#been wanting to draw them again for a while

[artsysurvivor]

[ID: A four panel comic talking about Dr. James Barry, shown as a red-haired Irish man. The panels are formatted so that the text is on top and the simplistic drawing is underneath. (What the drawings are is described in the brackets after the quotes).

1st: "Whenever you wash your hands, you owe the habit to an Irish trans man, Dr James Barry, who was born at the end of the 18th century and led an extra-ordinary life until his death in 1865." [A portrait of him as described before, wearing period-typical men's clothes].

2nd: "He transitioned as a teenager and after his studies, became a surgeon in the British Army. He pioneered modern medicine by implementing stricter hygiene practices." [Two hands being washed in a sink].

3rd: "He was also the first European doctor to perform a successful c-section. Even though he became a famous and celebrated surgeon, his existence was scrubbed from the records when it was found that he was trans, after his death." [A closed fireplace burning up some papers].

4th: "Today, we honor his important but complex legacy as a proud and colorful trans man working for a colonial power. His life defied odds and made a lasting impact on the world." [A modern-day doctor showing his gloved hands to the camera with a mask on his face and surgery tools on the table beside him]. /End ID]

From what I could see, there was no resources provided for this comic, so here's some I found. While I recommend reading them for yourselves (as well as the Sources listed in The National Archives) I wanted to point out some more interesting hygiene related things.

While it's true that Dr. James Barry pioneered good hygiene habits, the person who is credited to finding the benefits of hand washing is a Hungarian man named Ignaz Semmelweis. He owned one ward that helped women give birth, but that had more death and fever rates among patients than the mid-wife owned ward. While investigating the differences, he found that doctors went to help the women after performing autopsies, which we now know gets germs on their hands, though he called it something different. Because of this, he instructed his doctors to start washing their hands and the fever and death rates dramatically improved. However, some doctors were spiteful, and the practice did not very much catch on.

Florence Nightingdale was also mentioned as being the "champion of handwashing". In Scutari, Italy, during The Crimean War, she continued washing her hands in the war hospital as a way to fight miasmas. This also reduced infections. Still, washing hands did not catch on.

Promotion of hand washing began again in the 1980s. There's more to that, but it's not in relation to Dr. James Barry, so let's go back to him.

In Cape Town, South Africa, he worked to improve access to clean water.

It's Trans History Week! Meet Dr. James Barry.

[dollyswishingwell]

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ First sight of the bump

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ part 3 of the pregnancy series, just adorableness

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They notice your bump is finally showing

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The gentle waves whispered against the sand as the breeze curled through the open windows of your estate, salt-sweet and warm. The curtains fluttered, and the sky outside was painted with strokes of peach and lavender.

You padded barefoot through the marble-floored living room, humming softly as you traced your fingers over the petals of the fresh peonies Rafayel had arranged that morning. He insisted flowers bloomed better when you were near them, something about your presence being “the only divine thing that exists on this wretched earth.” Typical.

You wore one of his oversized silk shirts again. Pale blue, unbuttoned low and slouched off one shoulder, brushing the tops of your thighs. It was soft and smelled like him, salt, bergamot, and something dark and oceanic. It was also the only thing that made you feel remotely cute today, as your body slowly began to shift with the baby growing inside you.

You’d been self-conscious about it all day, hugging a pillow over your belly when you sat, avoiding mirrors, unsure if it was actually a bump or just the extra cake Raf had fed you in bed this morning.

But then you heard his voice from behind you.

“…Pearlie.”

You turned, startled, to find Rafayel standing in the archway. He must’ve just returned from a meeting, his coat draped over one arm, hair tousled by the wind, his blue-and-pink eyes locked on you like he hadn’t breathed the whole time he was gone.

His gaze wasn’t on your face.

It was on the soft swell beneath the shirt.

His voice came out low, almost reverent.

“Come here.”

You hesitated, suddenly shy, fingers curling at the hem of the shirt. “Don’t look too closely,” you mumbled, half teasing. “I think it’s just bloat…”

But he didn’t laugh.

He crossed the room in a few silent steps, and then his warm hands were on your hips, thumbs brushing just above the bump, and he slowly sank to his knees before you.

You stared down at him, your elegant, cold, sea prince of a husband, kneeling for you again, but this time, in quiet awe.

“You’re showing…” he whispered, almost breathless. “It’s there. You’re, growing it. Them.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t expected him to look like that, like he was seeing a miracle.

“I thought I’d be the first one to notice,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your belly. Then another. And another. “And I am. Good.”

You giggled, wiping at your eyes without realizing you’d started crying. “You’re not going to cry, are you?”

“Of course not,” he said smoothly, trailing kisses in a lazy line across your bump. “I’m simply worshipping the shrine you’ve become. Isn’t that what husbands are for?”

You carded your fingers through his waves, and he rested his cheek against your belly, closing his eyes.

“Our little pearl,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re going to be the prettiest baby in the world. But still not as pretty as your mother.”

Then, with a sly smirk, he peeked up. “Do you want me to draw them? The bump. So we remember the first time we saw them like this.”

You nodded, tears in your lashes again.

He stood, scooping you into his arms with maddening ease and carrying you to the chaise by the window, mumbling to himself:

“Need softer pencils. Pink-toned paper. I want to get the shape of your thighs just right…”

And as the waves kissed the shore, he sketched you lovingly, over and over, bump and all, while murmuring about building a cradle carved from coral and naming the baby something “ridiculously romantic.”

You were already everything to him.

But now, you were his whole ocean.

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

It was still early, sun barely stretching across the horizon, sea mist clinging to the windows of your bedroom like a soft veil.

Zayne had already returned from his morning run, quietly meticulous as always. His hair was damp, towel slung over his neck, and he wore a crisp white tee and grey joggers that still clung to him from the workout. The house was peaceful. Quiet. Safe. Just as he liked to keep it for you.

You, however, were lost in your own little ritual, humming softly at the vanity as you brushed through your hair in your pale satin slip. You didn’t think much of how the fabric clung to your stomach now, just slightly. Barely. You assumed it was just the angle, maybe the lighting. Maybe your imagination.

Zayne passed behind you silently with a glass of lemon water in hand, intending to remind you to drink it before breakfast. But then he stilled. Mid-step.

You didn’t notice it at first. You were too focused on trying to clip a bow into your hair just right. But then his reflection in the vanity mirror caught your eye, how he’d frozen completely, brow furrowed, gaze locked somewhere low. He was staring.

“…What?” you asked, blinking. “Is my clip lopsided?”

Zayne stepped closer, setting the glass down beside you without a word. His eyes never left you.

“No,” he said softly, voice steady but quieter than usual. “Turn a little.”

You frowned, confused, but did as he asked. The moment you twisted at the waist, the soft curve beneath the silk became visible from the side. Subtle. But undeniably there.

And Zayne… just stared.

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, unless you knew him as intimately as you did.

His hand reached forward, almost hesitantly, and hovered just shy of your bump.

“I didn’t think…” he murmured, eyes narrowing in thought. “It’s showing.”

You gave him a bashful little smile and pressed a hand to your belly. “It’s tiny,” you said. “Probably just looks bigger when I’m sitting like this.”

But Zayne shook his head, firm and clinical. “No. It’s not bloating. The shape is consistent. Lower placement. It’s the uterus expanding.” A pause. Then more softly:

“It’s them. They’re growing.”

Your heart skipped.

And then, without asking, he slowly knelt in front of your chair, Zayne, your stoic, surgically sharp husband, on one knee, gazing at your bump like it was something holy.

“You’re changing,” he said, almost in awe. “And it’s not just physiological. You’re… glowing.”

You laughed, flustered. “That’s just the expensive skincare line you bought me.”

He smirked faintly. “No. That’s you. My wife. Carrying our child.”

His hands slid up your thighs and rested gently on either side of your stomach, and he leaned in to press a slow, reverent kiss to the bump. Then another. Then one more, just above your belly button, before resting his forehead there, breathing deeply.

“I should have noticed it last night,” he muttered into your skin. “I always inspect your body before bed.”

You flushed, smacking his shoulder lightly. “That’s not a clinical duty, Doctor Zayne.”

“I consider it part of your care plan,” he replied smoothly, before kissing your bump again. “Your body is officially under observation.”

You giggled, sliding your fingers through his black hair, heart aching with affection. “You’re being… so soft.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” he admitted, still kneeling there in his joggers like a man utterly undone. “You don’t even understand what you’ve done to me.”

Then, ever Zayne, he straightened, composed, and tapped your glass of lemon water with two fingers.

“Now drink all of this. And lie down for twenty minutes. I want to do a fetal positioning check before breakfast.”

“Zaynie,” you whined, but his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing your jaw.

“You’re glowing,” he repeated, this time like it hurt. “You’re not allowed to do it alone.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

You’d woken up without him beside you, which was rare.

Xavier usually slept late. Or at least pretended to, just to stay curled around you longer, arms wrapped around your waist like he had no bones. But today, he wasn’t in bed. Instead, the faint aroma of tea and citrus hung in the air, he’d been in the kitchen.

Still half-asleep in one of his oversized button-downs, you wandered into the living room of the Linkon penthouse, rubbing your eyes. The silk barely skimmed your thighs, and the hem curved gently around your belly now, a small but undeniable bump that hadn’t been there last week. You didn’t even think about it.

Xavier was perched on the sun-warmed couch, shirt half open, his pale chest rising and falling slowly. A book was balanced in one hand, though his eyes weren’t on it. They were on you.

More specifically: on your stomach.

You blinked, shyly tugging the shirt hem down. “You’re staring…”

He didn’t answer at first. Just tilted his head, eyes like glass under the sun, soft and stunned.

“You’re… showing.”

You looked down, hugging the fabric across your belly. “A little,” you whispered. “I wasn’t sure if you’d notice…”

“I always notice,” he said simply, closing the book and setting it aside.

He moved so gracefully, barefoot across marble, sleep-mussed silver hair falling into his eyes as he reached you. His fingers curled gently at your waist, thumbs brushing over the bump, feather-light.

“I felt it when I held you last night,” he murmured. “But I didn’t want to say anything. Thought it might make you shy.”

“I am shy,” you mumbled, flushing deeply.

He knelt slightly to press his lips to the bump, almost sleepy in the way he worshipped it, resting his temple there afterward. “…It’s real now.”

You nodded, fingers brushing through his hair. “It always was.”

“I know.” He exhaled softly. “But I can see them now. The tiniest little proof.”

You stood there for a moment, his arms around your hips, his cheek against your belly, the sunlight catching on his lashes.

Then he looked up at you, lips curling faintly. “They’re probably going to be just like you.”

“Clingy?”

“Pretty,” he whispered. “And dangerous.”

You laughed.

Xavier tugged you gently onto his lap, guiding you into a comfortable sprawl across the couch with him curled underneath you like a sleepy cat. He lazily pulled the shirt open just enough to see the bump again, resting his hand over it.

“Should I draw them today?” he asked, voice already thick with drowsy contentment. “Like I used to draw you, before we were married. I want to remember this. The very first time I saw you like this.”

“You mean the stick figures?”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw and tucked yourself into the crook of his neck.

He smiled softly.

“I’ve always been obsessed with you,” he whispered. “But now I think I’ll be worse.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

It was one of those lazy, golden hours where the world outside didn’t exist. Just you, Sylus, and the faint crackle of the fireplace he insisted on lighting even when it wasn’t that cold.

You were curled up in his lap sideways, your arms slung around his neck, one of his shirts hanging loosely off your frame. He’d brought you here for a “quiet week,” which, in Sylus-speak, meant locking down the whole property and letting his enemies wonder where the hell he disappeared to while he kissed you stupid between chess matches and ten-course meals.

Your lips were brushing over his in lazy half-kisses, giggly and clingy. He’d just said something smug, probably about how soft and cute you were for someone so dangerous, and you rolled your eyes, shifting closer to straddle him fully.

That’s when he noticed.

You felt his hands still on your hips, and his red eyes narrowed.

“…Wait.”

You blinked, still smiling. “What?”

He didn’t answer at first. One hand lifted from your thigh, slipping under the shirt. His palm flattened over your stomach, slow. Careful.

And then he smirked.

“Well, well, well,” he murmured, voice a purr against your cheek. “What’s this, kitty?”

You swallowed, suddenly shy under his gaze. “I—it’s not much yet—”

“You think I don’t recognize your body like the back of my hand?” he cut in, the words fond, amused. “It’s a bump.”

You buried your face in his shoulder. “Don’t say it like that…”

He laughed low in his throat, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “Oh, no. Don’t hide now. You’ve been strutting around here in my shirts like a pampered little queen and didn’t think I’d notice your tummy getting rounder?”

You pouted. “It’s small.”

“It’s mine,” he said simply, pressing a kiss to the swell of it through the fabric. “Proof.”

You watched as Sylus, your infamously ruthless husband, the one who once bought an entire arms syndicate just to dismantle it, gently tugged your shirt up and stared at the bump like it was something precious.

He traced slow, teasing circles with his fingers around your navel. “You’re already spoiling them, aren’t you? Eating pastries in bed. Sleeping in past noon. Getting massaged while you boss me around.”

“You like being bossed around,” you whispered, grinning.

“I like you,” he corrected. “And I love this. Every inch of it.” He kissed the bump again, then looked up through his lashes. “I’m going to be even worse now, you realize.”

You tilted your head. “Worse how?”

“More protective. More obsessed. You think I let you out of my sight before?” He chuckled darkly. “I should buy you another safe house. Or ten.”

You whined playfully, burying your face back into his neck. “You’re crazy.”

“For you,” he hummed, arms tightening around you. “And for the little tyrant you’re growing in there.”

Then, softer, barely above a whisper:

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

You melted.

And for the rest of the evening, he refused to let you leave his lap, pressing kisses to your bump every few minutes like it was a prayer, murmuring what kind of empire your baby would one day inherit, as if it were already decided.

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

The rain tapped softly on the Skyhaven glass, distant and calming. Downstairs, the penthouse was silent, save for the quiet hum of the smart lamps dimming on their own and the occasional flicker from the fireplace.

You were curled up in Caleb’s private library, sunk deep into a velvet armchair with a half-eaten bowl of snacks in your lap and your tablet dimmed beside you, still on that silly slice-of-life drama you were rewatching for the third time. The scent of peach tea lingered faintly from your cup, long since gone cold.

And you? Dead asleep.

The hem of Caleb’s Farspace uniform shirt, stolen from him, of course, had ridden up a little as you slept, revealing just a sliver of your soft lower belly.

That’s how Caleb found you.

He’d just returned from a brief strategy meeting, storm-wet boots off, jacket abandoned somewhere, purple eyes already scanning for you the second the elevator opened. You weren’t in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the couch.

But he knew.

You always fell asleep in the library when you were waiting up for him.

His expression softened immediately when he saw you: messy hair, drooling slightly, your body curled around a plush pillow with snack wrappers scattered at your feet. He stepped over them quietly, crouched in front of you, and went to brush a crumb off your tummy…

And froze.

His hand hovered midair, eyes locked on the small, unmistakable curve of your belly.

“…You’re showing.”

His voice was so low you might’ve missed it if you were awake.

Carefully, reverently, he reached forward and touched it, thumb brushing gently over the new swell.

Something in his face shifted. Like the soldier in him stepped back. Like the colonel vanished, leaving only Caleb, the boy who grew up loving you and never stopped.

You stirred slightly at the touch, blinking awake. “Mm… Cal?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just wrapped one arm around your waist, lifting you into his arms in one smooth motion.

You squeaked sleepily, curling into his chest. “I was watching something…”

“I saw,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “And stealing my shirt again, I see.”

You blinked again. “…Wait, is this about the snacks?”

“No,” he said quietly, still carrying you. “It’s about the bump.”

You froze a little. “…Oh.”

He looked down at you then, purple eyes soft, unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I-I wasn’t sure it counted,” you mumbled, flustered. “It’s just tiny. I didn’t want to make it a big thing—”

He stopped halfway up the stairs, tightening his grip on you.

“It’s a big thing,” he said seriously. “It’s the first thing.”

Your heart stuttered.

He walked the rest of the way in silence, setting you gently down on the bed, his hands still cradling your waist. He sank to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss just under your navel, where the swell began.

Then another. And another.

“I’ve waited my whole life to see you like this,” he murmured against your skin. “To come home to you… and this.”

You felt your cheeks burn. “It’s really showing, huh?”

“Mmhm.” He looked up, smirking now. “Barely. But I see it. And I always will.”

Then he rested his cheek there, on the soft curve of your belly, eyes closed.

And for the first time since you told him the news, Caleb, Colonel Skyhaven, cold, calculating, famously unshakable, looked undone.

“I don’t care how many fleets I command,” he whispered. “This is the most important mission I’ve ever had.”

[goquokka00]

Hiii! I love your work so much! I hope you’re doing well.

can I request Minho x reader. where Minho catches reader obsessing over his thighs. So he makes her ride is thighs and then fucks her?

Please don’t mind how horny this is😭

Oh I don't mind at all 😈

Lowkey I hope I did this request justice, it's not hard to drool over any of Stray Kids' thighs lol

Thigh Ride

Summary: Minho, being the very observant boyfriend he is, had noticed you staring at him from across the living room. Little did he know, you were looking at his thighs, silently drooling over them in your own world. But he'd soon know. They call him Lee Know for a reason, after all. And you were about to know, too.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: Smut (18+)

Warnings: dirty talk, degradation, thigh riding, a bit of nipple play, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it, please!), Dom! Minho, creampie, cockwarming, Minho's a lot nicer at the end I promise, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 1.7K

Minho caught you staring at him around 15 minutes ago.

The two of you were in your living room, each of you in your own worlds. Minho had been watching some show Jisung had gotten him into. And you had been drawing away on your iPad, occasionally scrunching your nose at something you didn't like, or reaching over to grab a sip of your water.

And from time to time, your eyes would drift over to your boyfriend. Minho was an observant man, and so it was hard for him to miss small details. The only thing he couldn't figure out was what your eyes were so entranced by.

It wasn't his face. If you were looking at his face, your eyes would look more dreamy...an idiot in love look, as Seungmin called it. It wasn't his chest, either. He was wearing a hoodie, there was no way it was that. That canceled out his arms, too. And as much as Minho loved having sex with you, he hoped it wasn't his crotch.

It didn't bother him at first, though. But it wasn't until Minho shifted and spread a bit more on the couch when he heard you shift as well. Your thighs rubbed together slightly, your tongue coming out to lick your lips.

Maybe it was his crotch.

Minho shifted his eyes to look at you, seeing how your gaze was cast down. And because Minho couldn't keep himself from teasing, he smirked, speaking up.

"Are you trying to will my dick to get hard?"

"Wh-What?" That got your attention. Your eyes looked at him, clearly shocked by what he said. And then, a pillow went flying towards him. Minho just laughed, hearing your voice scold him. "Minho! Don't say that!"

"Sorry, sorry! You were just staring at my crotch, so I just assumed that you were horny--"

"I wasn't staring at your crotch!"

"Yes you were!"

"I wasn't! I wasn't staring at anything!" You honestly didn't know why you said that. Minho didn't know why you said that, either. You knew just as well as him that he knew.

"You weren't, huh?" Minho just shrugged, looking back to the TV. "Whatever you say, my love."

You just shook your head, looking back to your iPad. You weren't aware that Minho was watching you closely through his peripheral vision, seeing you look back over at his lower body not even 2 minutes later.

You couldn't help it. Minho's thighs looked so...ride-able. The way that his jeans were pressed against his leg, the way that they sat against the couch while he was spread in that manspread position...god, you could feel yourself salivating. You just wanted to go over there and just--

"You're staring again." Fucking Minho. "You must seriously be craving to get fucked if you're staring at my crotch like that-"

"I told you, I'm not looking at your crotch."

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm not looking at anything." You blushed, looking back to your iPad. But Minho? He didn't like that answer.

"Oh, are we getting shy now?" Minho sat forward, making his thighs look that much better before narrowing his eyes slightly. It was like he was trying to pull your soul out of your body. "You don't get to be shy after staring at me like that. What were you looking at?"

And just like that, you had been caught red handed. Shit.

"I was looking at your thighs." You spoke softly, your voice barely carrying across the room. But Minho heard you. He heard you crystal clear.

"My thighs, huh?" He watched as you nodded, only to smirk. "Well, come take a closer look."

"What-"

"Sit." It wasn't a question. And you knew better than to disobey. You got up and walked over, letting him guide you onto his thigh. And the second you sat, Minho pulled you down for a kiss.

And while it surprised you, you kissed him back, melting into the kiss. Your arms naturally found their way around your neck, his hands gripping your waist just enough. And the second that you felt his tongue glide against yours, your hips moved against his thigh. It took less than a second for Minho to just barely pull away, his breath ghosting over your lips as he spoke.

"Gotcha." Fucking. Minho. "You actually got yourself worked up over my thighs...such a little slut, huh?"

"Min, don't-...I-I'm not-" And that was when you felt Minho press his thigh up against your clothed crotch, making you gasp.

Your clit was already so sensitive, and you were already so wet...it didn't help that you were in pajama shorts. Just pajama shorts. You had no panties on to give yourself a bit more coverage. And those pajama shorts? They were thin.

"You're such a little liar..." Minho's voice was raspy, low, sexy as hell. He knew exactly what to say to make you go crazy. He always did. "You and I both know that your slutty mind couldn't stay out of my pants...you've probably been wanting to hump my thigh like a bitch in heat."

He was right. You did. And the whine you let out as your hips moved against his thigh confirmed that.

"I fucking knew it..." And with that, Minho's grip tightened on your hips. "Ride it then."

"What-"

"Ride my thigh, just like the little slut you are." Minho's voice was still low, but it was harsh.

"B-But--"

"That wasn't a question, princess." You were stuck whether you liked it or not. You knew that. His grip was too tight for you to escape. And you'd be lying if you didn't want it. And so, you moved.

The fabric of your pajama shorts dug into your slit, rubbing against your clit just right to make you whine and shudder. And Minho's thigh curved just right to make it that much more comfortable. Not to mention how Minho would occasionally lift his thigh to press against your clothed pussy even more.

"M-Minho--"

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Minho just smirked, one of his hands slipping under your shirt to find your right nipple, pinching and pulling. You just cried out, your head going to his shoulder. "See, this is why you should just admit when you're horny instead of being a denying little brat. Then I wouldn't have to treat you like a slut."

And as he hissed those words, he tugged on your now hard nipple, making you cry out. You could feel the gush of your pussy, feel how your arousal gushed onto his thigh. Minho felt it, too. It's what got him to lose control.

"Fucking christ...get up."

"Hu-Huh--"

"Get. Up." With that, Minho lifted you up with one hand, his other going to his pants to undo them and get his cock out.

It didn't take him long to pull it out and pull your sleep shorts to the side, lining you up to him before pushing you down on his length. The only thing you could do was moan out pathetically. It was music to Minho's ears. The sweet beautiful sound only he could create.

"Fuck...tight..." But it didn't stop Minho from lifting you up again, only to thrust up into you, making you moan out and hug him close.

His pace was absolutely brutal. Each thrust made a slap, his pubic bone going right against your wet little clit, giving you more pleasure than you could've ever imagined. Not to mention how he used the full length of his dick, too. Not an inch was wasted.

It felt phenominal.

"God, you feel so fucking good..." Minho's arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him. One went between your shoulders, the other went down so his hand could grip onto your ass to hold you in place. He was purely using you for your pleasure. You knew that. He knew that. You both knew that. But neither of you cared.

The only thing that mattered is that you were both feeling good. At least, that was what Minho thought. He was making his girl feel good, and he was feeling good because his girl was feeling good.

Well, your pussy was also tight and hugging his cock perfectly, occasionally clenching to make it tighter. But mostly the first reason.

Unfortunately, you were getting closer. Minho knew your signs. You were getting louder, your body was starting to shake, and your hands were grabbing at him.

"Minho, I-I'm gonna-"

"Wait..." Minho grunted his command, hearing your protesting whine. "I know, princess, I know, just--...fuck, I'm close, just a little more..."

If he was being honest, he didn't know why he asked you to wait. Probably because you could always get oversensitive, which meant you got whiny and shaky. But he also wanted to be the one to cum first. And that's what happened.

With a final thrust, Minho let out a groan as he exploded. And you weren't very far behind. The second you felt him come undone, you followed suit, your body trembling as Minho held you close, his cock buried deep inside of you.

"Easy, easy...deep breaths, I've got you..." Minho's demeanor changed up almost instantly, his hand running along your back as he talked you down, feeling your pant against his body. "You did so well, such a good job...take it nice and easy, beautiful..."

And with a few minutes, you slowly came back to reality. You now stayed up against Minho, sitting in his lap as his now soft dick rested within you.

"Feeling better?" Minho gently whispered into your ear, pressing soft kisses against your shoulder and neck. You nodded, nuzzling in closer to him. "Wanna get cleaned up? Or stay like this? Hm, baby?"

"Stay like this..."

"Alright..." Minho just smiled, happy and content, just like his girl.

How couldn't he be? He had you in his arms, tuckered out because of him. You had been thoroughly satisfied, and in turn you had satisfied him. And nothing, NOTHING, could ever interrupt this incredible moment between the two of--

"So...you have a thing for my thighs, huh?"

Lee. Fucking. Minho.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

[bullet-prooflove]

Pretty Girl: Jack Abbot x Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavitch (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @daydreamsareallineed @starstruckunknown-princess @sillymuffintrashflap @thedamnqueenofhell

Summary: Jack and Robby spend a little quality time with their pretty girl.

Companion piece to:

Together - Jack comes home to find Robby in the kitchen and you sleeping the morning away.

You sleep like the dead, splayed out across the mattress, the sheets kicked off past your knees, your arms tucked under the pillows. Your hair is tied up in a messy bun and you’re wearing Jack’s Bob Dylan t-shirt and a pair of white panties with tiny cherries on. Jack fucking loves those panties, he loves the way they turn translucent when you get wet for him, that damp patch that grows the more worked up he gets you. His fingertips trail up from the back of your knee and along your inner thigh doodling tiny patterns across your skin. He glances over his shoulder at Robby who stands back, watching from the doorway.

“You’re not going to join?” He asks with a frown.

“I think maybe the two of you should have some time alone together.” Robby says as his palm rubs over the nape of his neck. “I know it’s been a while.”

This is what Jack loves about Robby, how mindful he is of the two of you. He’s been fortunate enough that his free time has lined up with both yours and Jack’s. Jack hasn’t been so lucky. Robby’s offering him the chance to reconnect with you without having to worry about the third person in the room but he doesn’t understand that that’s what Jack wants, he wants both of the people he cares about in the same space, he wants to love them both.

“Get over here old man.” Jack says, jerking his head towards the bed. “Come be with me and our girl.”

Robby steps into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He pulls the worn t-shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. If Jack’s dick wasn’t already hard, it is now because Michael Robinavitch, he’s truly something to behold. That light dusting of dark hair on his broad chest, leading all the way down to that treasure trail. The scar from the night he had his appendix out, while Jack waited impatiently in the waiting room. The slight love handles that Jack has gripped time and time again as he thrust deep inside him.

Robby’s hand threads through his curls as he kisses him, his tongue tracing along the seam of Jack’s mouth before dipping inside. His fists grasp Jack’s shirt, bunching the fabric before he draws it up over his head, allowing it to drop to the carpet. His fingers fumble with the tie of his black scrubs before he’s shoving them down along with Jack’s boxer briefs. His erection slaps against his stomach and Robby tilts his head to watch that tiny bead of pre-come drip down the tip.

“Get into bed with her.” Robby murmurs untying his own grey sweatpants.

Jack climbs onto the bed behind you, his arm encircling your waist as he guides you back against him, his cock slotting perfectly into the space between your legs. Already he can feel the moisture gathering on the fabric of your panties, drenching his tip. He buries his face into the curve of your throat to stifle his grunts, his stubbled cheek rubbing across your tender skin.

Robby joins you as you begin to stir, his bare form pushing you against Jack, securing you between them. His mouth ghosts over yours, his palm settling over your breast, his thumb lightly teasing your nipple until it’s pert and wanting. You moan into his mouth as you start to wake, your eyes flickering open as Jack’s lips leave a heated trail down the column of your throat.

Your hand reaches back, combing through Jack’s salt and pepper curls, tugging just enough to make him rut against you, his breath hot in your ear.

“Need you.” He whispers, his teeth grazing that deviant little spot just underneath the hinge of your jaw. “Been too long sweetheart.”

“Then take me.” You whisper, as Robby’s head dips. His mouth latches onto your nipple through the white shirt, his teeth biting down, sending a sensuous thrill through your entire nervous system. “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

Jack’s fingers hook on your panties, drawing them down your thighs as Robby mouths your other nipple, kneading your breasts with his large hands. He notches himself at your entrance, easing inside you slowly, filling you with every inch of him. The sound you make in that moment, it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. Robby’s palm grasps your chin, tipping your mouth towards his as he drinks down your pleasure. He takes your hand and guides it to his needy cock, wrapping your fingers around the shaft.

“That’s it pretty girl.” He murmurs against your lips as your hand begins to glide along his length. “Keep me in time with you and Jack.”

His own palm squeezes your hip before coming to rest on Jack’s ass as he pumps into you. Robby grasps it tightly, driving the other man deeper with every thrust until you’re whimpering into his mouth and Jack is keening against your shoulder. His own grunts join the chorus as that ecstasy begins to rise up inside of him like a crescendo, building and building until your grasp on his dick gets tighter, your kisses messier. Jack’s hips piston harder, faster until he lets out a strangled cry, the one that has Robby coming in your hand as you climax around Jack’s cock, your teeth biting down on Robby’s lower lip.

He can taste the blood as he looks down at the mess you’ve made of him, his spent covering his stomach as Jack’s hips continue to stutter.

“It really has been a long time for you, hasn’t it Jackie Boy.” He smiles affectionately as his cheek rests against yours so that he can steal a kiss from Jack’s lips over your shoulder.

“Fuck off old man.” Jack retorts, his forehead coming to rest upon Robby’s. “This is all just a warm up for that weekend at the cabin, I’ll show you who’s boss then.”

Robby’s eyes twinkling at the challenge as you burrow even closer into his chest, your eyes fluttering closed again as you nuzzle at his neck.

“Oh no baby.” He murmurs, his lips brushing over your temple. “We need to get you into the shower, you’ve got some waking up to do.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[minaharkerdailymirror]

Mina searched his eyes, "Okay."

If he said it wasn't safe, then it wasn't safe and he was scared he might hurt her. His baggage and her baggage were both so heavy and while Mina didn't think he would intentionally hurt her, the fact he could accidentally trigger her was there as well. She had given a small mental panic when he'd smacked her....but she'd been able to reel it in and calm down. Much like that initial panic when he bit her. Yes, it was there, but she recovered almost immediately and told herself it was safe.

"I liked it because you got control," she told him, "And that meant everything you did couldn't be decided by me. I was completely at your mercy and your teasing and I liked that."

She tried to formulate it into words, "It wasn't about....not wanting to be conquered. I just don't want to be conquered with only a bit of teasing. I was playing a character....or at least trying to. I guess I wasn't good at it. I wanted you to have me, I wanted...I guess i put thought into what I would do if I was in that situation that I didn't seperate myself from the character. I'm not a good actress in that regard. You'd have never let me on your stage."

She was trying to make him feel better. He'd not done anything wrong, they'd just not talked about it.

"Armand, I promise you....if you were going too far or I didn't like what you were doing so much it bothered me, I would've used the safe word. I would've had you stop. You didn't do anything wrong, we just didn't talk about it like we could've. That's all and that's mostly my fault."

Because she jumped into this with him without fully setting boundaries, but then again she was so new to this she wasn't sure which boundaries to set and neither of them were used to talking about things like this. It was always going to be a small disaster.

She scooted closer, "I want to explore with you though. I want to bite you hard enough to draw blood again. I want to leave scratches down your back as you take me. I'll leave a handprint on your backside but only if you ask nicely."

and kissed his cheek, "I love you and more importantly I trust you. I'm sorry I didn't communicate any of it better."

He was closing himself off, Mina didn't like it. But when he was still talking to her, she knew it was a good thing. THey'd married so quickly after meeting each other, they were still getting to know the other's wants and desires."

"Sex for me has always been simple," she told him, "In a lot of ways, it HAD to be. It was safer that way."

You let the wrong person have too much freedom, it was dangerous.

She felt herself blushing, though she didn't now why because he was her husband, "I like when when go down on me, I like when I can look at you when we're having sex."

The small things first. those were easier. She never really verbalized this all before. Sex had always been simple.

"I love it when you bite me, I liked it when you tied me to the bed. I like looking at you but one day I'd like for you to take me from behind while i'm tied to the bed. Maybe blindfold me so all I have are my senses. I want.....I want to come up with characters with you, wear the costumes."

She was quieter on the next one, "I really desire it when you take my blood. It feels intimate when it's with you."

She rolled on her stomach, closer to him and whispered in his hear, "I want to get on my knees for you while you wear your costume and pleasure you until you can't take it anymore. I want you to wake up before the alarm to you rolling on top of me to make love. I want your wandering hands and your wandering mouth. I want all of it with you."

She blushed bright red as all the different scenerios played in her head and she rolled over, "I want you to get lost in the character and take me, I want you to take control. I understand if you don't want to do all of it and that's okay.....but these are a few things I want."

[littlelovelunette]

Ambessa or Sevika putting reader over her knee while doing paperwork spanking them every time they get frustrated with work completely ignoring the reader

Frustration

Featuring— Ambessa Medarda and Sevika

Warnings: Spanking, mildly smut.

Ambessa Medarda !

Ambessa was so nonchalant about it when she pulled you over her lap and ripped your panties off your ass as if it was the thinnest fabric on earth.

"My my." She taunted. "What a slutty underwear," she throws away the useless fabric, "Must've chosen it out to give me a show." She squeezed your ass. "Right, dearest?"

You got goosebumps as you grip the side of her chair, drawing in a deep breath as you feel Ambessa's big hand covering the entirety of your ass.

"Too bad, I'll be a little too busy to give you that sore of attention right now."

Ambessa's right hand lifted off your back and she concentrated on the paperwork, pen gliding smoothly down the paper as she filled in some calculations for her next long campaign. A number went a little too high— the first swat came down on your ass cheeks. Smack!

It was loud, your cheeks jiggled from the force and a slight red handprint formed afterwards.

"So sorry, doll."

She rubbed your butt, as if comforting you from the sting of her hand as she focused on writing again, muttering the additions as she scribbled some more numbers onto the little tables of the documents. You moved a little, shifting slightly to get comfortable and earned another swat. Then another.

Smack! Smack!

Tight, hard. Unforgiving.

"Don't want your wife angry, now do you, sweetie?" Ambessa asked simply as she stacked the papers and put them away, dragging a new file towards herself.

"Nuh-uh," you muttered.

"Louder."

Smack! Smack! Smack!

"I'm sorry, no, please... I don't want you angry at me." You whimpered, teary eyed as you clutched the chair for dear life.

"There we go. Such a sweet girl."

Ambessa squeezed your ass with one hand as she traced the lines of the paragraph printed on the document with the other. You didn't know how long you stayed there over her lap, letting her use your ass as a stress reliever.

Whenever the numbers didn't add up right, she smacked your ass as if that would solve all her problems. They werent hard smacks necessarily but they were tight and harsh in their own ways.

"Ambessa... It stings a lot..." You whimpered out, sniffling.

"Is that so?" Ambessa squeezed your right buttcheek— smack!

And it went on for the day...

Sevika !

Sevika hated whenever she needed to arrange up a new blue print for her mechanical arm. Although she knew Silco would easily have an expert mechanic do it for her if asked but she didn't want to rely on anyone for help— that's just how she was. You brought her a glass of whiskey. She worked the best with alcohol afterall.

"If you need anything else, call for me I'll be right here," you smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Her hand wrapped around your waist. "Come."

You blushed when she snuggly pulled you over her lap but then the giddiness was replaced by something darker— lust. You felt the way she eyed your plump ass and teased the hem of your skirt before pulling it up.

"Pretty," she traced the lace of your panties. "I've been stressed. I need a way to cope."

"Cope?" Your curiousity was cut short.

Smack!

Your eyes widened and a small gasp left your throat. Sevika paused to take in your reaction before she chucked and dipped two fingers at your crotch, pushing your panties aside, pulling them back and showing you how they were slicked in your juices.

"Filthy slut. You liked that, didn't you?"

Smack! Smack!

You didnt have an answer for her and so that night you stayed like that, awaiting a smack every time Sevika got stuck over a calculation or a complicated gearing.

By the time Sevika was done, your ass was covered in red and was sore. The stinging pain made you wanna rub it but you didn't dare move from your place.

"Look at ya', all quiet and compliant for me."

Sevika pulled your panties down, her calloused flesh hand running down the curve of your now reddened ass. You let out a low whimper.

"Did so well for me, mama," she let you up and had you sit on her lap. You wrapped your arms around her and rested your face against her chest. "You're okay now." She whispered and held you close. "My good girl."

[yelenasbraid]

JOE BURROW — this is me trying

summary — life isn’t always easy. it rips and it tears and has no mercy. Joe is there to help her rummage through the pieces and put her back together.

warnings — fem!reader, mentions of anxiety/depression, fluff, angst, language, not proofread

requested by — @megantmerritt-blog

note — everyone experiences depression and anxiety differently. i’m drawing on my own personal experiences and what i know. if anyone is struggling, please know that there are people who love and care for you (including me!) I’m always here for any of you who need it <3

tags — @willowsnook @joecoolburrow @iosivb9 @softburrow @wickedfun9 @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @hannahjessica113 @irishmanwhore @hotburreaux @blairsworld22 @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @joeyfranchise @ebsmind @sportyphile @kazsbrckkers (comment/send an ask if you wanna be added!)

IT COMES IN WAVES. Some days, the waves are gentle. They let her work and they let her love, other days they pull her into their riptides, spinning her around without mercy. She never dies, but those waves make her wish she didn’t struggle so hard.

Her eyes peeled open, the tap of the rain against the roof gently pulling her from sleep. Her body felt heavy, her heart beating slow, hard beats. She doesn’t look over at her boyfriend, whose arms were wrapped around her waist. He was worried for her, struggling to understand why she was having a bad day all of a sudden.

last night

Distraction. That’s what she needed. Something to do while her chest tightened, something to focus on while her stomach was tied into knots. So, she busied herself with changing the sheets of the bed. Her hands shook, violently, her breaths uneven and shallow.

But she promised Joe she’d do them.

She didn’t know what brought on the panic. She’d had a good day so far; finished a book, baked her favorite cookies, even got her nails done. Something snapped, and through the wall of her antidepressants, something snuck through.

“Babe?” Joe called, padding from his office. He’d been watching film, routes and plays burned into his retinas. He wanted to spend some time with his girl, but when he walked into their bedroom, he didn’t see the relaxed woman he came home to a couple hours ago.

“Baby,” he called again, stopping her hands from trying to fold the fitted sheet, “what’s wrong?”

“I hate fitted sheets,” she spoke, her voice shaky, “why do we need them if they can’t fucking fold?”

Joe knew better. He knew that she wasn’t being dramatic. Her hands shook, they were clammy and cold. Her hands didn’t stay in his for long.

“It makes sleeping more comfortable, love,” he replied gently, letting her have her space. Joe knew better than to constantly barrage her with questions. He could see it written all over her face; she was on the cusp of an anxiety attack.

“But if we can’t fucking fold them then why do we bother washing them?” she replied, her breaths shallow. Joe was a blurry figure in front of her, her mind refusing to compute that Joe was trying to help her.

“Baby, look at me,” he encouraged, and when she didn’t, he felt his chest tighten, “Y/N,”

Her eyes flicked up. He went in and out of focus, her body nearly collapsing in on itself. The unknown of what was causing her panic threw her even further, making her heart beat faster in her chest.

So fast her Apple watch buzzed against her wrist. Her heart rate was too high.

“Talk to me,” Joe urged. He hated seeing her like this, her body caving in on itself. He hated watching her spiral, and he could see it. The gloss over her eyes, the way her hands were clawing at her chest as if it would allow her to breathe.

It scared him.

“Baby,” Joe grabbed her hands, kneeling in front of her, “focus on me,”

“I-I,”

“Just breathe,” he told her, mimicking deep and careful breaths. Inhale for 3 seconds. Exhale for 5. Over and Over again. Joe held her hands, trying to quiet the subtle shake in them. His heart rapidly thudded against his chest, his own anxiety rising.

After a few minutes, her eyes still hazy, she finally snapped out of it. Her breaths were deep and ragged, her eyes barely staying open. Joe wanted to embrace her, he wanted to bring her into his arms and hold her.

But he knew better. She didn’t want to be touched after a panic attack.

“I’m here, okay?” He nodded, his eyes staring holes into her body. He needed her to believe that he was there for her. She nodded, continuing to monitor her own breathing.

present day

Her eyes watched as the rain pattered against the window. The soft hum of the AC accompanied the rain, relaxing her muscles. She was sore, her muscles the same consistency as jello. She slid her arms under her satin pillow, the coolness of its underside making her melt.

She still felt the lingering effects of last night’s panic attack. The silence. The soreness. The deep breaths every other breath. She was exhausted, her bones begging her to stay in bed.

Joe shifted, his arm tightening around her. His face was plastered against her back, his head dipped between her shoulder blades. Even dead asleep, he held onto her. He didn’t want her to disappear on him.

Some days, she did want to disappear. As she laid in his arms, a physical reminder of his never ending love, she couldn’t help but drift. He could have chosen anyone, yet he settled for her. Her friends all hate her because she spends so much time with Joe. Joe hates her because she wants to make it up to her friends. She’s not good at balancing, so maybe things need to end anyways.

The lies she told herself made her eyes water. It made her spiral, but she forced herself to relax. She wasn’t going to have another panic attack. Her body was too tired, too battle ridden.

She pulled from Joe’s grasp, letting his arm fall onto the bed. She tugged herself off of the bed, the heaviness in her bones causing her to shuffle to the bathroom. The door softly shut behind her, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she inhaled deeply.

Messy. Tired. Ugly.

“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking her head and brushing her teeth. She had to do something to keep her mind from further damaging herself. Brushing her teeth was a menial task, but it felt like she was moving mountains doing so.

She spat out the toothpaste, wiping her mouth. She didn’t bother to wash her face or brush her hair. It could wait. She opened the door, expecting to see Joe still asleep.

He wasn’t.

“Shit,” she jumped, his upright position on the bed scaring her, “didn’t think you’d be awake,”

“You left,” he noted, his voice scratchy from sleep, “of course I woke up,”

Joe couldn’t sleep without her. His deepest sleep, snores and all, was when she was right next to him. Away games made for hell. He’s had to get used to it.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, padding back over to her side of the bed. She didn’t slide back in. Not like Joe wanted her to.

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. He crawled over, tugging at her hand. His blue eyes were wide, flicking over her face. He could see the inner turmoil, the struggle still deep within her bones.

“Lay with me,” he urged. She hesitated, even as his fingers tugged at her hand like a toddler trying to get their mom’s attention. She eventually gave in, sitting down in her spot. Her legs crossed under her, the weight of her body making the bed dip.

Joe noticed. He always did. The crease of her forehead. The way her fingers played with a loose thread of her shirt. Her cuticles were raw from how much she’d twirled that thread around her fingers, digging the little knot into her skin. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. He wanted to know what was ailing her.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “sweetheart, please. Talk to me,”

She inhaled deeply, poking her tongue out to moisten her lips. Joe would never judge her. He’d never think she was being over dramatic.

“I’m overthinking again,” she confessed, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Okay,” Joe sat up, crossing his legs under him. He scoot closer to her, but not too close.

“What’s your head telling you?” Joe added, his eyes locking with her side profile. Her jaw clenched. Her nostrils flared. Her eyelashes caught the little light coming through the window.

“It’s stupid,”

“No,” he shook his head, “no, it’s not. There’s a reason you’re thinking these things, and your mind has lied to you,”

He’s right. He always is.

“My friends hate me,” she started, “I’ve tried reaching out to them, asking to hangout, and they’re always busy. I mean, it’s always reasonable stuff like a pilates class or work, but I feel tossed aside,”

Joe listened, his eyes flicking across her face. She believed her words. Joe didn’t, but that’s because he saw what she sometimes couldn’t see.

“But then,” she added, “then I start to wonder if you hate me when I hang out with my friends. That you’re getting tired of me, that-that-”

She could feel her chest tighten, this time the threat of tears boiling in her body. She turned her face away from his, feeling his eyes bore into her. Joe’s heart clenched in his chest, and he reached out to tug on her arm. She fell against him, and he held her in his lap.

“I just feel like a bad person,” she sniffled, “My friends are always annoyed with me, you’re always annoyed with me. I cant put it into words,”

“Baby,” he hummed, kissing the top of her head, “no one is annoyed with you. Your friends are busy, but they want to hang out with you. They want to text you back. And my love, I could never be annoyed with you,”

His words soothed her, a balm to her wounded soul. She melted into his arms, the side of his head pressed against the side of hers.

“I love you,” he hummed, “which means all of you. Your triple texts, your passionate rants about college football, your pickiness when it comes to food. I love all of you, every part that you love and consider a flaw I adore,”

He hugged her tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She melted, dissolving into the plush of his embrace. He was a cold pillow after a hot day, a refreshing cup of water. He was always there for her in ways she never understood.

“I don’t-”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted, “you deserve the world and all its treasures,”

She couldn’t help but smile. She could be so predictable. He knew her like the back of his own hand, every bump and every smooth line. She was his girl, the love of his life.

“You’re not annoying,” he added, “you’re passionate and lovely. Don’t let anyone convince you of anything else,”

She wouldn’t. In that moment, she let him ease away her anxieties and her despair, his touch a grounding force. She curled into his lap, watching as the rain streamed down the window. Finally, for once, the rain meant new beginnings and fresh life. It didn’t mean despair and depression, it meant reprieve.

[backfliips]

As someone who admittedly has attention issues of my own, I think it's important to talk about how attention is a skill that can be learned and often requires conscious and focused effort to build. I think a lot of people despair over the current state of media --- short-form algorithm-driven content that is built to snare and lure and diminish people's attention spans for profit --- and while that despair is certainly built off of legitimate concerns, I want to stress that the damage being done is not irreversible.

Over the course of the COVID-19 lockdowns I fried my brain so intensely with tik toks and instagram reels that I was getting bored 2 seconds into a 5 second video and was finding myself scrolling so quickly that I wasn't even watching anymore. I was lethargic and unhappy and though my mood was definitely simultaneously impacted by the hovering doom of COVID-19 and living in complete isolation for months at a time (I don't recommend that, BTW), I found myself losing passion for the things I loved doing: drawing, reading, and writing. I felt miserable and useless and incredibly guilty for leaving my productive and fulfilling hobbies behind while I chased... not even happiness. Just something to occupy my brain and turn it into mush.

As time passed I realized that I wasn't even having fun on tik tok anymore. I'd see funny videos and get a rush of endorphins, and then the next second I would have completely forgotten what I just watched. I was refreshing social media pages to see numbers I didn't even care about. Everything was an endless loop of swapping between different apps, just time passing and passing and my attention span dipping lower and lower until I would go for days without feeling any sense of joy or accomplishment.

And this was most definitely aided by the fact that I was unemployed and stuck in a terrible worldwide epidemic, but as soon as I deleted the tik tok app and put harsh time limits on instagram (15 minutes a day, which I rationed compulsively) I suddenly wanted to draw again. I started reading books again. I started writing and spending time outside and getting inspiration from the world around me.

Now, years later, I work with teenagers whose lives are dictated by their phones. My coworkers often lament the state of the world today --- which, again, is a valid stance to have --- but in the few months after my workplace implemented a no phones policy, I watched disengaged students bounce back to productivity. Instead of scrolling during lectures they paid attention and asked questions and engaged their peers in conversation. During lunch they played board games and talked to each other. Students even told me about how they didn't even want to go on their phones when they got home from school!

It isn't perfect, and I'm not advocating for a world devoid of phones, but I just want to highlight that these neural pathways can be built and exercised. People's brains are resilient and fascinating and much stronger and more adaptable than many people are willing to give them credit for.

I've expanded my time limits across more apps on my phone, setting days where I can't even access social media at all from my phone, and in that short period of time I've found myself far more engaged with the world around me. I've been zipping my phone up in a bag instead of keeping it in my pocket, adding a step to access it, and I've found that that alone is keeping me from using it to a huge degree. I'll toss my phone across the room when I find myself on it when I don't have any reason to be scrolling. And it's helping!

My main message here is that it's never too late to focus on your focus. Change and improvement doesn't happen until you make an effort on your own.

[calcitron]

I did the math (TM), and the two bakeries both have different strong points and weak points that just cater better to different preferences. If you grew up on just one of the bakeries, or one that doesn't bake for Girl Scouts anymore (there have been a lot of bakers!) , the others aren't going to meet your expectations because they're just different enough to create friction.

I find it interesting that the 2022 comparison above only compares four of the oldest flavors, conveniently and area where LBB does perform very well. I tested all the flavors.

This is from March 2025's cookie sale. I live in an ABC region and I got these because 1) I wanted to know what I was missing since everyone is always hyping LBB and 2) I was tired of people shitting on ABC.

My assessment in the flavor order shown above:

Adventurefuls: I had a hard time choosing. ABC actually has a caramel flavor so my children both preferred it. LBB didn't have any notable caramel taste but did have more brownie taste and a prettier cookie. A draw.

Lemon: Lemonades from ABC are a clear winner here, which is why we've had them for over ten years. Good lemon flavor and a lemony shortbread. Lemon ups look really good but they taste of froot (I'm using this in the technical way, a la Fruit Loops flavor) not lemon. If they were making a cereal cookie this would be spot on but they aren't. The texture is also rather mealy after the first crunch. Very weird. ABC wins easily.

Trefoils: ABC has a paler, straight sugar cookie flavor. LBB has a lot more browning and a strong buttery flavor that nearly compares to a proper shortbread like Walker's. I have noticed on further eval that ABC's version performs better with a drink- when I have it with tea the flour taste disappears and leaves a more buttery flavor behind (a similar effect isn't observed with LBB). But cookie to cookie LBB is the clear winner here.

Thin Mints: The money maker. ABC has a much mintier, crunchier cookie, just as described above. LBB has a very fine textured, more chocolate forward cookie that, imo, barely has a mint taste. Everyone who participated in the comparison preferred ABC... But we all grew up with ABC and we love mint chocolate. My mom makes these chocolate mint brownies that my husband says taste like toothpaste. That being said my husband also HATED the LBB version on texture alone. LBB would presumably be better for those who don't like mint chocolate as much as my family...but if so why are you buying thin mints? ABC win.

Tagalongs/PBPs: This was a divisive one in our house because I have two big peanut butter fans and they were firmly in camp Peanut Butter Pattie. Why? PB preference. The peanut butter in the Tagalong is much sweeter--more in line with a Reece's--whereas the PBP tastes like peanut butter straight from a jar of JIF. Personally, I like candy peanut butter better and the cookie in the Tagalong was also crispier (probably more browned too, not that i could see it). But if I had the PBP first I had zero complaints, both are excellent cookies. I've also heard a lot about how the "chocolate is thicker" and there's "more peanut butter" - no. There's the same amount. It's distributed differently: the PBP is a bit thicker and smaller around while the Tagalong is wider and thinner, without peanut butter all the way to the end. Ultimately, a draw.

Samoa/Caramel deLite: This one I thought i was gonna like the Samoa better because it has dark chocolate instead of milk. However, turns out, I think milk chocolate pairs better with caramel in this context. Weird, I know. The Samoa also has more toasted coconut and possibly a tad more caramel--on paper, again, I thought I would like this better but I just didn't. No one else who tried them had a strong reaction to the Samoa over the CD. Also of note, this was the only cookie where LBB was uglier. Are we just used to the CD? Idk. CD wins in our house, but no one really likes them much anyway so LBB can have this one.

Do-si-do/PB Sandwich: You can pry the PB Sandwich out of my husband's cold dead hands. He hated the Do-si-do and let me finish them off because I liked them a lot better (again, candy PB vs. regular PB). The Do-si-dos also have much better browning and a crunchier cookie. I'm not sure anyone else agreed with my husband so, LBB wins.

(not pictured) Toast Yays: There's no comparable offering at LBB to this ABC exclusive. It's a cinnamon sugar cookie with a thin vanilla frosting on the bottom with some hints of maple. A great cookie, but retiring this year likely due to pretty weak sales. Very similar to the Lemonades or Thanks-a-lot (also retired) in construction.

(not pictured) S'mores: ABC used to have a version of this cookie that retired a few years ago. I never had one but I understand it was popular. The LBB version is not similar to the ABC version, but it is similar to the Smoreo that is out right now, but better (suck it, Nabisco). A graham cookie sandwich with chocolate and marshmallow cream. A+ and the entire reason I put in an order to LBB in the first place. Really sad this one retired this year.

(not pictured) Toffeetastic: A gluten free cookie from LBB. Hot garbage. Do not buy. It tastes good for about one second and then actively tastes like cardboard. I don't eat gluten free cookies often but I really hope they aren't all this bad. F-.

(not pictured or tasted by me) Caramel Chocolate Chip: ABC's gluten free cookie. My neighbors bought them last year and still talk to me, so I think they probably aren't as bad as the Toffee ones. Grade - shrug emoji.

(bonus not pictured) Raspberry Rallies: The cookie no one got to taste so they sold for hundreds on eBay. I tried one from each bakery the year they attempted to launch these and this was an ABC win for me. LBB was a pretty bright Barbie pink inside and the raspberry flavor they used was very candy-like. Attractive, but not the kind of raspberry I want in a cookie. ABC used a raspberry flavor that was closer to an actual fruit and more appropriate for use in baking imo. The color was also darker and the cookie wasn't smoothly uniform. I suspect they weren't able to get these to work because they couldn't justify taking production away from Thin Mints to make these--they clearly used the same equipment.

Ultimately, I came away from the test feeling a lot less jilted by having always lived in an ABC Bakery area. They make solid cookies that are of equivalent quality to Little Brownie Bakers, it's just that they aren't *the same exact cookie* and that is ultimately the driver of most complaints about one bakery versus the other. If we moved to an LBB area, I'd be just as happy there, but the cookies I buy would change. Lemonades are my favorite and I'd be sad to give them up but it's not a big deal, and I'd probably start buying a lot more Do-si-dos instead.

They're shelf stable cookies, after all. None of them are even half as good as the ones I bake at home. I'm buying them so my girls can go to camp and get an Axolotl plushie...and also cuz when my house is full to the brim of them they start consuming my every waking moment and I should at least get to put some in my mouth too, not just into other people's cars.

starting girl scout cookie discourse. if you’ve had girl scout cookies from both bakeries, do you prefer little brownie bakers (tagalongs, samoas) or abc bakers (peanut butter patties, caramel delites). also is your preference the same as the girl scout cookie you grew up with?

[lxsunshine]

stalker yunho x reader - part two

warnings: yandere, noncon, somnophilia, implied baby trapping

read part 1 here!

stalker yunho who’s been watching you for so long he can’t take it anymore….his whole body and soul aches to claim you, to mould you to his body and ensure you’ll never leave him.

you were in front of him, finally the desire of all his dreams, sleeping peacefully. unaware of the pervert that was steadily getting aroused just by being surrounded by your scent: teeth aching to bite into your delicate neck and make you cry while his cock bullied his way in.

he pulled the remaining bed sheet off your thighs and his eyes greedily soaked in every revealed inch of skin. he longed to bury his face in between your thighs and mouth, suck, and kiss until you shook around his head. if he was more patient, he’d want to worship you.

he’d want to take a whole day to mark every unmarked inch of skin so your body was covered in blue and red. he wanted to leave bites all over your thighs so you’d feel them when you walked…so you’d be reminded of his love.

yunho knelt down by the bed and moved your hips over, slowly so you didn’t wake, until your thighs were around his upper half. he placed them on his shoulders and grabbed onto your ass to pull you closer to his face, ass hovering off the mattress by a few inches. you were wearing gray panties and no shorts. your panties we’re clinging to your cunt from your previous orgasm before you fell asleep.

practically vibrating with excitement, yunho urgently buried his face in your crotch, inhaling deeply.

your scent was so thick and lewd that yunho practically came, eyes rolling to the back of his head. his tongue lolled out and he licked a line up your panties seam.

he tongued a little at where your wetness was seeping out through the fabric and made it all damp with his spit. his hands roamed possessively up and down your hip bones, rubbing circles onto your skin.

he imagined you waking up: thighs on his shoulders, holding your hips…how would you react? would your pretty eyes water? would you scream? would you try to get away, squirming while he held you down and took what he wanted?

tongue licking at your panties like some kind of mutt. the thought made his whole body twitch and he ducked his head down again to suck at your clothed clit. your sleeping body jolted for a second before it settled back into its comfortable sleeping position.

you had made a small sound, almost like a moan, in your sleep and it had thoroughly riled up yunho. he no longer cared if you woke up, yunho was going to take you and wring every last once of pleasure out of your body. he wanted it all to himself.

leaning back to slide the damp panties off your body, yunho observed with a sickening grin that your panties stuck to your core and a string of your arousal peeled off with it.

once your panties were off, yunho stood up and placed you on your back, in the same position he found you.

he then crawled over your body and caged you in. he started to undress himself, pulling his jeans down to mid thighs, and stroking himself. he was already painfully hard, dripping and ready from just a taste of your sweetness through your clothes.

with your panties gone, yunho bent your knees to fall open and he moved in to situate himself. his cock brushed against your core and he shuddered at the sensation. he leaned down to bury his face in your neck and inhale deeply, your scent intoxicating and making his head feel heavy, while his tip slid up and down against your folds.

your body gave a small jerk and you let out a sleepy sigh of pleasure. his tip circled with your clit, drawing moans out of the back of your throat. his body was much bigger than yours, so he had to bend over a bit to be able to kiss you. he leaned in and gave you a peck.

his cock dipped downwards a few times, collecting wetness before he started to push in. immediately he was overwhelmed at the feeling of your wet walls squeezing his head. but after the tip was in, the rest slid in easy. he moaned loudly into your neck and you shuddered.

once he was fully in, his body was taught with anticipation. fuck, he was really in you. and you felt so good~ his hips started small motions as he unconsciously chased his pleasure before he stopped himself, peeked his head out of your neck. your mouth was open, but eyes still shut.

he did a small thrust and watched your eyebrows furrow, a little “uh” escaping your open mouth. he was captivated by your face and repeated the motion, memorizing your expression. he suddenly wanted you awake so he could see every expression. he wanted to memorize every little part of you.

he pulled his hips back and hissed through his teeth at the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. then he sharply thrusted, sheathing his whole cock in you. you woke up, eyes blearily opening and you let out a cry of shock. you were so confused, eyes adjusting.

you were having a dream, right? why was there a shadowy man on top of you, hands now pinning yours against the mattress, and a sharp sensation in your cunt?

panic flooded your body and you instinctively tried pushing him away, back arching up to push his chest away from you. this was real.

his hands were strong, pushing you harder against the bed and he forced his lips onto yours, harshly. your teeth clanged against his and you cried, feeling the thrusting start up again.

“stop moving,” he breathily muttered before slotting his mouth against yours again. the slick slide of lips matching the slide of his cock in you.

you whined into his mouth, tears springing as panic and pleasure took over. his cock was pressing against a good part inside of you with every sharp move of his hips. his strong body was forcing you down and his hot soft mouth was pushing his wet tongue into your mouth.

“stop-“ you gurgled around his tongue, thighs twitching around his hips as a particular thrust pushed against your cervix. jesus how big was he? he filled you completely and left a pleasurable stretch…you cried more knowing it felt good.

he pulled away from the “kiss” a strand of spit following, as he let out a debauched moan, eyes rolling and he rested his forehead against yours. to anyone who might walk in, it looked loving…a loving embrace between two lovers.

“baby… fuck, you feel fucking incredible~”

you shivered, widened eyes staring at his face. he was flushed, a red glow from his cheeks down his neck. his lips were glassy from spit and red from attacking yours. he was handsome…if he wasn’t l assaulting you, you might’ve had a crush on him. in normal circumstances.

but this wasn’t normal. your brain screamed at you to move, don’t just take it, fucking MOVE. you managed to swing your knee into his side with a swift jab and he grunted. your heart dropped. he didn’t even move. only his hips kept moving.

“nice try, baby, but you’re so small,” he teased. it was true, he was so large, his form completely covering yours, his large thick cock pushing you past your limits. you could feel him halfway in your stomach.

“please, please stop! i wont tell anyone-“ you cried, voice shaking with his thrusts, which seemed to be picking up.

he just laughed, lips brushing against yours before he dove in again. his tongue pressing down in a pleasant way and you sobbed as drool spilled past your lips. he cooed at you, slurping up your spit and licking back into you. his girl was so pretty~

his pace stuttered and he grabbed your thighs and he pushed them upwards to rest on his shoulders. he held you down, thighs aching in protest at the new stretch. he was folding you like a pretzel. you blabbered a cry, “please no more” before he was gently cupping your face with both of his hands.

your heart stuttered in confusion, body so confused, brain fuzzy from all the adrenaline and fighting. he lowered his face down and as soon as his lips slotted against yours, his cock pushed through again at a way deeper angle, starting another punishing pace.

muffled short cries fell into yunho’s hungry mouth. his thumbs circled your cheeks in a kind and loving manner while his cock bullied your insides as he chased his release.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for you, now that i have you…i’m never letting go” he sighed, “you’re gonna take all of me, baby.”

the words vaguely registered until his hips were stuttering, thrusts no longer steady.

“wait wait please. don’t- not inside. please!” you wailed, body pushing, arms weakly slapping his arms.

yunho didn’t listen. his moans grew louder and his thrusts weaker before he stilled, hands shaking around your face.

“no no no” you kept crying as more and more seed entered your cunt. it was an uncomfortable and hot sensation and your cunt pulsed around him, traitorously milking him. your face was sticky from tears and sweat.

yunho, still pressing you down with his weigh and his hands still cupping your cheeks, collapsed on top of you. you moaned in pain as your thighs were crushed to your chest.

sensing discomfort, but without a bit of regret, yunho pulled back and pried your legs apart gently to rest around his hips again. you screwed your eyes shut, not wanting to see his face now that he was pulled back.

yunho bent back down, lips finding yours again as his cock softened inside of you. he grabbed your legs and had them wrap around him, making it feel more loving.

he kissed you with passion and desperation. your lips weakly moved to account for his searching tongue.

“you did so good for me” he smiled after coming up for air.

you had no more tears. face was sticky and you were sure yunho’s hands were wet from your tears.

you wanted to ask why. you wanted to ask who the hell he was. but your body hurt so bad. and you were so tired. it was almost sunrise…he’s been at it for a few hours.

“just go please” you begged whispering. yunho’s smile faded into some hurt expression.

you were kicking him away? he finally had you and now he was going to lose you?

no. no no no NO. absolutely not.

yunho’s frown turned into a eerie smile. your blood ran cold.

“but my love, you haven’t finished yet. i’m not leaving until that happens. what kind of boyfriend would i be?” he pouted. you felt your eyes water with panic as his hands, previously on your wrists again, moved down. boyfriend? who the FUCK was he?

as his forceful fingers found your clit, and his softening cock inside of you started to harden again, you naively and hesitantly decided to agree to his conditions so he could leave.

if only you knew he was a fucking liar and he was truly…never letting you go again.

[straykidsnerd255]

yeasgesdgyy

I love you so much !!!!!♡⁠(⁠>⁠ ⁠ਊ⁠ ⁠<⁠)⁠♡(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)

So...~ can you do a headcannon for saja boys ( like all of them ) x solo flirt idol s/o Who really likes pop mart ( separately ) ... please

Awwwww! You are so freakin sweet! I love you too!!<3 Thank you so much for requesting, and I hope you enjoy these head-cannons! I definitely didn’t have Your Idol on repeat blasting in my headphones while writing this<3

Jinu:

We know how dorky this man is, so when he first met Y/n during a concert of hers trying to secure the honmoon, he noticed the way her voice filled his mind, drowning out the voices he so desperately wanted to disappear. 

What he wasn’t expecting was to lock eyes with her. Watching her lips pull into a smile as she moved closer to him.

Or the way her hand seemed to reach out towards him, drawing him closer. The moment he touched her hand, her fingers moved up his arm and towards his chin.

She held his face in her palm as she sang, her eyes going from that cute doe look to the look of a siren. 

His face went bright red when she backed away and winked at him. He had to run away or he would have steam coming out of his ears from how much he was blushing. 

When Jinu saw her again, she was standing in front of a pop mart, dressed in black sweats, and a grey hoodie. 

Walking over to her, making sure he would combust from being hopelessly in love with her, he gently tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Want to go in with me?” He asked, staring into the store. 

“Are you sure you are ok being spotted in a store like this?” She asked. 

Jinu shrugged and finally looked at her. His eyes widened at how even without makeup and all the lights, she was still beautiful.

After the time spent in the pop mart, Jinu and Y/n spent the rest of the day together.

When the day ended and Jinu walked her home, she turned around and took his hands in hers, leaned forward, and pressed a simple kiss to his lips. His eyes widened before he leaned into the kiss, a smile on his face.

Jinu totally asked her out after the concert. He’s too cute.

Abby Saja:

Abs and you have been dating since the moment he and the others of Saja Boys became a group. 

Yes he knew you were a human but something about your ability to love him even as a demon made his “heart” swell. 

He ignored every order from that point on. His arms were always wrapped around your waist when you were visiting his group, showing you off at concerts and signings. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be a solo idol. The first time he heard your voice signing, he was hypnotized. 

He went to a concert of yours, (forced the rest of Saja Boys to go along too) of course he was in his human form but when you knelt in front of him, your eyes hooding to give off a siren look, he knew he was done for. 

Your flirty smirk appeared on your lips as your fingers brushed under his chin (One of his favorite things you do) and his body felt light. 

You get extremely flirty when on stage he notes when you start dancing in a way that he has never seen you dance before. 

On a rather hot summer day, you were practically tugging his arm and begging him to go to a pop mart with you, for what reason, he didn’t know. 

When he gets to the mart after breaking his resolve (He can never say no to you) he is immediately blinking confused. 

“What is this place?” He would ask, turning to you for an explanation but you are already staring at a little doll with stars in your eyes and the brightest smile on your lips.

You and Abs left the mart with at least 5 bags each.

Mystery Saja:

You are the only person that is allowed to see his face with his hair up. That’s how special you are to this man. 

In return, you told him everything about yourself, your fears, insecurities, your pain. If he could, he would erase everything that hurt you. 

The day the rest of Saja Boys were out scouting the different groups to see how they could destroy them, Mystery felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach when he saw you on the stage.

No one else around you, but your eyes held the power of three people to complete the golden honmoon. You looked absolutely stunning in his eyes. 

The moment you began singing, everything around him vanished. The voices in his head, the chatter of fans, the rest of Saja Boys. It was just you and him. 

Your personality on stage was a 180 flip from what he gets in everyday life. Your flirty on stage, your doe eyes shifting to a hypnotizing siren as you sing with the power of gods. 

He slowly makes his way towards the stage, his body moving on its own. Jinu and the others watch with wide eyes as you dip your hand towards him, holding his face with such care.

Days after that concert, Mystery is watching your every move. Your morning routine, the way you talk around him and the rest of Saja Boys. He wants to see if that personality from your concert slips out but it never does. 

“Why can’t you act all flirty like you did at the concert?” he suddenly asked everyone in the room. 

You turned to him and your doe eyes morph to the siren he saw that night. He swallowed as you moved towards him. 

Standing in front of him, you cup his jaw, a smirk appears just as fast as it disappears and your doe eyes are back. 

He never asked for your flirty nature again, he almost passed out from how long he held his breath.

When you took him to a pop mart, he understood why you hid that flirty siren-like personality when off stage. 

You and Mystery spent the day in the mart for hours before Saja Boys had to come and drag the two of you out of the store.

Romance Saja:

Romance was always labeled the “PlayBoy” that he didn’t take love seriously. Granted, it would have been true considering that he was a demon but when he started dating you, everything changed. 

The voices that lined his head disappeared. He felt like his life was finally his thanks to you. 

Jinu had said that they were going to a concert in a few days for a soloist that just popped up after Huntr/x took a hiatus for a bit and wanted to check it out. 

Thinking nothing of it, Romance shot you a text saying he was going to a concert and that he would be back late. 

The day of the concert, Romance and the others got there extremely early so they could be in the front row to see who the singer was. 

Their jaws dropped to the floor when they saw you, your once soft doe-like eyes narrowed like a siren, your voice booming around them. 

You danced like you had been trained by a dance god. Romance could only stare at the way your hips swayed, the way your voice sounded so good in his ears as you sang. 

Your eyes drifted them, your eyes becoming more of a siren as you walked towards the edge of the stage, your hand dropping towards Romance, your finger mentioning for him to come close. 

He did, not sure what came over him. He felt your hand press against his chest, your fingers dance over his throat before you gently but firmly grabbed his face pulling him even closer. 

He was surprised he didn’t actually faint right then and there. In his mind, that was the hottest thing you could have done to him. 

When you and Romance were walking around town a few days after the concert, he took you to a pop mart and watched your face light up. He smiled softly and followed you around like a puppy and got you whatever you wanted, with the promise that you will do the same thing you did at the concert to him more.

You were a mess when he asked for you to do that again, but you did, randomly, when he least expected it and as a result, you had to call the rest of Saja Boys to your house to help you get your passed out boyfriend on his bed so he didn’t wake up in pain.

You vowed to never do that again when he least expects it.

Baby Saja:

He was the least likely to get in a relationship but when he pushes open the door to Saja Boy’s dorm and introduces you as his girlfriend, everything goes into chaos. 

Your favorite spot to lay your head is on his chest. Baby doesn’t mind it in the least, in fact, he will just place his hand on your head and pull you towards his chest when he wants to feel your weight on his chest. 

Sneaking into a concert wasn’t ideal for them but they needed to figure out who this new solo artist was and why she was so strong when it came to getting the honmoon up without two other people.

Baby’s jaw dropped when he saw you on that stage, your doe eyes he fell in love with, narrowed to that of a siren ready to steal a soul. He noticed the theme of your song happened to deal with larger canines and that made him smile. 

You smiled, showing off the custom-made fangs and his heart thudded against his ribcage. 

Noticing him in the crowd, you smiled dangerously and motioned for him and the rest of his group forward. 

She pointed to 5 empty seats and returned to her performance, the honmoon glowing the brightest gold they have ever seen. 

Baby was entranced. He watched as your body swayed and moved to the beat of the music. How you seemed to be in your element as you danced. Your eyes holding such a flirty but gorgeous look in them when you looked at him. 

The ended with everyone, including Saja Boys screaming your name, tears falling down baby’s face as he watched you blow him a kiss before disappearing off stage. 

A few days after that concert, Baby always begged to see your siren eyes. Saying that he loved everything about them because they were a part of you. 

You agreed as long as he went with you to a pop mart. You both got what you wanted. 

He took you to the pop mart and bought you whatever you wanted, whether it was big or something small. 

You showed off your siren eyes more and watched as Baby would go absolutely bright red if you directed those siren eyes towards him when angry with him.

You both would sit and listen to each other's songs, don’t even get me started. When his group is on hiatus for a bit, he has your songs blasting through his speakers in his room. 

He would sing along to them or start rapping the parts that you rap.

He loves that you rap, just like he does. 

You caught him one time dancing to a song that was tamer than the others and couldn’t help but take a picture of him. It's your lock and home screen now.

Baby has you smiling with a butterfly that landing on your nose while lying in the grass as his home screen and lock screen. He loves you so much it's not even funny.

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ cause what if i never love again?

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — yall rock w the new pic set up? ^^

♡ word count — 2.8k

♡ content — reo mikage x fem! reader, set in a kind of salem time, the 1920s, a war-time, and "modern times" (reo and reader are 19 and he plays pro soccer), right person wrong time, right person not enough time, mentions of witchcraft, mentions of car accidents, mentions of war (and all things affliated), mentions of illness, royal! reader, heiress! reader, nurse! reader, ill! reader, soulmates, meeting in every lifetime, 4 different lifetimes, angst, not proofread!

♡ synopsis — Reo Mikage will go through as many lives as he has to. Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you. And in every life, you leave him far too early.

── .✦ give me a memory i can use

The first time you met Reo Mikage, you were both small and sharp-eyed, children dressed in velvet and constraint. 

Your families were tangled in money and politics—landowners of different provinces, but allies in name and interest.

You were five when he pulled your hair in the middle of a tea party. 

He was six when you shoved him into a pond for saying your voice was too loud.

By ten, you were inseparable.

They let you roam because your names had already been written beside each other in social contracts and whispered agreements. 

If it was known that one day you’d marry, what was the harm in letting you grow close? A scandal between children of dynasties only became a storybook legend.

He snuck into your father’s library to draw figures on old books while you read them aloud. 

He taught you how to climb the castle wall in secret, and you taught him to hold his tongue when the lords came to visit. 

You knew how to bite with a smile, how to laugh with your teeth showing.

Reo saw it first.

That fire in you. 

You were always too wild for the world they tried to fit you into. Not unruly, no—never sloppy, never loud when you weren’t meant to be—but there was something about the way you looked out the window when no one else was watching. 

Something about how you wrote poems in the backs of your ledgers and crushed rose petals into ink to write your letters. Something about how you said no.

And something about how he kept falling in love with it.

It wasn’t dramatic, how it started. 

It wasn’t some grand confession or secret kiss stolen in a garden. 

It was just... one day, Reo looked at you reading in the sun, your slippers dangling off one foot and your hair wind-tangled, and he thought, I want to know her forever. And then another day passed, and he still did. And then more.

You loved him, too, in your own way. Softly. Deeply. As if your lives had always been meant to run parallel.

You held hands under the table. He kissed the corner of your wrist one night when he thought you were asleep. You laughed into his shoulder after you tripped on your gown. He looked at you like he’d never seen anything as real in a world built on porcelain.

You told him once, “If I wasn’t born into this family, I’d be free.”

He looked at you, his own robe stitched with his family’s crest in gold thread, and said, “Then I’d give up everything and be free with you.”

You were seventeen.

You never got to turn eighteen.

They accused you of witchcraft.

It started with a dying boy claiming you’d looked at him wrong. 

A servant finding dried herbs in your satchel. 

A maid whispering about how she saw you dance barefoot in the rain last spring. 

Enough breadcrumbs to ignite fear in people who’d rather burn a girl than question their own sins.

No trial. No appeal.

You didn’t scream when they took you. You didn’t beg. 

But Reo did.

He fought everyone—his father, the guards, the church. “She’s not a witch,” he screamed. “She’s not anything but good.”

But the world didn’t want good. It wanted obedient. And you’d never been that.

They tied your hands behind your back. They bound you in white and dragged you through the courtyard, and Reo stood in the front row because he refused to let the last thing you see be anyone but him.

Your eyes met.

The smoke rose around you.

Your last words were not curses.

They were, “Don’t forget me.”

And he never did.

Even as the flames swallowed you. Even as your skin turned to ash and your hair burned away, Reo saw only the girl who once told him she’d be free one day. 

The girl he loved in a world that wasn’t kind enough to keep her.

That was your first death.

The first lifetime where he couldn’t save you.

And far above the smoke, something—fate, time, maybe love—took your soul in its hands and whispered:

Not yet. Try again.

You were never supposed to be seen at the club.

Not you—darling of your family, heiress to a chain of railroads, pearls around your neck, and an engagement to a Duke’s son inked before you could spell his name. 

Your mother taught you manners with the edge of a knife. 

Your father raised you like an investment.

But then there was Club Ambrosia—all smoke and saxophones, women in dresses too short and heels too high, and music that wrapped around your ribs like sin. 

That was where you went when you couldn’t breathe. 

That’s where you were when Reo Mikage found you again.

He was already seated in the corner when your shadow slipped through the curtain. Champagne in hand. Gold cufflinks glinting under low lights. 

Everyone knew the Mikages—owners of steel lines and half of Wall Street. 

Their son? He was supposed to be on his way to becoming the next great American tycoon.

But there he was.

Watching you like he’d been waiting years.

His voice cut through the jazz. “Didn’t think you were the kind of girl who ran from parties thrown in her honor.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And I didn’t think you were the kind of boy who followed girls out of them.”

“I don’t follow girls,” he said, standing to offer you his hand. “Just you.”

And like smoke rising from a candle, it all came back.

Not in full—not yet. But in fragments.

The shape of his mouth when he smiled. The way your heart quieted when his hand touched yours.

A memory of fire.

You danced that night. Barely spoke. 

His hand on your waist, yours on his chest. 

When the music swelled, you let your head fall against his shoulder and whispered, “Do you ever feel like you’ve done all this before?”

Reo didn’t answer. But he held you closer.

You and Reo became a story whispered behind champagne glasses.

The reformed golden boy of Fifth Avenue, now regularly seen at downtown jazz clubs, slipping into limousines with that Belmont girl. The one who used to recite poems in Latin and walked barefoot in her father’s garden.

They called it a phase.

You knew better.

It wasn’t perfect. You argued, often.

Your families met in secret to “discuss your recklessness.”

You wrote letters to each other in invisible ink.

He sent you flowers for every day he couldn’t see you.

You’d crush them between books, every one.

One night, you curled against his chest in his hotel suite, the city glittering outside, and you whispered, “They’ll never let us be free.”

Reo kissed your temple. “Then we’ll stop asking.”

You made a plan.

Two train tickets. A borrowed name. 

You’d run to Paris, where no one cared about your families, where he could disappear and you could breathe.

But the night before your escape, your father caught wind. 

Whether it was a servant or a slip of the tongue, you never knew. 

Reo came to get you.

But you never opened the door.

They said the brakes gave out.

That your driver was drunk.

That the corner was slick from rain.

But Reo Mikage—standing in the rain, his fists bloodied from pounding the wreckage, your perfume still on his collar—knew better.

You died with your engagement ring still on, the wrong man’s name etched into your obituary.

And Reo never forgave himself for being one night too late.

He lived until he was eighty-seven. Never married.

Some say he bought every apartment overlooking the bridge where your car went over.

Some say every year on the anniversary, he sat on the ledge and whispered to the wind:

“Next time, I’ll come sooner.”

The third time you meet him again, it’s through blood and smoke.

You’re a nurse stationed at a temporary field hospital, the kind where floors are dirt and the walls are canvas. 

The kind where no one remembers names—just numbers and wounds and how long someone has left.

Reo Mikage is wheeled in unconscious.

He’s covered in grime, his uniform soaked with someone else’s blood. 

The tag pinned to his chest bears his surname, and something in your chest stirs. 

Mikage. 

You whisper it under your breath. It sounds... familiar. 

Like a place you once lived. A name you once spoke like a secret.

He doesn’t wake for three days.

You sit beside his cot every shift.

The other nurses tease you for it. 

They call him handsome, say you’ve got a crush. But it’s not that. Not really. 

It’s something heavier. Something in the curl of his fingers. The furrow in his brow. Like you already know the way he’ll look at you when he opens his eyes.

And then he does.

And you do.

He blinks once. Twice. Focuses on your face.

He says your name. Not the one on your uniform. The one no one here calls you. The one you’ve only ever heard in dreams.

He says it like he’s been looking for you in every burning city.

You drop the tray in your hands.

Reo isn’t like the other soldiers.

He’s quieter. Sharper. Always watching the sky like it’s trying to tell him something. 

He tells you, once, after his fever breaks, that he didn’t want to fight. That his father made him.

He tells you, “War makes men into monsters. I’m just trying not to lose myself.”

You tend to his wounds in silence. And when you can’t take the silence anymore, you read to him. You braid the fringe of your apron. 

He watches you like you’re the last beautiful thing left in the world.

You start to write letters.

Not to send. Just to keep. 

Letters about the dream you had last night—about fire and water and lace. 

About names that don’t make sense. 

About waking up and looking at him like you’d done it a hundred times before.

He writes too. He tucks them under his pillow.

One night, you trade letters without reading them.

You hold onto his like a prayer.

The bombing starts in the middle of winter.

You’re stationed at a different camp by then. A converted boarding school turned hospital. 

You spend your days wrapping wounds and your nights writing to him by candlelight. 

You’re engaged now. 

It’s not official—there’s no ring, no announcement—but the way he said “Marry me when this ends” felt more real than anything your father’s ever given you.

He signs every letter:

I will find you, in every life.

But then—radio silence.

Weeks pass.

Then months.

The air raids begin again.

You think maybe he’s dead.

You press your fingers to your stomach one morning and whisper, that you’ll be okay. He’d want you to be okay.

The night it happens, you can feel it.

A cold sweat. A ringing in your ears. The candle goes out with no warning.

You step outside into the snow. The first star has just appeared.

You want to send him one last letter.

But you never get to write it.

The bomb hits the edge of the hospital.

The world turns white.

Reo finds the ruins three days later.

He shouldn’t even be there. He’s already on his way back to the front. But something pulls him off the train. Something he can’t name.

He digs through the wreckage until his knuckles bleed.

He finds your locket in the ashes.

And a letter—his, unopened.

Your name written in the corner.

The paper is stained and singed, but his words are still there.

I remember you now. From every life before.

This time, I swear, I won’t lose you.

But he did.

Again.

He keeps the locket around his neck until the war ends.

He never takes it off.

Not even when they offer him medals, promotions, his father’s business back home.

He turns it all down.

He buys a farm on the outskirts of town. Quiet. Away from the noise.

Sometimes the villagers say they hear him talking to the wind.

Sometimes he walks to the river and stands there until morning.

When asked why he never married, he says:

“I already had her. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But I’m still waiting for the time I get to keep her.”

You and Reo Mikage grew up next door.

Same gated community, same prep school, same security guards posted outside the wrought iron fences. 

You were the daughter of luxury hotel owners. He, the heir to Mikage Corporation. 

You were born in cashmere blankets. Raised on promises you never asked for.

Everyone said you'd end up together.

They said it at galas, while sipping imported champagne. 

They said it like a joke at school when he shared his umbrella with you in the rain. 

And when you turned sixteen and collapsed in your own hallway, too weak to stand, they still said it.

But softer.

“Poor thing,” they whispered. “She probably won’t live long. At least she has him.”

You hated those words.

Because they made you feel like your love for Reo was a consolation prize.

But Reo never looked at you like that.

Never once.

You were seventeen when he kissed you for the first time.

Ten hospitalizations in one year.

Tubes in your arms. Doctors poking and prodding.

He still kissed you like you were summer.

Not sick. Not fragile. Just you.

You were nineteen when he married you.

The media lost its mind.

Mikage Reo Marries Mystery Girl at 19!

Golden Boy Tied Down So Soon?

Is Love Worth This Much Risk?

Every interview asked the same question.

“Why so young?”

And Reo would just smile, golden and warm, eyes quiet, and say:

“When you know, you know.”

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was: your lungs were giving out.

Your immune system couldn’t keep up.

And some days, you couldn’t even walk down the stairs.

The truth was: Reo had one chance to be yours in every way.

And he took it. No hesitation.

He plays with a pro team now.

Top-tier team. International attention. Commercials.

And every time he scores, he kisses his ring finger and looks to the sky.

You’re never in the stands.

You always ask.

“Can I come tonight? I’ll wear a mask, I won’t touch anyone, I promise.”

But he won’t let you.

You’re too delicate. Too precious.

“Please,” you said once, half-laughing, half-crying. “I just want to see you out there. Just once.”

He shook his head, jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to carry the weight of losing you in the middle of a game.”

You promised him then. 

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The night you don’t wake up, he had a game in another city.

A late one. Sold out.

Reporters screamed questions at him about his strategy, his youth, his marriage.

He gave a polite smile. Always poised.

He scored twice.

But didn’t celebrate.

He got home close to midnight.

The house was quiet. Dark. 

No light spilling from the bedroom door like usual. 

No movie humming in the background. 

No warm blanket lump with your eyes peeking out when he walked in.

“Baby?” he called, loosening his tie.

No answer.

He walked into the room. You were curled up in bed like always. Still wearing that oversized hoodie he bought you last winter. One arm draped over the pillow.

He exhaled a soft laugh. “Did you really fall asleep without texting me?”

He walked closer. Leaned down.

Touched your cheek.

You were cold.

Colder than you’d ever been.

Not just chilled. Empty.

“No, no,” he murmured. “Hey. Baby. Wake up.”

You didn’t move.

He shook you lightly. “C’mon, don’t do this. I’m home now.”

Silence.

He collapsed beside you, hands cupping your face.

“Hey,” his voice cracked. “Open your eyes. You said—you said you’d wait for me.”

But you couldn’t.

You kept your promise the best you could.

They say Reo didn’t speak for days.

Didn’t cry in public. Didn’t cancel a single match.

But on the field, he stopped smiling.

He scored goals like a machine. Cold. Calculated.

And every time, he still kissed his ring finger.

But he never looked up anymore.

He kept everything the same in your shared house.

Your side of the bed still untouched.

Your last note—"Come home safe. I love you."—framed by the door.

Sometimes, he talks to the photo of you by the window.

Not like someone grieving.

But like someone waiting.

He dreams of you often now.

And sometimes, when he wakes, breathless and aching, he whispers,

“Please. Just one more life. Let it be the one we finish.”

Because in every life, Reo Mikage finds you.

And in every life, you leave him far too early.

so this is actually the first fic i've written where I'VE cried :)

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

✦ tags ✦ @irethepotato ✦ @kiyy0mei ✦ @x3nafix ✦ @sugacor3 ✦ @ohagiyoo ✦ @nevvynevnev ✦ @virgothesimp ✦ @werfiedeii ✦ @chiieni ✦ @syleepy ✦ @academiq ✦ @peachysaki116 ✦ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✦ @anqelkoz ✦ @silverwings920 ✦ @nishinoyaismycutie ✦ @sunathetuna ✦ @alexiaray ✦ @megumismyhusband ✦ @yutamy1beloved ✦ @luvlynabi ✦ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[williamafton2030]

Mimic 2's entire story makes me want to cry a million times 💔😔😭

He was only created to imitate David, imposing this on him from the start. Unlike his "self" in the books, he never lived with David but imitates him because that's how Edwin wants him to be.

Then one day, while he's being what M1 and Edwin have forced him to be, Edwin arrives and destroys him. He destroys him for literally doing what he had ordered Mimic 2 to do. I can't even imagine how confused and terrified Mimic 2 must have been at that moment, but I'm sure he would look just like you drew him.

Mimic 2 is destroyed, and when he wakes up from the tremendous beating Edwin gave him, he stops imitating only David and starts imitating other people too because ends up being born of emotions. The problem is that Mimic 2 ends up being born from from a very negative emotion: anger and rage, and now it's completely aggressive and lethal… 💔😔

However, he's not bad, but Edwin once again conditioned him to be what he is now. This time, he's not forced to be someone he's not, but it's his fault that he's so aggressive. 💔😔

Mimic 2 also wants to be his own person, not an imposed one. That's why he rips off the metal box from his chest that has the Data Diver connector and also why he takes the Data Diver from Arnold.

He wants to be his own person, but unfortunately, he's filled with anger and rage because of Edwin… 💔😔

Also, it seems that he somehow also retains some memories of Mimic 1 (not the memories of what Mimic 1 is as Mimic Fiona, of what this program lived while it was in the "Mimic" endo, that is, before being in that big machine that looks like the MXES one in Ruin). I suppose it's because Mimic 1 and Mimic 2 shared the same world, and the memories may have been left behind. Even so, this doesn't make them the same at all, as they're very different from each other, but they share some memories.

Anyway, after reflecting on all of this, I'd like to tell you that the drawing is really good ❤️😊

I could really feel the fear Mimic 2 is feeling at that moment. Especially the way he shrinks and grabs the curtain… 💔😔

It breaks my heart to see him like that, really 💔😔

I wish I could get inside and help him, but unfortunately, it's impossible.

I just hope Mimic 2 can have a happy ending in the end 🙏

Because if he dies, I'm going to cry for three months straight 😭

I'm sorry M2, I lost my temper!

[mrs-hatake]

 JJK Men and Their Toxic Traits

Pairing: Toji x F!Reader, Gojo x F!Reader, Nanami x F!Reader, Geto x F!Reader & Yuuta x F!Reader. ⟡ Genre:  love bombing, obsession, silent treatment as punishment, possessiveness, mentions of drug and alcohol addiction, self harm, suicide attempt, self loathing, stalking and younger man x older woman ⟡ Word Count: 2527 ⟡ O.D.P (Original Date of Publication): December 22nd, 2024

A/N: idk what to tell you besties. i did have fun writing nanami’s tho, and i think sukuna’s the most accurate lol tell me what y'all think :D

Toji

I Indifference

after dating Toji for years, putting up with his recklessness during his assassination assignments, watching him bleed on the bathroom floor while shiu poorly stitches him up, having to move apartments every few months because someone with a grudge or an enemy hunts him down. 

dealing with all of that crap, you’ve exploded once you’ve reached your boiling point.

as much as you love toji with all of your heart, as much as you want him to see the beauty of the world and feel alive again, you simply cannot stand by while the man you love kills himself.

that’s why you gave him an ultimatum; change careers and he fixes his life  or you walk out.

you’ve known from the start that toji’s a stubborn mule but you didn’t think that he’d choose his job over you. 

though heartbroken at first, you eventually end up packing your things. maybe now that things have gotten serious and toji sees you slowly removing pieces of yourself from his life, it’d serve as a wake up call.

toji doesn’t even bat an eye.

he’s lounging on the couch, mindlessly watching a baseball match from the television set he’d stolen from his family.

even when you block his view— hands on your hips and all —he just scoots aside and continues watching.

“you knew what you were getting yourself into from the start.” comes toji’s monotone voice after your yelling, “i’ve warned you and you accepted who i am.”

silence fills the room.

you stare at him, hoping that once toji sees the heartbreak, rage, frustration and that little bit of moisture glistening your pretty eyes, he’d see the error of his ways.

but no such thing happens.

instead, toji continues to sit on the couch with his mesmerizing forest green eyes, the very ones that made you fall in love with him, are glued to the screen.

when you march to your bedroom to drag out your luggage, toji doesn’t even offer a goodbye. he doesn’t even watch you leave. toji doesn’t bother to chase after you when you’re halfway down the stairs.

Satoru

II Love Bombing and Obsession

having been born as the blessed one, nothing really impresses gojo satoru. 

he has mountains of money in his bank account, a stream of endless good luck and women kissing the ground he walks on. with a snap of his fingers, he can have whatever he desires at the palm of his hand.

yet, once you reject him, something inside satoru snaps. no one, no one has ever rejected gojo satoru. it’s always the opposite. 

when you reject him for the fourth time in less than a week, satoru draws up a plan that will surely win you over.

it starts off small. he sends breathtaking bouquets of flowers to your work place with cute little notes praising your beauty. whenever he sees exquisite jewelry, he’s sending them to your house, asking you to wear them. when he’s feeling very d̶e̶s̶p̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶  determined, satoru will wire you almost 8 million yen. satoru is then showing up to your work place with the excuse of wanting to take you out for lunch. embarrassed by the glances not so subtly thrown your way and the loud whispers haunting your ears, you agree.

and, honestly, satoru isn’t that bad. he’s got that boyish charm to him, he can be pretty funny and he’s intelligent. maybe you were too harsh with him…is what you initially thought until satoru’s true colors started to show.

he will call you throughout the day asking you what you’re wearing, what you’re eating, what will you eat, who are you with, who were you with, who did you talk to, who are you talking to, who will you talk to and you get the idea.

satoru goes as far as installing tracking devices in your car, cameras in your home and at work just to stay updated. he even threatened your male co-workers, relatives and friends from talking to you as he strongly and firmly believes that he’s the only male you need.

gojo satoru is like a disease you can’t escape.

Kento III Silent Treatment

nanami kento’s biggest hatred in life—aside from the corporate tyranny—is adults who are quite immature.

and you know this.

but sometimes your emotions get the best of you.

like the other night, you had a pretty nasty fight with kento. you had accused him of flirting with another woman at the end of the year party the company kento is working at had hosted. when kento defended himself and explained that the woman was all over him, you yelled that he did nothing to get her to back off.

it was a heated argument which consisted of you yelling your head off and kento constantly defending himself.   

“i’ve had enough of this.” kento mutters as he snatches his pillow and blanket from your bed to go sleep on the couch in the living room. 

come the next morning, you realized your mistake. you barely slept a wink the night before, tossing and turning at your immaturity. guilt lodging itself deep into your soul as you accused kento of infidelity when that man is crazy over you. he works a job he hates just so he can provide for you and for your future family.

with a clearer head, you send him a text.

wanna grab lunch after work?

my treat 🥰  

hopefully, the warm and cozy ambiance of your favorite restaurant will remind you of just how loyal kento is, which will then allow you to apologize and trust him even more.

you go about your day; showering, eating breakfast, cleaning the penthouse. all the while glancing at your phone. you’ve worried your lips so much that they’re bruised and cut, metallic flavor dancing on your tongue.

when kento doesn’t return home, you call him about twenty times, only for them to go straight to voicemail.

kento only returns at around nine in the evening. he doesn’t greet you, doesn’t even glance at you. it’s like you’re a ghost. 

you convince yourself that kento is still angry and probably needs some time to cool off but when this behavior continues for almost two weeks, you’re at your wit’s end.

“baby,” you stand in your walk-in closet, reeking of desperation, as kento is busy tying his tie for an important ceremony at his company later that evening, “talk to me.” you plea but he’s silent as the dead.

tears blur your vision as kento continues to ignore you while adding the finishing touches.

“please.” you stand in front of the mirror, obstructing the view of his reflection. “don’t ignore me, kento. please. i was wrong. i shouldn’t have accused you and i shouldn’t have doubted your love for me. i let my insecurities get the better of me. i’m so sorry.”

for the first time in weeks, kento looks at you. actually, looks.

his hands tightly grip your waist and lift you off the ground to place you away from the mirror.

dejected by his rejection, tears are crashing down your cheeks like an angry waterfall. 

you try to sand in front of the mirror but kento stops you. just as it feels like the last piece of your heart is about to shrivel up and die, kento leans in and kisses your cheek.

you’re so surprised by the gesture, you don’t notice kento leaving.

it’s only when you hear your phone buzzing on the nightstand that you’re brought to your senses.

i’ll be home late. don’t wait up.

tonight is the first night you’ve had a well rested sleep since your fight.

Suguru

IV  Self Sabotage

the road to recovery is a long and arduous one. but geto suguru is proud of his accomplishments. the challenges he had faced were insanely difficult but meeting you has made things much easier. 

it has taken a while but, eventually, suguru doesn’t feel his fingers twitching for his next fix. he no longer drinks himself to sleep to silence chaotic thoughts. suguru also managed to throw out all of his razors, his arms and inner thighs haven’t been marred in quite some time. 

yet all of suguru’s hard work goes to waste when the two of you had your first major fight. it was cruel. it broke both of your hearts. it forced you to leave suguru’s apartment for a few days to calm down. had you known that your fight, that you leaving suguru, would come with major consequences, you wouldn’t have left. 

you receive the call at around three in the morning. suguru’s in the emergency room after a drug overdose and slitting both his wrists. you’re in no condition to drive as you can’t stop crying, wailing your lover’s name, so your best friend had to drive you to the hospital. 

the doctors inform you that suguru’s chances are slim and you believe their words because you’ve never seen suguru so pale. even when you've first met him, he wasn’t as ashy. his face wasn’t sunk in like it is now.

it’s your fault!

you broke him! 

you ruined him! 

you killed him!

you don’t deserve him!

you don’t deserve anyone!

menacing thoughts abuse you throughout the early morning. by the time the sun comes out and the nurses stop by suguru’s room to check up on him, you’re dead on your seat. 

thankfully, you’ve been rescued from your torturous thoughts by none other than suguru. he stares at you with a haunted expression. his tongue darts out to moisten his chapped lips.

“y/n,” he croaks your name and you hurry to silence him, lest he irritates his throat any further. but one glance from suguru has you sitting back down, “i’m so sorry.”

suguru’s voice is so low that you have to lean in to hear him.

“please don’t leave me. i can’t live without you.”

a sickening wave of terror welling up from your belly at each word suguru uttered. how could i have been so stupid? why did i fight suguru when i know just how sensitive he is!

shame washes over your like tidal waves.

“i’m sorry, baby.” you whisper as reach for suguru’s hand. you place a gentle kiss on the gauze wrapped around his injured wrist. “it’s all my fault. i won’t do it again.”

you search suguru’s amethyst eyes for forgiveness.

“promise?” suguru asks, sounding so scared.

“i promise.”

Yuuta

V Stalking

dating yuuta is like dating an overgrown puppy. 

he’s so loyal to you that one might actually call it blind devotion. yuuta will jump through burning hopes to please and satisfy you. in his eyes, you’re the most beautiful woman blessed on earth.

dating yuuta can be exhausting as well. since he’s five years younger than you, he’s quite energetic. which is exactly what you’ve been searching for after being married to your lazy husband who barely lifts a finger to scratch his ass.

and it was fun at first but now you’re exhausted to the bone and can barely keep up. that’s why you decide that it’s time to hit the gym. you need to build up your stamina if you want to keep up with your good little boy. 

“good luck with gym today!” yuuta is standing at the apartment genkan to send you off. the tail only you can see is wagging in excitement, ready to hear a compliment for doing a good job packing your gym bag.

“thank you, my little puppy.” yuuta beams at the baby voice you use and is as light as a feather when you peck his lips not twice but four times.

“be a good little boy while mommy’s gone.” yuuta fervently nodding his head sends you into a fit of giggles at just how adorable he is. 

yuuta waits about ten minutes before he’s sprinting into your bedroom to quickly change his clothes, yanks the apartment door open where he takes the stairs by twos and hops on his bicycle, cycling as fast as his legs can allow him. 

he’s stopping right across the street from your gym just as you drive into the basement parking lot. state of the art binoculars at the ready, yuuta enters the abandoned building next to your gym and makes his way to the rooftop.

yuuta isn’t stalking you. really, he isn’t. he just…follows you around to make sure nothing happens to you. 

it’s just like he did before he started dating you. yuuta would follow you around town, patiently waiting for him to plant himself in your world like a may flower. he knows all of your favorite places; restaurants, cafes, stores, etc. yuuta knows where you like to go when you want to be alone and he even knows where your parents live despite the fact you’ve been dating for only two months and you have yet to bring up your parents. 

Yuuta’s grip tightens on the binoculars. he despises the fact that there are male instructors at your gym. he has to watch from the side as your male teacher comes closer and corrects your posture. yuuta’s eyes zero in to make sure that the instructor’s touches don’t linger. 

after about an hour, yuuta receives a text that you’re going to grab coffee with the girls from your pilates class, girls yuuta has pulled up all and any information on them to ensure they aren’t harmful, that they won’t corrupt you.

okay mommy ♥️

yuuta will a good boy and wait for you 😇

yuuta’s on his bicycle, subtly following your car to your favorite cafe by the riverside. 

[howitcouldgoes]

TADC EP 5 SPOIELRS AGAIN!!!!!

Now that I’m rewatching the episode I’d like to put in my two cents on the mannequin theory.

I’ll be straight up about it: I think it’s Kaufmo.

OR more minorly I think someone whose partially in the game- someone who hasn’t been registered by the system yet observing those who have

Like someone who is able to exit the Circus/is able to take off the headset, observing the people trapped inside trying to study them or figure out how to save them.

But mostly I think it’s Kaufmo.

Unless you look at gooseworx’s tumblr page where they will occasionally reveal old members of the circus like Queenie and Ribbit And that one time Queenie was mentioned not by name specifically- but indirectly mentioned Point is, only Kaufmo is mentioned by name, by physical image, and we get a briefing on his personality as well. Kaufmo who set up the whole find the exit of the show, as well as how a crazy goes insane here and how it’s probably the closest thing to death there is.

Of course, we never see Kaufmo other than a portrait or drawings before he abstracts - so what if that’s him? What if Kaufmo found a way out of the cellar with the others and it just kind of reset him?

Either way, I have a feeling since Ep 6 is also a Ragatha and Jax centric episode - episode 7 is either going to be about this mysterious character OR it's going to be abt Kaufmo.

And while I'm on the subject of theories -

I briefly mentioned how everyone got to be in the circus in my last post but I want to reiterate my number one theory abt Jax and that is - (no longer that he is a NPC but) that Jax in real life is ill.

Let me elaborate: I have a running gag with some friends Jax's yellow eyes and teeth are a jaundice thing - but now that I'm really thinking about it - a bunny character?

Jax has already mentioned his love that of his avatar, he likes his ears and is genuinely upset to find that he lost his tail in one of the past adventures(I think he lost it when his friend Ribbit abstracted) but there's something else.

Bunny characters always have buck teeth - and yet Jax doesn't.

Now of course, I think he looks waaaay better without that usual rabbit teeth and love his expressions more than any other character - he is the most expressive and the most amusing -

But WHY yellow teeth?

Am I reading too much into this? Absolutely,

But anyhow my solid theory is primarily based off Jax's yellow facial features AND the backstory he choses to lie about. I know he's referencing a show(I think its breaking bad if memory serves) when he mentions having lung cancer - but why that show specifically? Because it's dark, violent, and its a meme now?

It's such a weird opening for Jax to start with him being sick - having lung cancer.

Of course I don't think he has lung cancer - but my theory essentially is: Jax willingly put on the headset to escape into this circus BECAUSE he has a life threatening illness of some kind. Jax knew he was dying, wasn't happy that maybe his illness prevented him from doing physical activities with his friends and when he heard of a world where he can't die or get injured - he was all for it.

Because so far? Jax seems to be the only character who doesn't care that he's trapped in here. Everyone has expressed some distaste for it, Ragatha missing her horses, Pomni and Zooble missing their old bodies and/or lives, Gangle upset she couldn't follow her art dreams(? AGAIN IDK WHY GANGLE IS HERE SHES THE ONLY OUTLIER), Kinger missing his wife but hes too far gone to remember any of the good bits but i defo dont think hes happy to be here- esp considering his wife is dead.

to sum it up:

The mannequin is Kaufmo

and Jax has a life threatening illness outside of the circus - which could also explain why Ragatha's sweet "you can do it! its all gonna be okay!" attitude bothers him so much because he remembers being told that so many times in the hospital

But thats just a theory, a

FOLLOW UP EDIT/THEORY:

DONT FORGET- theres also the "worst thing Jax has ever done" that we will "see with our very eyes"

I used to think it was Jax causing one of the main cast to abstract

but what if it's not

What if it was something Jax doesn't do - but something he did

I think Jax caused his only friend(Ribbit) to abstract. And we'll be seeing a flashback of that.

[kuumara]

(this post is abt byler! EVERYTHING IS INTENTIONAL EVEN THE SMALLEST STUFF)

This year ive been directing a school movie and let me tell u, we spent 6 or 7 months just figuring out EVERY detail, in script and camera work and then composition so EVERYTHING IN A SHOW/MOVIE IS INTENTIONAL!!!

Like there cant be ANY unnecesaary lines or shots or scenes that dont end up being useful to the story and our mentor (a producer) was very insistent on that

Then when we started filming the shots had to be perfect, like we spent at least 30mins to set up the lightz

And then more time constantly redoing shots making sure the actors do the EXPRESSIONS right and the tone of the lines and allat SO..

No, finn wolfhard doesnt just have some crazy crush on noah and he didnt speak in that tone just cause

No, their nice romantic lights didnt just die here and they had to use the ugliest ones imaginable (also noah couldve simply WENT ON BREAK while they were filming this if they didnt want him in THE love confession of THE couple)

No, they didnt make finn CRUMPLE UP BOTH OF EL'S LETTER TO MIKE because they wanted to go on lunch break already and didnt care (+ literally showing a shot of mike throwing the second letter in the TRASH. Like, a shot only for that. Even such a simple shot would require multiple takes.)

No, they didnt unknowingly do an interruption trope MANY TIMES with mike and will... And yes, they do know that trope is used for romance scenes if they dont live under a rock... (Cant put more examples because image limit but ykwim)

Oh my god this scene... Why would they let finn to do all these flirty faces if it wasnt something deeper (they made noah do all that for a reason as is confirmed - but FINN WAS DOING BASICALLY THE SAME THING). He NEVER does this even with el, let alone check her out. Also why would there be such an emphasis on "friends... best friends🥹🥹🥹" if they were actually friends - we KNOW they're friends - unless theyre not just friends 😮😮 thats not something you do if you've done 3 seasons of such a popular well-regarded show with good writing

And then this - if you go outside regularly you know natural light dont look like that, esp not for the whole time of filming a long scene like this. So, why would they put so much effort into another heart to heart with mike and will, but completely give up on THE LITERAL LOVE CONFESSION OF THE LITERAL MAIN COUPLE. Just looking at this scene you can see it's warm, inviting, even if what they're talking about here isnt that at all. So what do u feel when u look at the mileven love confession? Exactly bruh it's the complete opposite

And last but not least, the final scene - what we are MEANT TO BE LEFT WITH and probably the most important, in the school movie we were discussing and directing the end scene with most care

So, obviously mike and will's breath is synced which CANT BE A COINCIDENCE only because if you want breathing to be seen on camera u have to breathe pretty deeply but the characters are supposed to be scared so thats obvious, but they also chose to make them breathe in sync... If they didnt want people to read into it they WOULD RE SHOOT IT bc personally it was very visible when i first saw the scene and i was like hmm🤔

So just this 3second clip was very planned out and if that dont convince you everything is planned idk what will. Oh also the very obvious blocking of all the couples at the very end AND MIKE AND WILL IN THE MIDDLE - MEANT to draw your attention to them, along with el standing alone, again in the middle