you burst out not even letting him ask, taking the bouquet gently from his hold before leaping into his arms and pressing a hard kiss to his lips.

The two of you stood like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other with Redacted's hands running up and down your sides in warm paths till he seemingly had a new idea. He pressed you back and back and back, practically laying you down on the counter top while his kisses migrated across your face, over your hair, anywhere he could reach. his warm breath raised goosebumps across your skin and his smile pressed into your skin caused a new shiver, making you feel much too warm for an already toasty kitchen. "What are you.. a dog? All over me like a puppy.." you mumbled softly with a lovesick expression, hardly even an attempt at discouraging his overeager behavior.

"Missed you.. Can i not miss you? Missed you all day, missed you so much.." he rumbled softly against your skin where his mouth was pressed, hardly even kissing anymore so much as placing his mouth against your skin just to feel. He whispered the words reverently over and over, pressing the sentiment marrow deep to somewhere it would stick and take hold there, something that would grow. Redacted pressed his nose to your neck for a deep slow inhale, making you giggle at the sensation and finally decide to try and push him away while you squirmed in his arms. This only made things worse when he latched onto your waist tighter with a new determined look in his eyes not hiding the sparkle of mischief.

He left small breaths across your jaw and onto your face, pressing feather light kisses and making a point to be absolutely as close as possible. The cool brush from his nose only tickled worse but he refused to let up, leaving a delicate trail of breathy kisses all over your face and going as far to press his nose to yours, holding just like that for a moment. He slowly opened his mouth and bit on the tip of your nose, making you yelp in surprise and scrunch up with distaste. Redacted practically shook above you in a silent laughter, kissing the small nip better in a sincere apology with his soft eyelashes fluttering into a slightly remorseful smile.

"Redacted.. what is this? What are you even doing?" you said soft and endlessly fond, giving in and closing your eyes to his smirk pressed against your cheek, allowing him his fill of some much needed love. Once he started to nibble on your skin again you finally decided to gently put a hand over his mouth, snickering softly when he just started to gently nip and kiss at your fingers instead. You meant to push him away till his lips met the gold band on your finger, giving it a special devotion with your hand cradled between his own as if he held something to be worshipped. The sight was almost too much to bear, something fuzzy and warm tightening in your chest reminding you that you had this, he really was yours.

"Again, what'll i do with you??" you sighed with the fondest smile and a certain helplessness to your voice as he finally glanced up and your eyes met soft blue, a ghost of a hidden grin on his face, clearly very proud of himself. "Keep me?" he murmured in return, clearly gearing up to dive back in for more kisses which meant quickly squirming away off of the counter, wagging a finger in his direction.

"No more of you! Our dinner will get cold and then what?" you scolded, picking up your discarded wooden spoon to wave in his face. Redacted immediately crossed his arms and puffed his cheeks out in a pout, giving a small kick to the floor with a socked foot like there was any dirt to nudge while glancing up at you to see if his little show was working. "But.. y’could always reheat it..." he said petulantly, reaching for you and not expecting you to dance away, a smile on your face.

He reached for you again with a bit more speed and then it quickly became a game of cat and mouse, doing your best to slip and dodge from his reach while he became continuously competitive. He chased after you out of the kitchen and in front of the couch, smiling so hard it hurt and having worked up a slight pant. when he lunged for you this time you let him catch you, falling back onto the couch with a loud oof and a series of wheezing laughs knocking the breath from you both.

you reached up a hand to cup his cheek, brushing a thumb over the gentle flush from the exertion and excitement. "Got it out of your system? Can we have dinner now?" you said wryly, looking up at him with your best unamused expression. He put on an overly dramatic thinking face and hummed softly, looking around as if this were the hardest thing in the world to decide. his hands ran warm up and down your sides, sliding slowly over the skin under your shirt taking deliberately long touches to burn the feeling of his rough fingers into your skin. Redacted made a sound of affirmation and looked down at you with a smile "Nope. Missed you.”

Needless to say, dinner did need to be reheated and the tart was a little bit too toasty to taste good.

[charmac]

Hints that Glenn wrote something in a script:

Obnoxious punctuation and terrible grammar

[theliteraryarchitect]

So... What Does an Editor Actually Do?

First off, “editor” is one of those words that causes a lot of confusion for writers. It seems simple—someone who works with words, right? But the truth is, “editor” can mean wildly different things depending on the context.

So, let’s clear things up.

When we’re talking about writing and publishing, “editor” usually refers to one of two roles:

1. The Gatekeeper: This is the person who commissions or selects work for a publication, like a magazine, newspaper, or publishing house. Think of phrases like “Her book was chosen by the editor at [Big Fancy Publisher].”

2. The Helper: This is the person who works directly with writers to improve their work. They might suggest revisions, clarify ideas, and polish the manuscript for grammar and style.

Both are called “editors,” but their jobs are completely different. To make things more confusing, in smaller operations (like indie presses), these roles often overlap. The same editor might choose your story for publication and offer stylistic or copyedits before it goes to print.

The 4 Types of Editing

Beyond the word “editor,” the types of editing writers encounter also vary widely, further boggling the mind. Here’s a quick breakdown of the four main types of editing your manuscript might go through:

1. Developmental Editing

This is the kind of editing I do, and the kinds of issues that are covered by the majority of my blog posts. Developmental editing:

• Focuses on the “big picture” of your story—plot, character, pacing, worldbuilding, and structure.

• Asks questions like: Does the ending make sense? Are the characters believable? Is the story too slow?

• This is the most intensive (and expensive) type of editing because it shapes the foundation of your book.

2. Stylistic Editing (Line Editing)

I don't do this kind of editing for my clients, but I occasionally publish line editing tips on this blog because I'm kind of a nerd about it :) Line editing:

• Works on clarity and flow at the sentence and paragraph level.

• Addresses repetition, awkward phrasing, and other issues that muck up your writing flow.

• Happens after developmental editing—no point polishing a scene if it might get cut!

3. Copy Editing

Once in a while I give copy editing tips on this blog, but they're usually wrong and I'm promptly corrected. Let it be known: The Literary Architect is a terrible copy editor. Copy editing:

• Focuses on technical details like spelling, grammar, punctuation, and consistency (e.g., making sure a character’s blue eyes don’t randomly turn brown).

• Think of this as quality control for your manuscript.

4. Proofreading

• The very last step before publication. The proofreader checks for any typos or layout issues that might have slipped through the cracks.

Whether you’re submitting to a publisher or self-publishing, editing matters. Great stories get rejected because they weren’t polished enough. And self-published books that skip editing often lose readers due to glaring errors or clunky prose.

If hiring a professional editor isn’t in the cards, learning to self-edit can help you get your manuscript into the best possible shape before publication. That way, if you do decide to bring in an editor later, they can focus on the deeper work instead of fixing things you could have tackled yourself.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / / / / / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[darkdemeter]

・issue/clipping #2・ SOLDAT'S REPRISE

⚤ Winter Soldier x Female Reader 18+ Psychological and sexual thriller — mention of previous supposed "dub-con" encounters, stalking, minor medication usage and trauma — paranoid reader — small SMUT scene, depicted as non/con sleep sex — unprotected sex — dark Winter Soldier — possible grammar/punctuation errors — I think that's it? ✎ 3.4k Things are getting out of hand. You feel like you're a ship slowly sinking into the dark depths below. You're being hunted, you just know it, but perhaps there is hope in the form of the friendly local deputy. Little do you know what the Winter Soldier is always watching your every move.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

Nobody believes ghost stories. That’s the advantage he carries, you have found. He’s a ghost and thus, any mention of his haunting presence is absolved to the grave of a dismissed and silenced voice. A cry for help. 

You feel so alone here. This home that you founded for yourself, made an attempt to lead a life of normalcy and peace. A life where you weren’t spending your tired hours looking over your shoulder and praying that rounding the next corner wouldn’t be your last. 

He had invaded the sanctity of the very place you were meant to feel safe in. He robbed you of the only comfort you had to cling to after everything else went so wrong. 

Every shadow that creeps and waves past the drawn curtains sends you into a frenzy, feet shifting and muscles locking up with the flight or fight response kicking in as electrical surges through your skin, your gut churning and your heart rapping tight against your chest. Every inkling of something dark moving in the hallway has tears prickling the corner of your vision, imagining those cold blue eyes locked on you. Every closet, every corner — every room is now under siege of being a possible hiding place for him. 

You’re forced to undertake that terrible fucking feeling that your soul has jumped out and is latched like tar to your spine. 

Your doctor didn’t believe you. Nobody ever did. It made you feel alone in this town, this heavily pitched, “We’re a tight-knit community that cares for all its residents!”. Putting the product to the board really begins to measure up this so-called community and their nosey personality to happily peek into your life. Did they all know and were too scared for their own lives to help?

You couldn’t blame them, though you probably should. You just can’t. 

He can be anywhere. Even now…

In the broadness of daylight you still suffer the tiresome weight of fear that steeps over you, drawing you out into a state of exhaustion that leaves you further vulnerable. You just… sense him. He’s around though you can’t pinpoint his exact location, you just know deep down in your gut that he’s watching you right now while you walk through the streets.

The leathery scuffle of your boots are trimmed by the cause of a car horn blurting out. “Hey, watch where you’re going!” the driver yells, face red and scrunched up like a swollen balloon ready to pop. 

He slams his fist down on the horn again in a frightful warning. A loud, treacherous horn that signals the arrival of something dangerous, someone that can kill you – but he doesn’t. He moves like he intends to, but he never commits to the final strike. It’s like he gets aroused by the painful implication that he inflicts upon you. 

It’s sunny but the air is smothered by a strange aura of fog, cloudy but not entirely that you can still see several blocks up ahead. You can see the local diner. 

Just a little more. 

You hear the clobber of footsteps behind you, by your guess without arousing suspicion and looking, you’d estimate… 5 feet in distance, give or take?

He really did turn you into a little paranoid freak. They’re heavy, keeping a steady pace that thins out a constant line of anxiety, each step you take he mimics it with one that echoes in the bounds of your mind. Your heart rate thumps with a bruising beat, it’s beginning to put a straining ache on your ribs. 

It’s someone else.

It’s… it’s someone else…

It’s— it’s him, it’s him!

The footsteps pick up to heave a faster pace, the sickening pound of heavy combat boots floods your train of thought. You remember a time of running through the dingy lit halls in Hydra’s underground base. Their brain-fried dog easily keeping track of you no matter what corner you turned, what darkened environment you broke into in your haste to escape. 

“It’s a training montage. It will ensure that he can keep track of his target.” That was what Rumlow had said to you. 

You’re caught in a half spin, almost stumbling over on the sidewalk to meet him face to face, only to falter back when he looks at you with a furrowed decline to his features, confused by your reaction. 

“U-uh, sorry,” you mumble and lower your gaze down. It’s someone else. Dark brown eyes, sandy brown hair cut short and tousled.

He passes you easily to meet with a girl. She’s quite pretty, you don’t believe you’ve seen her around before but maybe you have. It gets hard to finalise and familiarise faces, names and their personalities when you holster yourself up in the town’s wooded outskirts. 

You like the privacy it gives you, however much it’s now put you at risk. 

The joined couple talk with a cheerful ambiance of their romance, happily flourishing and unawares of the troubles you face and they turn into a nearby shop to browse its contents. 

Meanwhile, you continue on towards the diner. 

It’s hard to enjoy a moment of fresh air when you know you’re being hunted, being stalked by a lowly predator that hides in plain sight. 

But by some divine intervention, you finally reach the parking lot of the diner. Weaving through the parked cars and across the wetted tarmac from the morning’s earlier spittle of rain, you hurry along like the obedient rabbit of his chase, hopping quickly to the false security of a burrow. 

You stop just mere feet away from the inviting pavement to see the car at your side. A smile almost spreads on your lips and a sigh escapes you, your shoulders unbunched from the tension they held. You enter the diner far more eagerly, still tinged by the bleeding trail of your fear but you now hold to hope. 

You avoid the eyes of the other customers that stare at you, feeling like you’re committing a walk of shame as you move with quickly paced rumbles steps, the thickened hide of your heels much louder in the soft bustle of the diner. 

You see him sitting in one of the center booths that line the window panes. A fresh refill of coffee steaming from his mug, a finished palette of breakfast and now munching in a rewarding muffin as he reads over what you assume to be his latest report. 

His shining deputy badge being your saving grace in this nightmare. 

He only looks up to meet your eyes that smile equally as his lips do, beautiful dark honey orbs glistening with a vibrancy that’s warm and inviting. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he says smoothly over the rim of his next sip of coffee. 

You shoot back quickly and out of breath. “Hi, Riley.”

His detective instincts kick in immediately, sensing something amiss by the dishevelled state of yourself. Eyes sunken in by dark circles yet sorely irritated and puffy from crying. Your breath is practically rabid as you breathe in and out with attacking panic. 

“What’s up, are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” you answer shortly. His hand gestures for you to take the booth seat before him and you do, sliding down into it. “Riley, I need your help. I’m in trouble and I have nobody to turn to.”

He nods, tousled lengths of his sandy blonde hair move over his temples and forehead. His large arms cross over themselves and rest on the table. 

“Of course. What’s going on?” 

Your eyes fog over with that familiar heat of tears. You want to cry, to let it all out, finally finding an anchor at port in the safety Riley made you feel. Honestly he was the only good thing about this town. He was everything you needed. Maybe everything you wanted. If only you weren’t so terrified after the repercussions of your prior intimacy with the very man who now won’t leave you in peace. 

Your throat starts to choke, tightening until it hurts as you try to suppress the tears and theatrics. Riley’s brows furrow and he reaches a hand forward, a strong hand that guides and protects, and he takes hold of your quivering arm. His thumb absently strokes the slivered reveal of your wrist between your sleeve and glove. 

“Hey,” he whispers, “It’s alright. Deep breaths for me, that’s it, nice and slow. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

How his eyes solemnly swear that everything will be alright and that he will protect you. So why is it so hard to tell him? Is it shame that you’ll scare him away, that he’ll think you’re batshit crazy if you tell him—

“I’m being stalked.”

Something in the corner of his brow twitches, arching. A shiny spark emits in the pools of his dark eyes, catching the light from outside and revealing a vulnerable trigger that you think you misconstrued as something more than a concerned friend or an officer taking his job seriously. 

“Do you know by who?” he questions with a firm press of his voice. 

Shakily, you nod. “Yes.”

His eyes shift, the dark onyx pivoting left and right with a contemplative gate. Then, Riley looks back to you, almost silently pressing for you to answer. And it’s then that you hesitate. You stutter over your response, the words too heavy to speak and he understands. 

“How long has this been going on? Does anyone else know?”

You want to laugh and you half-heartedly do, the sound dry and cynical in your throat. Your back presses straight into the booth seat. “I-saw saw him a few nights ago in my home!” your voice is a sharp whisper, “and I told my doctor and— and she told me that I was hallucinating, that it was just a mental relapse and I—” 

Your body jerks forward as your hands cup your face, tears sting the line of your vision. You just want to live life normally. All you want is to be left in peace. Why couldn't the past just let you go?

“I— I don’t know what to do, Riley… I really don’t.”

The muscles beneath your skin contract and pull tightly, almost painfully so, your body begins to tremble with vibrating distress. “I feel like nobody believes me, I thought I could ask for your help or the Sheriff’s— Riley, I— can’t do this. I can’t…”

Your breathing becomes terribly shaken, sniffling as you attempt to calm yourself. Your body falls forward more and the instinct to crawl into a ball is powerfully overwhelming. You can feel the condensating judgment of the other diner dwellers, eyes shifting uncomfortably between you and their own business. The way that someone clears their throat loudly, stool squeaking under their weight and the ruffle of a newspaper obscuring one of the lonely patrons in the back booth, your blurry vision unable to comprehend the printed bold title or the gloved hands that hold it. 

You press your head against your folded arms that lay on the table, barely making out the quickened hush of Riley’s voice coaxing you. 

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His hand reaches out for you and it touches you, you feel the warmth of his hand against you. 

“I believe you.”

Your tear ridden eyes raise up to meet Riley’s eyes, a gasp hitched in your throat. You choke out softly. “Y-you do?”

“Yes.” He leans forward that bit closer. “And I will protect you.”

His words are a relief, a form of assurance to cling to like a lifeline. That’s all you wanted to hear. You try to mirror his smile before the waitress comes over, coffee pot held in her grip. 

“Need anything else, Deputy?” she asks and Riley motions to you with a nod of his stubbled chin. Cheeks flushed with a rosy tinge and eyes puffy, you wipe away the stray rivers of drying tears and lower your eyes away from the waitress.

“Just a coffee to go, her usual. Put it on my tab and uh…” Your heart almost skips a beat the way he looks to you, dimpled cheeks as he smiles a bit wider and his dark eyes seemingly aglow with a honeyed tint. “Some apple pie or that new chocolate chip muffin cake they got?”

“Thanks again, Riley,” you say, hand rumbling the paper back in your palm a distant tune as you take a small sip from your coffee. Already, you were beginning to feel better as you walked with Riley out to his car. 

“No problem. Told you I’d look out for ya when you first moved here, didn’t I?”

The memory of your first meeting brings a small smile to your lips, eyes once sunken and gloomy lighting up through the thin stream from the coffee cup. “Yeah. Still, I’m grateful for all you’re doing. I had hope but… I didn’t want to count on anything, you know, just in case you didn’t believe me.”

“Just know that you’re not alone. Anything, and I mean it, anything else happens or you don’t wanna be alone up there,” he says and pulls out his notepad and pen. He scribbles something down and hands the torn out page to you, his touch mingling against yours as you take it from between his fingers. “Just call me and I’ll be right over. Don’t worry about the hour or anything, on duty or off, I’ll find a way to you.”

The coffee and muffin cake, the caring personality, giving his private phone number to you; what could it all mean? For a split second you forget that you’re in the midst of a stalker case, that you are being haunted by the very manifestation of your past. Something in your brain offers you a second’s respite that this is just an ordinary meeting between two people, a regular occurrence that feels like a date. It’s nice to feel this sense of normalcy. 

But in staring at the digits of his number a little longer, that facade falls away, leaving you to remember why he was helping you; giving you so much attention. 

“Again, thank you.”

“I’ll also pass it on to the Sheriff and get his say on it. Find out what we can do to catch this guy.” 

You nod as though to agree, that there is a chance that they will catch him. You wish it were possible but with what you’ve seen, what you have come to know about the Winter Soldier… all capture of him is impossible. Even if they somehow manage to track him down, he’ll be gone before they can dream of getting him. 

He’s a ghost among men. 

“Do you think the Sheriff will believe it?” you ask Riley, watching carefully as he clicks his tongue and the skin under his eye wrinkles. 

“He’s dealt with a few cases like this before when he worked in the city. There haven't been many stalker cases here.” He shrugs then, looking around. “But even if he doesn’t, then just know you have me. I’ll make sure that you never have to worry about him again. You’re going to be okay. I’m here for you.”

That’s all he needed to hear. So, this Riley would now be an obstacle of justice in his way. Newspaper hiding the device sat on the table, the wired bud linked to his ear to listen to the bug he’d placed in your bag. 

He had to listen to the way Riley was sweet talking you, how he made you feel safe. Protected. Something burns a hole in his chest and makes his blood run hot at the sight of another man making you smile. He had to sit back as he offered to drive you back home and further insist when you at first refused, only to then give in. He had to watch from the cover of his position as you dare get into another man’s car after he opens his door for you. 

Of course, how could he blame him? You were a pretty little doll. But you were his pretty little doll. His little rabbit that he took great delight in chasing after, watching you whimper and fall apart under him, around him during those late and intimate hours. 

His bright, icy blue eyes grow darker, colder with hate and seething possessiveness. He won’t let a badge stand in his way. Six long years it’s taken him. He lost you once and he will make sure that you never leave him again. 

After Riley had dropped you off, you had made the rounds of alternating the security system and changed the digital pins. You did it every day to ensure that nothing was left to chance. 

When nightfall broke over the valley and you were left in a dark, snowy solitude by yourself, you drew all curtains to close, gritting your teeth at the chattering of the rings on the pole. 

You ignored the rattling tap of the tree branch you still haven’t managed to deal with. You did what work you could, tried to relax after making yourself some dinner and a warm beverage, all the while caught in a silent and haunting conflict.

You knew that Riley was just a call away. Anytime, anything you needed and he was there. But you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched by a predator. 

Now you lay in bed, fast asleep around the 12:15am after you took some of that medication to help you sleep. It did wonders for nights that felt restless. They just still seem to not impact the side effect of waking up with a scream in your throat at the cost of your nightmares. 

But tonight, it seems you’re granted respite. Your hips roll against something that in turn mimics the action against you. A soft, crackly whimper parts your lips and you feel a jolt of pleasure shoot through your abdomen, twisting blissfully and you moan aloud.

He loves the sounds you make for him in your sleep. They way that even when your conscious mind isn’t awake, your body complies to the pleasure he gives you. He doesn’t want to think about Riley having you like this. It only speeds up the ruthlessness of his thrusts that ring your cunt walls around his length, your slick coating him as he sheathes in and out, in and out fast and unfashionably quick. 

A mix of flesh and metal hold you down on the bed by your hips, fingers leaving a painful reminder on the supple there; a small puzzle piece for you to discover in the grand scheme of plan for you. 

You moan again but it’s cut up, jostled with a bubbly whine as you struggle to breathe air into your lungs. Your thighs tremble and squeeze tight around whatever force that pistons between them. Your voice chokes on a whimpered sound of a name.

His heart sinks…

Your walls clench around him when he hits that spot and you cry out, stirred from your dreams and the creaking of your bed is heard in the otherwise deafening silence. That and muffled, masculine pants.

Your vision is blurred by the cover of sleep but your reaction doesn't take long to take place. 

Your eyes are shot wide open and your mouth falls agape with a scream, “Solda— mmm! Mmfmm!”

His gloved hand shoots out to cover your mouth and nose, muffling the sound of your terrified screams and he forces his thrusts to quicken. He doesn’t pay any sort of worried attention to the reflective glisten of tears in your eyes, highlighting the colour of them beautifully. You cried so much from the pleasure he brought you to in those late hours that he can no longer tell the difference. He grunts at the way your slick and hot walls surround him. How he’s missed this. 

Your stomach churns and twists, but your body visibly shakes and your skin goes between cold flushed and heated surges as your cunt swallows every single inch he gives you. His pace has only increased, the bevel between his dark brows shows and nothing else you can see — want to see — is hidden by that mask. With a final groan he cums, pulling out just as the first spurts paint over your outer folds and clit, smearing across your lower belly. You feel like your body has become numb with fear. 

“He stays away from what’s mine… or he dies.”

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @kandis-mom @wintrsoldrluvr @mrsnikstan

[thearunadragon]

How the IC characters would text:

Eragon: absolutely no capital letters. Uses spellchecker but doesn’t check what the spellchecker said. Very good at conveying tone though, and he does use punctuation. Waits in hopes you’ll text him back.

Murtagh: Only cares that the text looks neat and polite. Unless you’re an enemy, in which case insulting emojis may be used. Either great at replying or disappears for 3 months.

Nasuada: Impeccable. Punctuated, grammar rules apply, all ten yards. Replies on a schedule.

Arya: Huge vocabulary, conflictingly will use a ton of abbreviations abbreviations. “Sry brb defenestrating faulty accomplices atm”. Would absolutely curse in the group chat. Replies at random. Would probably use voice notes and curse by accident at some point.

Roran: no punctuation, spelling skills, or basic coherency. does not use spellchecker and usually takes forever to reply.

Oromis: Replies to nothing. Keeps read notes off. Occasionally leaves terrible political meme.

Thorn: Would take selfies and try to drag Saphira and Fírnen into them.

Saphira: Just watches the chat and never says anything unless she can embarrass Eragon

Fírnen: adores group chats

Garzhvog: doesn’t know how to turn off all caps and doesn’t punctuate but is surprisingly good at spelling

[damnshorty]

nothing turns me off more than a writer with terrible grammar and punctuation

[alchcmys]

Saw a TikTok about how using formal words, ‘olden words’, and dashes are clear signs of ai.

Okay, I guess I’ll stop using grammar, punctuation and start describing things plainly?

Like, god forbid a girl grew up reading all the time and therefore has a large vocabulary, and knows how to use punctuation. God forbid a girl remembers the lessons from early school years about punctuation and grammar. God forbid a girl has been writing stories from the age of 9. God forbid a girl has passion for literature.

Anyway, fuck ai.

Writers shouldn’t have to dumb down their own work due to fear of being accused of using ai.

Writers writing style can change depending on the topic that is being written about.

Writing is a learning process, no writers work is going to be the same ten years apart.

If people actually cared enough they could have the ability to write and not have to rely on ai to write a 1,000 word essay.

The world is surrounded by all different types of inspiration. We have nature— trees, plants, the moss that grows all over a forest, the years old stones that have formed into a path or display, we have so much in the world to draw inspiration from including each other.

Many artists, writers, they have been inspired by others before them. There’s only so many chords, words, phrases, colors, in the world it’s what you make of them that count.

Ai can never match the ability, the skill, the level of passion, that humanity possesses and puts into their work.

Works from people as such as; Vincent Van Gogh, Frida Kahlo, George Orwell, Albert Camus, Jane Austen, Mary Shelley, Louis May Alcott, and such, wouldn’t ever be made by ai.

You know why?

Because their works include emotion, real experiences, their minds, their creativity, their thoughts, their feelings, their dreams, their desires, their struggles, their ambitions, their compassion, it’s all from humanity.

Yes, a lot of these people were not the greatest of people, many of them were just terrible— Lovecraft comes to mind.

But their works are still whole lot better than ai.

(Not defending their actions)

Anyway, rant over, fuck ai, learn as a human being how to function, practice your skills, and grow as a human. Ai won’t help you.

[anamenooneowns]

Urges

Summary: Jennifer is always greedy for you.

AN: i rewatched jennifer's body last night so i wanted to make a spicy fic. its just our cannibal, succubus girlfriend loving up on her chubby girl. enjoy!

Pairing: Jennifer Check x Chubby black reader

Warnings: Dub-con (not previously consented demonic hypnotizing), no use of y/n (Angel isn't your name, it's a nickname), fucked grammar, degradation, biting, smacking (like once), cursing, almost caught, possible voyeurism (not really just tryna cover all the bases, these also sound like porn tags)

MINORS AND BLANK BLOGS DNI

This wasn't good. No- it wasn't good at all. This was terrible, in fact. What the fuck were you thinking? Anyone could see you here.

But as Jennifer's tongue slid up through your folds, parting them like Moses did the goddamn Red Sea- it was the best decision you've made in your life. Her plump lips pursed around your swollen clit, gathering spit to the front of her mouth to rub over the throbbing nub over, and over, and again. Your leg was thrown over her shoulder, and for a girl so skinny, it was surprising that she didn't falter at your weight pressing down on her at all.

It was your fault that you looked so precious wearing the crop top that you had taken from her closet. The spandex pressed your tits together while creating a delicious spillage she was quickly developing a taste for in Biology. And now she was having her fill in the gym locker rooms when you were both supposed to be practicing a new routine.

"Jen- Jen, fuck," you mewled. It was hard to focus on the door where anyone could come in when she was doing that thing with her tongue. "Any... anyone c'n come in."

Jennifer pulled away to laugh at your slurred words, rubbing your clit with her thumb to keep you just at the edge. "Oh, they can come in, can't they, Angel?" she mocked your moaning voice. "Then I guess the smart thing to do would be to shut your whore mouth, right?" the drop of her voice was cold and sudden.

Your sucked your trembling bottom lip into your mouth, stifling your tears at her nasty words even though your nipples were twisting into thick, hardened peaks against your cheer shirt. Her eyes locked onto your chest and she pushed your shirt up with her free hand, a dulcet noise coming from her throat as your heavy tits fell out of them. 

"Fuck." she huffed out a laugh, rising from her haunches slowly as she pressed kisses up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. "For someone so scared they're gonna be seen, it feels like you're just getting wetter and wetter," she hissed in your ear like a dirty secret.

Jennifer punctuated her sentence with a sharp smack against your pussy, eliciting a squelch that sounded so nasty- so lewd that your knees buckled. 

It took a moment to realize that you never hit the ground. Then another to register that Jennifer Check was holding you, above the ground, against the lockers, as if you were weightless. She dropped to her knees now, settling your legs over her shoulders to return to licking the honeyed sweetness you were dripping. All for her. The feeling of her mouth and fingers pleasuring you made your concern slip from your mind, head nodding off as the rise of your orgasm coiled and got hot in your belly.

"Ohgodohgod- wanna cum. Jen.. Jen, lemme cum, baby- please."

Collective laughter in the hallway almost distracted you. Almost. Jennifer's teeth sharpened and she moved her face away from your cunt to bite your thigh, smiling when you cried out in pain. "If you wanna cum, then you keep those eyes on me, Angel. Or maybe you want them to see us, see how good of a little slut you are for me, letting me eat your pussy out?"

It was adorable how you shook your head even though she could hear you chanting 'yes' in your mind. All the times she wondered where your head went off to before she was cursed had been answered. The scenarios of the salacious, perverted things you wanted her to do to you and vice versa made her write a checklist in her diary at home. This was just number five that you and her would both be crossing off soon.

It was when you started hearing the words of your fellow friends and cheerleaders that your diverted your attention again. Jennifer growled and pulled away, slick dripping down her chin, lipgloss smudged. "Angel. Look. At. Me."

Your pretty brown eyes locked onto hers and the sparkle in them started to fade as you fell into her hypnosis. Her demonesque eyes dilated at the sight of you, jaw half-open and eyes lidded as you looked down at her. 

 There we go, now you gotta work for it yourself, sweet girl.

You carded your fingers through Jennifer's hair before stopping at the back of her head, rolling your hips forward. Jennifer moaned as your eyes rolled back, riding her face at an angle where your clit bumped against her nose with every hump. She sucked your inner folds into her mouth, teasing their lineation with her tongue to scoop your cream into her mouth before letting them go. 

The doorknob twisted and turned from across the room but it didn't open. A muffled collection of groans echoing in the hallway from sweaty and tired cheerleaders at the jammed door. It made her want to laugh at how you were getting a much different workout in here.

When your hips started stuttering and frustrated whines spilled from your swollen lips at missing her nose from rutting so desperately, she grabbed the undersides of your thighs. God, you were so warm and soft. The feeling made her hungry. And the second she felt her teeth shift and sharpen, cheeks thinning to accommodate an unhinged jaw–she slammed the door on the feeling. Looking back to your soulless, brown eyes she couldn't- wouldn't succumb to her newly cannibalistic urges.

Instead, she focused on how she could have cum alone from how sopping wet and sticky your pussy was as she pushed her ring and middle finger inside your walls. It felt like hot silk as she curled them inside of you, slowly letting go of her reigns on your mind. The light in your eyes flickered on and your brows drew together, a sob leaving your lips as you looked down at her glacier blue eyes. Did you black out? 

When she put her mouth back on your cunt, you quickly agreed that you did because who wouldn't go unconscious from such good pussy eating? 

"S'right there- stop, Jenny, wai-wait!" you babbled, trying to tuck your hips back, away from her dangerous mouth.

Whatever the noise she made though, something guttural and warning, stilled you as chills ran up your spine. Your body shuddered, head tilting against the lockers and eyes rolling back as you squirted into her waiting mouth. 

She drank as if she had been deprived of water, refusing to waste a drop before crooning, "My pretty Angel," between breaths of air. She made out with your pussy as soon as she caught her breath, swirling her tongue through your swollen vulva until you were wet with her spit and whining.

"Alright, I'm done. C'mon, Angel-baby," her voice was softer as she lowered your legs to the floor, wrapping a thin arm behind your waist because she didn't trust you not to fall. 

Your eyes fluttered open when she started peppering kisses over your neck, and the kisses stopped once your eyes latched onto hers. "C'mon, I'll walk you back home, s'not safe to be alone."

You didn't argue that she would then be alone, knowing that she'd brush your concerns off with a mind-numbing kiss. And you also didn't say a word when you watched her tuck your panties into her bag unabashedly. 

When you walked into the hallway it was clear, and confusion clouded your face. Jennifer didn't have to look at you to know you were confused about what happened to your cheer squad coming toward the locker room.

"The door was jammed silly, duh." Jennifer said. "You know we always get lucky when we're in public like this," her hand crept up your skirt and you squealed as she squeezed the fatty flesh.

"Jenny, anyone could have seen my ass!" you whispered angrily, lips scrunching into a pout.

She stopped walking and grabbed your jaw, kissing you in the middle of the empty basement. Her tongue pushed into your mouth, impatient- everything was always impatient with Jennifer. Your gasp is swallowed as she presses her tongue against yours, the potent taste of you being dressed over your tongue. Pulling away, she swipes your bottom lip and collects the string of saliva connecting your mouths to pop it into her own. "They wouldn't live another day to even talk about my girlfriend's pretty ass."

You rub your lips together, moisturizing them with what was left of Jennifer's strawberry flavored gloss. Finally, you sweetly say. "Well then.. I guess it's okay."

God, you really were an Angel. Always willing and okay to let Jennifer do whatever she wanted.

As you both kept walking, Jennifer's hand rubbing your ass, she decided you didn't need to know that she literally would tear someone limb from limb for you. Or that the door to the locker room wasn't actually jammed and she had locked it from the start, the key shoved in her bra.

It was late when you and Jennifer finally got off of facetime, you insisting that she at least do this for you the moment she dropped you off so you could see her get home safely. You grabbed your pajamas which was really only panties and a tank-top you stole from your girlfriend before going into the bathroom.

You peeled off your cheer uniform, and that's when you felt it. Hissing, you turn to the mirror in your bathroom and raise your leg.

It felt like an icy hand clutched your heart as you looked at the ellipsis of small holes decorating your inner thigh. The oxidized reddish-brown blood was smeared all over it and there was only a one-word question that flitted through your mind.

Jennifer?

[skhardwarevers1]

the worst part about the fact that he wrote a whole ass letter is that like. He writes a lot. You’d think, maybe—it would follow basic grammar rules. !! Yknow?

every fucking I. Was. LOWERCASE.

when he writes you an entire letter to provide closure (the closure is vaguely mentioning that he messed up a little in the middle of three pages just accusing you of being a manipulative lovebomber): 😨