#i'm getting ghosted by a fictional character

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ EVAN BUCKLEY & EDDIE DIAZ ⁾⁾ LIVE WHILE YOU’RE YOUNG!

OVER THE INTERCOM ⠆this is soooo self indulgent... also putting off watching the rest of season 8 because i know it'll break me aka me reading one frat-boy!au of buck and being obsessed ever since also i love these two men so much i had to make a whole mood board! (also if you have any requests about these two men pls flood my inbox <3)

WORD COUNT ⠆5.5K (5,582) not super satisfied with how this came out but love it nonetheless

PAIRING ⠆evan 'buck' buckley x fem!reader x eddie diaz.

CATEGORIES ⠆afab!reader, frat-party, college!au, ravi as a pledge, suggestive, descriptions of alcohol, drugs, sloppy kissing?, buck and eddie being the double trouble that they are, reader is a bit shy :p, mentions of a revealing outfit (a basic one at that, average party girl fit so fell free to imagine it any way you want!), may is her college bestie, not 9-1-1 canon in the slightest, all characters are used in complete fiction!

here’s a playlist to give a listen, a vibe enhancer perhaps ;)

﹡some dialogue is italicized, just thought it flowed better over text!

with college life comes traditions.

with your friend group every frat party, you pick two pieces of paper from a hat and those are your dares for the night, also called frat-cap roulette. the only rules being: no back outs! and you must tell your experience the day after. partying isn't just about the free booze and oogling at hot eye candy all night, its also about having fun and living your life! to live a little and do things you've never done before.

the dares you pulled out for the night are definitely things you've never done before.

1) do a keg stand! even if you dont like the taste of beer! think of it of impressing the hot guy holding up your legs. 2) a menage a trois! more simply three way kiss, what's better than not only kissing two guys but at the same time! go get em tiger!

you think you might faint, you didn't go to frat parties much didn't even know which houses threw the best ones but everytime you did, the girls insisted you pick from the hat. ones you've gotten in the past were more manageable like having someone ghost smoke into your mouth or getting a shoulder ride from a pledge, those are what you'd consider more tame but these? you might have to skip out on this one and any ones in the future, you almost shiver knowing if the ones you had were bad, there had to be worse in that hat.

"oh come on y/n" may whines flopping onto your bed. after getting your dares for the night you were terrified! so what if everyone was drunk and high out of their minds to even care, it would still be weighing on your conscious, way too much for your liking. you thought, initially you were just trying to psych yourself out so you busied yourself with getting ready, your hair and makeup. by the time you finished it started feeling real, very real, too real that you stopped not even bothering to change and reluctantly told may you didn't want to go any more.

"no! i can't, i don’t care if i break the rules.” you practically cry out “these dares are like crazy i'm gonna make a fool out of myself." plopping down on your vanity chair with a huff, no way you were gonna embarrass your way out to transfer out.

"babe, thats the point! no ones gonna remember it the next day and who even gives a fuck if they do?” may attested, getting off your bed to stand in front of you, hands on her hips like a lecturing mother. “this is like a once in a life time experience, we're living our lives remember?" her eyes soften to look at you, head tilting. then insisting if you weren’t going she wasn’t either and may was never one to miss a party.

you caved.

only bribed by may who swore she’d do your laundry and give you a few of her meal swipes if you went. she of course, as well picked your outfit. a black mini skort, thank god for the safety shorts– the fabric over left little to the imagination and a deep red lace halter that dipped low into your cleavage. the girls are out to show tonight! may whistles, proud of her work you’re gonna have no problem getting those dares done, now let’s take pics! you barely get your shoes on before she drags you out to the common room for pregame and pictures. feeling yourself and buzzed, your worrying thoughts slipping from you, this was already going better than you thought.

the alcohol is doing little to keep you warm as you walk to the frat house. hands linked with may as she practically skips towards the party, your friends behind you blistering about their dares and latest flings. you chose to keep yours to yourself, thinking if you shared them it'd create more pressure for you.

tonight’s house of choice psi sigma tau a house full of hotties may tells you, going on to say the last party they had they were all dressed as firefighters. shame you missed that one. you weren't super farmilar with greek life and who was apart of it but you know, your biochem lab partner, ravi was currently a pledge for this very frat. once coming in insanely hung over with streaks of paint on his face- telling you all about it, forgetting your assignment, focusing instead on retelling every moment of his previous night. you were in for a treat. it makes your nerves spike. you practically felt thumping bass of the music before you even reached the house. the house stood at the end of the street, porch light flickering and door wide open, an invitation to all. as you approach the stairs off the lawn, there’s people spread sporadically across the grass, red solo cups in hand, laughter and shouts spilling into the street like a wave ready to crash.

you took a deep breath, the bass shaking in your chest matching the rhythm of your beating chest. just one night, you told yourself. following behind may. at the door a chest full of shooters, a whole variety of them. with a sign, scribbled messily with uneven letters: entry fee, down a shooter! mama aint raise no bitch!

'wow they really pull all the stops' you murmur, picking up a pink whitney shooter from the ice, cool against your warm fingers. 'yep, thats why we like coming here, most parties dont have a guest list' your roommate, addison tells you downing her shooter in one go, you wince, cracking yours open and doing the same. the alcohol burning your throat, the pink lemonade aftertaste lingering in your mouth making you smack your lips in distain.

your group stands by in the doorway, at the base of the stairs. sage—your proclaimed mom friend of the group and creator of frat-cap roulette, gathers your group of six to set down some ground rules. 'okay ladies! remember have the time of your lives, dont throw up unless it's in the toilet, be safe and live your fucking best lives and do your dares!' she yells over the music, your friends shouting in agreement, hooting and yelling, eager to have fun before all splitting off. you and may are left, encouraging smiles and compliments bouncing off the two of you. she tells you to be safe and you mirror her words, shouting 'i love yous' before she disappears into the crowd to god knows where.

now that leaves you alone, the air was thick—sweat, cologne, alcohol, and the faint trace of weed clung to every surface. a haze of smoke floated through the house. the kitchen flooded with people people taking turns at beer pong or slapping hands in loud celebration, the living room turned into a dance floor, with a makeshift DJ booth at the wall, blasting whatever 2000s club playlist they could find. the house is dark but illuminated by strobing lights of blues, greens and reds. bodies pressed together, swaying and grinding on the nearest body they can find, the party is at it's peak.

come y/n fucking live for once! you got this. your inner conscious yelling at you, your hands are already clamming and feeling little sweaty from the heat radiating off everyone, you take a deep breath, straightening yourself before diving into the crowd, moving through until you get to the kitchen, for a drink. through the crowd you see ravi, wearing a stupidly tight crop top that says 'tomorrow isn't promised, we need to fuck now' in big capitalized red words, not ignoring the imprint of his abs to the exposing ones down his stomach. you laugh as you pass, ravi catching you and insisting you shotgun a white claw together. he drags you to the kitchen, loud and full of people playing beer pong.

"nice shirt!" you laugh, watching as he hands you a white claw from one of the coolers, he sways a little, steadying himself with a hand on your shoulder. "hazing, they picked out the shirts and we wear." yelling into your ear, pointing over your shoulder to another pledge wearing a shirt that said 'i wish i had serotonin instead of a huge cock' these hazing activities seemed so wholesome, brotherhood seems good here. ravi drukenly hypes you up as you puncture a hole into the base of the can, he hands his phone, recording, to a frat brother before cheer-sing you. here goes nothing, putting your lips to the puncture and fingers at the pull tab, you crack it open, tilting your head back as you chug it, the cool carbonated seltzer burning your throat as you drink, breathing through your nose whilst the burn down your throat made had your struggling. ravi finishes before you, chugging it in 2 big gulps, it takes you four– usually you never finish it or end up spitting it out so this was a win for you. you hear cheering an whooping as you finish up, as you set the can down you see two men who have joined behind ravi.

‘well look who have here,’ a man with devestating blue eyes pairing well with the pink birthmark above his his eye, tall and broad, standing before you, next to him a man with tan skin, brown eyes that felt like warm honey, and a dimple that betrayed his calm demeanor, backwards hat sporting his head, they’re insufferably attractive making your stomach twist with attraction, or maybe it was the alcohol. the dimpled man wordlessly points to your chest where a trail of the seltzer dripped in between your cleavage, cheeks flushed you clean yourself with a napkin on a nearby counter, he throws you a wink when you do so.

at the sound of the voice, ravi turns around and bursts with excitement, turning to the two men beaming smiles and crescent eyes as they talk. you see them pointing at you over ravi’s shoulder making you feel light headed and tingly, heart racing. ravi turns and grabs your arm pulling you into the conversation ‘this is eddie and buck, two peas in a pod’ he slurs, the two men shake their head at the title ‘they’re always together, like each others shadows it’s kinda freaky’ ravi mutters, really yelling– though it was only meant for you, everyone heard. '

‘so you’re friends with gunslinger here?' eddie pipes up, tipping his cup to you, honey brown eyes catching yours. you feel like a fish out of water, looking at him, the alcohol and nerves making it hard to even think of what to say.

‘this is y/n i have her in lab’ the pledge finishes for you, the two nod eyes focused on you- taking in your presence like they were trying to memorize your every feature, eyes not so subtly dragging up and down your figure, ravi is quick to pull away from the conversation as someone calls his name, something about body shots in the living room. leaving you to deal with two men that were way out of your league, or so you thought.

hm, new pretty face. would've remembered you if you were here last time buck grins, eyes smoldering.

his words make you scoff a laugh ‘use that line on all the girls?’ you may be drunk but you aren't stupid, your eyes challenging his.

‘only on the special ones’ he replies coolly, a stupid smirk on his face that makes you a little weak in the knees.

‘sorry, originality isn’t his specialty.’ eddie’s quick to retort his voice low but smooth, teasing just enough to make your spine tingle. he tips his head slightly, letting that lazy smile tug at the corner of his mouth. it’s the kind of smile that says he’s used to getting what he wants, but not in the way buck is. buck’s energy is all flash and flirt, while eddie is something else entirely—smooth and confident, the type of nonchalant where things come to him a little too easy.

you shoot him a look, biting back a smile, alcohol practically speaking for you. “good thing i like a little unoriginal charm,” you toss out, eyes flicking between the two of them.

buck’s brows raise, impressed. eddie chuckles softly, and god, the way it rumbles out of his chest should be illegal. “oh, shes trouble,” he murmurs to buck, not bothering to hide the way he’s still watching you. his gaze lingers on your lips a beat too long.

“what’re you drinking?” buck asks, leaning closer, close enough that you catch the scent of cologne and beer, something woodsy and warm clinging to him. you hold up your nearly empty white claw, shrugging

“basically air at this point,” you say, tipping the can upside down.

“tragic,” buck says with mock sincerity. “come on. we’re getting you a real drink.”

“define real,” you shoot back, but you follow anyway, trailing after the two of them as they lead you further into the house, deeper into the party.

they take you to a makeshift bar set up on a foldable table in the sun room, attached to the kitchen and just adjacent to the backyard. plastic bottles of questionable mixers, a few crushed limes, and one brave soul attempting to make jungle juice in a salad bowl.

“what’s your poison?” eddie asks, nudging your hip with his. it’s casual, but it leaves a spark where he touched you. his arm brushes yours as he reaches for a red cup.

“something that won’t kill me,” you answer, watching as he mixes you something, his hands moving with ease. meanwhile, buck grabs a bottle of tequila and dramatically pours three shots, heavy handed ones at that– almost filled to the top of the shot glasses “not what i meant,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“too late,” buck grins. “cheers, trouble.” the newfound nickname rolling off his tongue far to easily.

you hesitate for only a second before grabbing the cup and clinking it against theirs, chugging it down with a distain. immediately shoving a lime in your mouth to smooth the burning alcohol on your tongue. you feel their eyes lingering on you, like they’re awaiting your next move that hopefully involves them.

eddie’s the one who speaks first. “you’re not usually at these, are you?”

his voice is smooth, with a thread of curiosity running through it. he doesn’t sound like he’s judging, more like he’s trying to figure you out. there’s a quiet steadiness to him that contrasts buck’s energy, who’s already leaning against the counter beside you, eyes roaming with that familiar frat boy smirk.

you turn toward eddie, eyebrows raised slightly. “how can you tell?”

buck grins, answering for him. “easy. it feels like you're waiting for something to happen, like you're not the type to let loose like this” it didn't mean to come off rude or condescending but it was the truth, you always had your guard up, drinking was fun but you didn't let yourself indulge. he saw right through you.

you huff a small laugh, swirling the drink in your cup. “maybe i’m just good at blending in.”

“nah,” eddie says, eyes catching yours like they’ve hooked onto something. “you’re trying not to be noticed. not the same thing.”

he’s not wrong. you were trying to blend in. trying to distract yourself with drinks and familiar faces while pretending you weren’t running through worst-case scenarios in your head about the dares tucked tightly in your memory. just thinking about them made your stomach flutter—and not in the good way.

“well,” you reply, “i pulled the short straw tonight.”

“you got dared?” buck asks, lighting up with interest. “frat-cap roulette, right?”

"you know?" you were definitely thrown out for a loop now, you knew it wasn't exclusive to just your friend group but with how your friends spoke about it, it almost seemed like fight club.

"oh yeah," buck replies, going on to tell you how they've been roped into some. involving receiving a lap dance, getting flashed and eddie having to switch his entire outfit with a girl wearing a less than nothing dress, buck almost pulls how his phone to show you a picture but eddie is quick to stop him, giving him a look that makes his best friend stop in reluctant defeat. your entertainment is short lived when they ask about you, what your dares entailed for your night. you don’t answer right away. instead, you take a sip from the red solo cup of whatever eddie mixed up for you, eyes scanning the crowd behind them—anywhere but their faces. it’s not like you’re ashamed, but you are trying to hold onto whatever courage you have left. if you say it out loud, it makes it real. and you’re not sure you’re there yet.

buck catches on fast. “you’re dares must be good ones, lots of freaky shit in that hat.” you drink from cup eddie slides you, hiding your grimace, if only he knew.

“or a bad one,” eddie adds, voice lower, teasing. “you’re drinking like you’re preparing for battle.”

“what makes you think i’m not?” you mutter under your breath, offering a coy smile, regaining yourself quickly.

that earns a laugh from both of them. it’s warm, easy. and dangerously charming.

you should probably leave. find may. hide in the bathroom. but something keeps you planted, drawn in by the magnetic pull they both seem to exude without even trying.

you nod toward ravi, who’s just re-entered the kitchen from god knows where—his crop top now speckled with something neon green. “this place always like this?”

“basically,” eddie says, arms folded over his chest, biceps flexing under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“we host ragers, a perfect place to exercise your free will with no regrets,” buck adds with a wink.

“what does that even mean?” you tease, the edges of your nerves softening just slightly.

“it means if you’re about to do something crazy,” eddie leans in slightly, voice dropping, “you picked the right house.”

you raise an eyebrow, letting the pause stretch between you before replying. “we’ll see.”

“c’mon,” buck nudges your elbow. “just tell us what your dare is. we’ll help.”

you smirk into your drink, letting your voice drop just above a whisper. “where’s the fun in that?”

you watch their expressions shift—buck looking like he’s just been issued the most exciting challenge of his night, and eddie watching you with that same steady gaze, like he’s trying to memorize the way you carry your mystery.

“alright, then,” buck says, straightening. “we’re playing it your way. but if i catch you doing something ridiculous like… surfing down the stairs on a mattress again-”

“again?” you ask with a grin.

“long story. involved ravi, some random girl playing frat-cup roulette, lots of pillows and my football helmet.” listing it on like a bad memory, probably explaining the slight dent in the wall at the stairs.

“right, ill keep that in mind,” you laugh.

eddie takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching you. “you’re not just here to watch, though. that much is obvious.”

you shrug, letting the silence answer for you. you feel the alcohol buzzing through your veins, the heat of the party loosening your limbs. the music thumps harder now—bass vibrating through the kitchen floors.

“alright, mystery girl,” buck leans in just a bit closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “if you won’t tell us the dare, at least let us keep an eye out. make sure you don’t end up on the roof in a tutu or something.”

“tempting offer,” you say, glancing between them. “but i think i’ll take my chances.”

“oh, she’s definitely planning something,” buck mutters to eddie, who only laughs softly and nods.

you take one step back, flashing them both a smile. “i guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

and just like that, you disappear into the crowd—leaving them standing there, drinks in hand, the smell of tequila and possibility in the air.

buck whistles low, shaking his head. “so… are we following her?”

eddie finishes his drink in one sip, quickly replying “absolutely.”

you melt into the crowd, bodies pressed together, people whooping loud at a pair making out, drinks spilling from cups, and loud bass ringing in your ears. lights strobe over you in flashes; green, red, blue— hidden in anonymity under the dark room. you’re buzzed enough now that your confidence is catching up to your adrenaline. your drink is finished, long forgotten on some windowsill, and the room spins just the tiniest bit when you finally spot the keg.

it’s in the backyard. lit by a string of tangled fairy lights, surrounded by a small, rowdy crowd yelling encouragements at the poor guy currently upside down, foam and beer pouring everywhere. he slaps the keg, yelling who's your daddy from the top of their lungs, practically ripping their shirt in half as their friends cheer him on. how were you supposed to top that?

you were psyching yourself out again, swallowing your pride in an effort to let the alcohol take over and just do it. you can do this.

you have to do this, even if you didn’t want too. curse sage and her rules.

“need a lift, sweetheart?” you turn at the voice. it’s buck grinning, eyes full of mischief. eddie stands just behind him, adjusting his hat hiding his locks, that unreadable look on his face again like he’s still trying to solve the puzzle that is you.

your stomach twists, not unpleasantly. you cross your arms over your chest, lifting your chin. “what makes you think i’m gonna do it?”

“because you’ve been staring at that keg like it'll just magically give you what you need.” eddie says, stepping forward.

you huff a laugh, caught. “okay, maybe it’s one of the dares.”

buck whoops triumphantly, pointing at you. “i knew it.”

“not like i want to do it but you know… never hurt to try something once right?”

“never, it’ll make a good memory.” eddie replies, trying to lighten you mind, eyeing your tense shoulders.

“yeah if i don’t eat shit and die,” you say, raising your brows, “but i need some support.”

“what, to cheer you on?” buck asks.

“to hold my legs,” you reply, voice light but firm. and just like that, their smirks drop into something heavier.

eddie finishes his drink and sets the cup down. “we’re in.”

“obviously,” buck adds.

you pull your already short skirt down, hoping it wouldn't ride up. you’re tipsy, but determined, your whole body buzzing now—not just from the alcohol, but from the way they’re watching you. curious. amused. impressed. maybe even a little turned on.

buck crouches low, fingers flexing. “you sure?”

“no,” you admit with a breathless laugh. “but what the hell.”

they lift you with surprising ease—buck at your knees, legs over his shoulder. eddie crouched beside you holding your skirt with chivalrous grace, your skin practically burning at his fingering brushing your thighs as his other holds the keg nozzle. holding it to your mouth waiting for your okay, your arms practically feel like jelly as you hold on the rim. he looks at you softer now, no judgment if you suddenly back out but now theres a burning determination in your stomach when your eyes catch his. you take a deep breath, already bracing for the bitter cold beer. eddie nods in encouragement as buck whoops behind you, a crowd already forming. you nod and eddie presses on the side of the nozzle. you squeal when the cold beer hits your lips. the crowd around you cheers, counting loudly.

“one! two! three—!”

you barely make it to six before tapping out, coughing through the foam, the burn in your throat too much. they lower you gently to the ground, hands lingering a little longer than necessary as you regain your balance, eddie is quick to fix your appearance, flattening your hair and pushing some behind your ears that fell when you were upside down. his tenderness not going unnoticed by you and its incredibly attractive.

you wobble, giggling, wiping beer from your lips with the back of your hand.

“okay,” you say, breathless. “that went better than i thought.” buck and eddie giving you triumphant high-fives as their attentively at your side, bucks hand warm on your lower back.

"you killed it, done it better than either of us." eddie praises, he's just saying that but in reality its true. one party buck drunkenly convinced himself that he can do it on his own, practically doing a hand stand on the keg that almost landed him in the hospital.

buck leans in, smug. “so what's left not the table?” obviously trying to get you to spill your second dare.

you glance between them, still not giving in fully. “you’ll know when it happens.”

eddie raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “is that a threat or a promise?”

you don’t answer—just tilt your head, letting your eyes drag slowly from eddie to buck.

“depends on how tonight plays out.” you say easily, already making your way back into the house. beer still dripping from your top, heart racing. you don’t know how long you’ll last before the second dare gets you, but you know exactly who you want it to happen with.

the pair are already tailing behind you, "we'll be there when it happens." buck quips, fully enticed with what you may have up your sleeve. admittedly they've never had a girl capture their attention like you did. like their was a gravitational pull leading them to you and they weren't upset about it

“good,” you say, turning to head back inside, tossing a look over your shoulder. “you’ll need to be.”

you think you lose them when you somehow make your way into a bathroom, questionable stains on the sink and towels haphazardly throw everywhere. you groan and make quick work in cleaning yourself up. the easy part was over, the keg stand wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be, the beer still lingering in the back of your throat making you nearly gag if you thought about it for too long. desperately telling yourself you didn’t need to throw up when the toilet was looking at you way to enticingly. the hard part came next. a three way kiss, you didn’t think you’d get this far into the night and there was so way out of it. now entangled with eddie and buck, so invested with your dares– you think you could just sneak out and hopefully never see them again, just deluded to the memories of your night so far but something in you was tell you not to. this was the most play you’ve gotten so far in the semester and you wanted to kiss them and you know they did too, that’s what scared you– you weren’t as smooth or half as charming as they were, but all you knew is that you needed another drink before you can even think of attempting the second part.

after another shotgun with ravi with little to no convincing on either parts, you find yourself on the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room. the floor is pulsing like a heartbeat, bodies moving with the beat, lost in the throb of bass and smoke and strobe. you slip into it easily, your body already warmed from the keg stand and a new buzz from the shot gun, your skin still tingling from their hands.

you’ve lost yourself to the music, dancing with friends you know from previous lectures, even with ravi– twirling you into a dip, you were having fun, the dare slipping from you mind as you laugh and sway amidst the music.

you feel them before you see them. eddie’s presence behind you, broad and steady, and buck’s just off to your side, playful energy radiating like heat. you don’t look back.

you just sway your hips to the rhythm, letting yourself fall deeper into the music, letting the beat pull you under. arms up, eyes closed, the crowd pressing in—someone’s back hits your shoulder, someone else’s arm brushes yours, but then they’re there.

eddie’s hands settle lightly on your hips, grounding you. he doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush, he just follows your movement, letting his fingers flex against the bare skin beneath your top. buck’s closer now too, eyes trained on your mouth, lip caught between his teeth, now in front of you.

then, you open your eyes.

“ you gonna just stand there or are you gonna do something?you shout over the music, glancing between them with a teasing smile.

“thought you were the one with the dare,” eddie replies, voice low and right in your ear.

“and if i am?” you ask, tilting your chin toward buck.

his smirk deepens, a nonchalant shrug with his words “maybe we’re just waiting for you to pick who you want.”

you hum at that, heart pounding harder. the adrenaline and booze taking over your senses, in the heat of the moment, buck looking so attractive in front of you, his eyes roaming and lingering on your lips, you don’t miss a beat.

you look at buck through your lashes, prettily enough as you lean closer to him. just long enough for him to see it coming. then, you reach for him, sliding your hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in soft lips crashing into yours, a ghost of a smile against your lips. his hands falling to your waist pulling you close.

he gets rougher as you kiss, like he’s been waiting for this to happen, making the most out of it like you’re going to disappear into thin air. hot opened mouth kisses as his tongue brushing yours, teeth grazing yours, nibbling at your bottom lip as you tilt your head back to deepen the kiss. he groans softly into your mouth, his hands all over you, cupping your jaw before lacing his digits in your hair– tugging gently. pulling a soft whine from you. he leans into you as you pull away, a sound of dissatisfaction leaving him.

you break away just long enough to turn.

eddie’s closer now, his eyes dark and lust fueled as they lock onto yours. lifting his hand to brush your jaw, he’s eager but awaiting your permission before you lean in. the kiss is slower and deeper, lips warm and sure against yours.

he kisses like he means it, like he doesn’t care about the dare or the party or the people around you, just the feel of your lips on his. his lips mold against yours, soft and deep tasting the remnants of your strawberry flavored lip gloss, hands on your hips pulling you against him, long and fluid like he’s savoring it. he takes his time kissing you, you thread your fingers at his nape feeling as he gets rougher, tongue pushing past your lips, swirling around yours chasing for more.

your forehead pressed against his as you inevitably pull away. buck behind you, chest rising– incredibly turned on as you kiss his best friend. you feel lightheaded as you pull away, kissing both men you’ve been pinning over all night.

their eyes intense on you as your hands rest on both of their chests, your body wedged deliciously between them. they’re staring at you like you just flipped their world upside down.

lips swollen and eyes blown out, a bit breathless. you bite your bottom lip, eyes darting between them. “now, the dare.”

they don’t need more than that.

buck leans in first, eddie following like second nature, and then—your lips meet again, all three of you this time, tangled in a brief but electric collision. soft and wild and ridiculously hot, a mess of lips and breath, wandering hands and someone’s teeth catching on a lip and a muffled fuck as buck smiled against her mouth and eddie pressed a hand digging into your hip a little harder like he forgot to hold back. just long enough to taste each other, just long enough to make your knees weak.

when you finally pull back, all three of you are breathless. buck’s eyes are wide, his grin lopsided. eddie’s gaze lingers on your mouth like he’s already thinking about doing it again, rubbing soothing circles on your hip.

“so,” buck says, voice rougher now, “what else is in that hat?”

you laugh, dizzy and still reeling. “guess you’ll have to wait ‘til the next party.”

eddie’s hand slips around your waist, pulling his hat off and drops it onto your head, his free hand soothing his mess of hair as buck drapes an arm around your shoulders, throwing you a wink. the three of you moving together as the music swells around you.

the night you were waiting to be before dissipated into not wanting to leave, they made it into something worth while, something that felt like more than just those stupid dares. you could care less about how your friends are definitely going to drag this story out until graduation. you feel... good. lighter than you have in weeks. achieving more than what you could ask for tonight with two men by your side with no plans to leave.

you definitely are living your best life tonight and it definitely won't be your last.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[beanghostprincess]

What do you mean Fugo isn't coming back what do you mean he doesn't show up anymore FUGO PANNACOTTA FOR THE LOVE OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR GET ON THAT FUCKING BOAT RIGHT NOW OR I'LL SWEAR I'LL LOSE IT IF YOU DON'T SHOW UP IN THE NEXT EPISODE I WILL COMMIT A CRIME THAT WILL PUT ME IN JAIL PERMANENTLY SO I DON'T HAVE TO WATCH THIS SHOW WITHOUT YOU FUGO I SWEAR I FUCKING SWEAR FUGO WHEN I CATCH YOU WHEN I CATCH YOU FUGO-

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

mcdonald goodsir talking scene but its like an hour bc i just would like to see them talk more

[recurring-polynya]

*raises hand slowly* major fan, love your work! I actually only recently discovered your Bleach works in the last few years and I think I've reread all of them at least 3 times. But after reading your "The Greatest Family in Soul Society" series, I've been wanting to ask: How do you think they reacted/handled the aftermath of events in the Bleach Special One-Shot? Specifically Ichika, who possibly for the first time witnessed one of her parents in legitimate danger?

But anyway, CONGRATS ON 1 MIL!!! YOU DESERVE IT! :)

Thank you very much!! 💕

So for starters, if the Hell Arc every actually becomes a thing, I strongly suspect that this will be get addressed on-screen. Kubo clearly intended both Ichika and Kazui to have prominent (although probably not protagonist-level) roles. If this happens, Rukia and Renji will probably either handle this in some terrible way that causes Ichika to feel like she has to go against them and redeem herself or they'll get, like, trapped in Hell or something and she and Kazui will have to go rescue them. It is incredibly rare to see good relationships between parents and their children portrayed in fiction, and my expectations are on the floor for this one.

I talked to my husband about this for a long time this morning because I couldn't think of a single example of a good parent-child relationship in media where both characters have roughly equal narrative weight, and he couldn't either. Usually, the choices are a) parents dead or out of the picture, b) parents are awful and selfish and learn the error of their ways, or b2) generational trauma, which is the same, but parents bad behavior is excused because their parents did it to them. There is also c) stoic parent with lifelong duty raises stoic child to fulfill the same duty, which is the best of the lot, but it's still not great. It's also not really Renruki's style, especially because they've got Byakuya right there as an example of what being raised like this does to a person. 

Maybe Kubo will come up with something interesting, though! I would love to see it if he did!

With all that out of the way, I'll lay out how I think it should go, or how it would go if I were writing it, I guess.

For starters, we are still in a shounen anime. Bleach plays the "young person witnesses an act of violence and is saved" card constantly. As anime goes, I think Bleach actually does a fairly decent job of acknowledging the trauma that goes along with this, but it's also usually deployed as a thing that spurs the "witness" character to want to get stronger. Furthermore, the witness character usually has no sort of support system and receives no comfort after the fact--Kensei saves child-Shuuhei and then calls him a wuss before peacing-out. I doubt Shin'ou had any sort of trauma support group for Renji, Momo, Izuru and Shuuhei after their disaster fieldtrip --in all likelihood, the attitude was more like "wow, you got to see Captain Aizen in action, how lucky for you!" Even in the aftermath of the scene where Renji rescues Jinta and Ururu, Jinta is shown sitting by himself rather than seeking comfort from either of his "parents" (who, granted, are focused on healing Ururu).  That one has an added bonus ofJinta-has-always-treated-Renji-extremely-disrespectfully and then Renji saves him and gets gored pretty gruesomely.

In contrast, Rukia and Renji have both been on the "witnessed the trauma" side of this before, and never had adult figures in their life to help them process anything. They lost and buried three friends before they even went to shinigami school. I think they know how much that sucked and how much damage it did to them psychologically and would be pretty sensitive to what Ichika is feeling. It's actually kind of funny because if they hadn't gone through a lot of trauma together, they might just be stoic about it and think that maybe their own kid should just suck it up, but they were definitely able to see how much it affected the other one. Like, part of the reason they even had a kid was to try to make up for the shitty childhood the other one had to go through.

Rukia and Renji probably run a pretty weird household because on one hand, they spent their own childhood taking care of themselves and making their own decisions and living with the consequences. They did a lot of actual crime, like a lot. Trying to tell their kid what to do would feel like a weird overreach to them. On the other hand, they're soldiers, so they are used a formal discipline system where sometimes you get punished because that's how you learn and make up for your mistakes. Overall, though, I think they respect Ichika as a person they are trying to guide to adulthood, much the way you guide a green recruit into becoming a strong officer. Yeah, she shouldn't have snuck along on a mission for lieutenants, and now she knows why. They're probably still going to yell at her and make her sweep the yard or something, but that's she's their kid, and they know that waiving the punishment would make her feel even worse.

Also, while this may be the first time Ichika has witnessed her dad getting stabbed (and it may not be), it's not like this idea is new to her. I'm sure Rukia and Renji have come home with injuries before, or not come home, and she had to go visit them at the Coordinated Relief Station, or possibly had even go stay with Uncle B for a while. (Uncle B, whose own father actually did die in the line of duty and I've read at least one fanfiction where he was there). A thing I like about Rukia and Renji as characters is that they respect each other's decisions about what danger they are willing to walk into. If they err, it's generally on the side of not stopping each other enough, and I think that is both very stupid and very charming of them. It speaks to the overinflated confidence they have in each other, and also I am tired to death of overprotectiveness being spun as romantic, when 90% of the time it's just patronizing or selfish.

I guess to sum up, I'd say I would like to see Ichika come out of this with more respect for the gravity of her parents' job (vs. the 'dad and Ikkaku went to have fun without me no faaaaaiiirrr' attitude she started the one-shot with). It is interesting that she was able to see the Hell-guys when the lieutenants weren't able to. I hope that isn't something that just gets dismissed (and if nothing else, I think this is a case where Kyouraku as Head-Captain would be like "no I want to hear this" where Yamamoto would have been like "I don't listen to children!") I would prefer to see her get included in the action intentionally, where she's nervous about it, but trying to put up a front of bravado (both because she doesn't want anyone to know how much it scared her seeing her dad get stabbed trying to protect her and also because this is peak Young-Rukia-and-Renji behavior). Seeing what her parents are like on the job, realizing they're both extremely cool but also huge doofuses, and slowly gaining real confidence in herself because they show confidence in her would be a pretty refreshing story, imo.

[foxmulderautism]

my very strong philosophy that i need to perceive my characters as real people in order to feel like i can write them at the depth a novel needs + i try to see expand my view of them as far as possible so they have a life an existence that a novel only snapshots a part of + this being a big part of my writers identity bc my relationship with my characters is very important to me is still very real but also very funny now because i've realised when it comes to short fiction i do not give a fuck like that. like i put everything into my characters bc i think making complex characters/relationships is my best skill but they are nothing but names to me (and i barely name my protagonists cause i just dont give a fuck if its not needed) and shadows reflecting an idea i thought was cool. like the way with novels i'll say felix and beau and dorothy are my best friends and they've just granted me access to their stories and i can't imagine how i'd go through life without thinking about them and their lives...then with short fiction the characters are just dolls that i throw out once i'm done with them

[moonbeamoclock]

i just hate when it's tagged as something simply to gain attention, and then isn't that thing at all (people that tag their works as x reader and then write the 'reader' in a way that isn't inclusive to anyone that isn't skinny/white/dainty/feminine without a specific tag that is designed to attract people who are directly looking to consume that type of story, i'm looking at you.)

What to do when you don’t like a fic: a step by step guide

Step 1:

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

In a way I kind of get why I abandoned reading Waiting for the Violins by Justine Saracen like a decade ago (perhaps especially because I was trying to read it through Google Books PREVIEW, LOL, and I think I reached the end of the preview/as much as I could read for free) because it is taking soOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LOOOOOOONG for any sort of relationship between the MCs to develop, and I'm on CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CURRENTLY (although I'm reading it via ebook, so chapters may or may not be different than the IRL book). Like, okay, yes, Antonia saw Sandrine and was like, 'OH SHIT, WHO'S THE PRETTY LADY WITH THE GREEN EYES' but Sandrine has pretty much so far only been like, 'Huh, maybe I should've had her killed' and Sandrine obviously has some emotional wall up that prevents us from truly understanding why she'd think that, BUT YEAH, LIKE THAT'S ALL THAT'S HAPPENED SO FAR ABOUT THEM, AHHHHHHH.

[aeyumicore]

what's mine

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, not canon events (completely fictional)

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.7k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, first time sex with zayne (not virginity loss), jealous!zayne, dom!zayne, zayne slightly loses control of evol, furniture breaks, lot’s of teasing, fictional characters, size kink, vaginal sex, oral sex f!receiving, tongue fucking, fingering, unprotected sex, creampies, slightly drunk sex (not really), tummy bulge, posessive/claiming behavior, let me know if i missed anything!

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: helloooo writing for my fav zayne again <3 would you guys believe this is actually the first lads fic i ever started but i put it on hold because it was way too elaborate and i didn’t want to make a whole like multi chapter fic? i actually cut out a lotttt of it, it probably would’ve been more like 30k words if i kept the same writing style/detail i had originally, and i just could not do that to myself

also the matthew/intern mentioned in the fic is completely made up and fictional, he is not a reference to any characters! i couldn’t bring myself to use greyson for the purposes of the plot bc i think he and zayne are so cute LOL god i love the jealous angsty feelings trope 

pls enjoy hehe i luv u guys <3 also come interact with me on twit @/aeyumicore :’)

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

"Will you go to dinner with me?”

You whip your head around to see where the unfamiliar voice came from, coming face to face with one of the surgical interns of the Akso hospital. You’d run into him several times before when visiting Zayne at work, but never quite got his name.

"Me?” 

The intern chuckles at your dumbfoundedness, which he thinks is adorable, "Yes, you’re Y/N right? My name is Matthew. I'm one of the surgical interns here. So, will you let me take you to dinner tomorrow?”

Zayne chokes on his rice from the seat beside you, patting his chest a few times to clear his throat. You’d decided to have lunch with Zayne after your check-up today; well more like you’d forced him to the cafeteria with you against his will. You’d desperately wanted to try the infamous mint chocolate chip jello the hospital cafeteria served, even though you knew it’d be disgusting. And so you both sat at a table in the cafeteria, you with your jello and Zayne with a homemade bento box you’d made for him, along with some of his favorite pastries from the bakery down the street.

At his coughs, the intern’s eyes snapped to Zayne’s and it was like he’d just then realized Zayne was there, the surprise and anxiety written all over his expression. Zayne was always someone who commanded respect and fear from his colleagues and subordinates, so much so that Matthew had turned pale as a ghost. 

"Oh! Dr. Zayne, I'm so sorry I didn’t realize–” but Zayne cuts him off with a simple wave of his hand. 

"It’s fine. Continue your conversation.” You’re a bit taken back by Zayne’s nonchalance. Sure, you were just childhood friends but it would be nice if Zayne had any reaction at all to being asked out right in front of him. You yourself couldn’t deny the attraction you felt towards Zayne but it was seeming more and more that it was completely one sided.

"I, um…” you’re at a loss for words, not knowing how to let the handsome intern down. Matthew was honestly very attractive, and seemed kind enough, but you had hoped to spend your friday night with Zayne, though you hadn’t had the chance to ask him yet. He’d been swamped with surgeries and patients the last few days and you hardly got to see him at all. And you missed him thoroughly.

"I actually had plans with Zay– I mean dr. Zayne,” you glance at Zayne, hoping he’ll get the message, but the expression on his face is dark and unreadable. 

"No we don’t. You should go,” Zayne’s tone is cold and his eyes refuse to meet yours. Despite yourself, your heart clenches in disappointment. You know Zayne could be obtuse but he was also extremely intelligent and perceptive. He undoubtedly knew you wanted to spend your night with him. But it was becoming more and more apparent he did not want to spend his with you.

"But i–”

"I have plans anyways.” Your eyes can’t help but sting as he avoids looking at you. So you try to steel yourself; you were a big girl and a little bit of unrequited affection would not destroy you. Keeping your voice steady and blinking back unshed tears of frustration, you look up at Matthew, his eyes lighting up at you expectantly, and you try to give him your best smile.

"I...I would love to go to dinner with you!”

You don’t notice the deep scowl on Zayne’s face as a dark icy storm brews in his green eyes. 

–

You stumbled out of the taxi, your way-too-high heels catching on the foot step almost causing you to trip headfirst into the pavement. You sigh as you catch yourself on the cab door and glance at your hunter watch and see that it’s already 1am. 

"Get home safe miss, and no more drinks, you hear me?” Your cab driver reprimands you teasingly.

"Yes sir,” you mock salute him as you wobble onto your feet, thoroughly drunk, "Thank you so much! Please drive safe. Good night sir!”

"Good night miss!” 

You turn towards your apartment building, sighing in exhausted defeat. What an absolute disaster of a night.

The date was unexpectedly wonderful. Matthew was handsome, kind, funny, and a complete gentleman. He brought you to a very fancy and expensive restaurant downtown, so you wore one of your most elegant dresses, not that you had many. It was a simple satin black mid-length evening dress, with a slit that exposed just up to your mid thigh and an open back that accentuates your figure. You’d normally never wear something so sensual on a first date, but you couldn’t deny that the way Zayne had reacted, or not reacted, stung your heart. So maybe you did go a little extra tonight because you were hurt. So what?

After dinner, Matthew and you took a leisurely stroll at linkon park, with enough time to catch the sunset. As you watched the sun melt into the sea of golden yellows and dusky pinks, Matthew kissed you. It was passionate, slow, and soft. The perfect kiss.

Except when you moaned out Zayne’s name. 

And so the night ended as quickly as it began. Matthew was as understanding as he possibly could have been, but you could tell it killed anything that could have happened between the two of you. Matthew was a surgical intern, so with what little free time he had, he said he couldn’t chance it on a girl who was clearly already in love with someone else, especially if that someone was his boss and mentor. He’d offered to give you a ride back home but you refused, saying you’d grab a cab instead.  

So you found yourself at a bar, downing shots of soju to numb the mortification of your blunder but also the feeling of utter patheticness. Hours went by as you wallowed in your emotions. You’d had feelings for Zayne for as long as you could even remember. And still, you couldn’t tell him or move on from him. 

But maybe you would have the guts to tell him if it didn’t feel like he literally could not give two cents about you, beyond as a patient and as his annoying childhood friend. It was literally like pulling teeth to get him to spend any time at all with you lately. 

So here you were, stumbling into your apartment building at 1:37 am: drunk, exhausted, and empty. The night breeze raised goosebumps on your exposed thighs as your heels clicked on the pavement in the dark. 

You headed toward your apartment, through the main entrance and up the lobby elevator, the alcohol still making your brain swim. Luckily you no longer saw double, and your eyelids no longer felt like a ton of bricks.  

The elevator door dinged open and you trudged toward your unit, your toes screaming in protest in the confine of your heels. You forced your vision to cooperate with you as you tried to punch in your door code. The error buzz sounded out, again and again, and you groaned in frustration.

In the blurry edges of your vision, a large and slightly scarred hand reached over yours. Yelping, you whip yourself around and reach to grab the gun you always had strapped to your thigh. But from the icy cold touch against your fingers and the scars littering the pink skin, you realize exactly who it was.

"Zayne?” You did your best not to slur, trapped between him and your front door. You don’t miss how he swears under his breath as his eyes trail down your body, lingering at all your exposed skin, before snapping back up to your face. You can’t even imagine how wrecked you must look right now, mentally kicking yourself for not touching up after the bar. Your gloss was undoubtedly smeared from the kiss and the copious alcohol, your hair a bird’s nest from the night breeze, and your mascara smeared from the stray tears of your drunken emotions.

You didn’t do a very good job at steeling your voice because Zayne saw right through you, his eyes narrowing as they absolutely drank you in, "You’re drunk?” His voice holds a dangerous edge, as if mad that you’d have the audacity to be drunk. He deftly types your access code in, and gently ushers you into your apartment. You stumble in your heels against his body, and Zayne wraps his arm around your waist to catch you before you fall. You flush at the way his hands palm the exposed skin of your lower back. 

"M’not drunk,” you protest, swatting his hand away, not wanting your body to give any of your feelings towards him away, but Zayne only grips you tighter, fingers flitting between the soft satin material of your dress and the goosebump ridden skin of your back. His arm on your waist feels so right, threatening to make you melt right into his embrace. But you fight the urge, trying to hold onto your annoyance.

You can’t see his eyes but you know they’re rolling in their sockets at your obvious drunkeness. He gently guides you through the threshold of your home and then kneels down before you. The sight of him on the floor in front of your feet makes you reel, hoping the furious blush is masked by the flush of alcohol in your blood.

"W-what are you doing?” You try to step back, but your knees wobble and Zayne grips your thigh in place. You shiver at his cold touch on your sensitive skin, a little too high for you to keep any semblance of calm.

"Do you want to stay in these deathtraps?” He murmurs as he starts to slip the strappy heels off of your aching feet. His fingers around your ankle tingle as he softly massages the red skin of where the straps dug in.

"Zayne? Why are you here? Did something happen?” Your voice wavers still, but Zayne’s cold touch is starting to sober you up and clear your vision as your mind tries its best to focus on him. Zayne doesn’t respond as he lifts your other foot and slips the other heel off. His fingers linger on your bare legs before he slips your house slippers on your feet, standing back up to tower over you. 

"It’s almost 2 in the morning, and you’re just now coming home,” his voice is hard and stern, it’s clear he has things he wants to say but you’re in no mood for a lecture on sexual safety, stds, and stranger danger. 

"I was busy,” you snap, your emotions running extra high from everything that had happened today, especially Zayne’s nonchalance. But he’s incredibly patient with you, as he always is, taking you by the waist nagain and leading you to your living room couch. You’re too tired to resist, and you desperately need to get off your aching feet.

"How was your date?” Zayne sits you on your couch and then heads to the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water. His question reminds you of how royally you screwed up today and your mood sours even more. 

"Fine,” you mutter, trying to keep from snapping at him again. Zayne sits beside you and brings the glass of water to your lips, tilting it for you with his fingers on your jaw. You take deep gulps, the cold water soothing your entire sore body. Sinking further into the couch, your mind wanders back to your disastrous screw up. You’d called Matthew Zayne. It literally couldn’t get more mortifying than that.

Zayne stares at you and you know he doesn’t believe you, so you murmur again, "It was fine.” But as his intense eyes bore holes into you, your voice cracks under all the feelings you’d stuffed deep down today. 

He was here now and it confused you to no end. You’d wanted nothing more than to spend your day with him, but he’d pushed you away. Were you really that blind that you’d developed feelings for a man who did not feel even slightly the same way? 

Your eyes well up with tears at the thought and you try to subtly brush them away by pretending to scratch your cheek, but as always Zayne sees right through you. 

"Did he do something to you? Did he get you drunk?” Zayne’s voice is calm but hard and threatening.enough to scare you if it weren't for the way he softly gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his, using his free thumb to catch the tears before they can slip down your cheek

But through it all, you register the implication of his words. "Wh-what? No!” You exclaim, "Matthew was a complete gentleman.”

His eyes track yours, unwilling to let go of your gaze, "Then why are you crying?” 

You blink back your tears before more can fall onto his thumb. Your voice wavers as you stare into the hazel green ocean of his eyes, and you answer his question with a question of your own, "Why are you here Zayne?” 

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” Your chest constricts with unrelenting emotions, but your drunken haze makes you even more steadfast in your stubborn resolve. 

"Well I'm home, safe,” you avert your eyes, knowing if Zayne keeps staring at you with that intensity you’ll start to unravel and confess everything.

"Why did you take a cab home?”

Your eyes snap to his, "How did you know I took a cab?” And this time Zayne’s eyes refuse to meet yours, "Zayne? How long have you been waiting for me?”

Zayne doesn’t respond, instead brushing the tangles out of your hair. You try to get his attention by tugging at his tie, the alcohol making you feel much bolder than you normally ever would. 

You can see his adam's apple bob as he lets himself be drawn in, only slightly, towards you. At your pout, he sighs in defeat, prying your hands away so he can loosen the tightened hold around his neck, "I’ve been waiting for you…forever.” 

Before you can respond, he clears his throat and continues, "I got here at 9 and waited in my car when I knocked and you didn't answer.”

At your bewildered expression, he sighs and elaborates, "I just wanted to see you get back home safely. But when I saw you get out of that cab I needed to come check on you.”

Your brows furrowed as your sobering self tried to do the math in your head. Zayne can practically see the steam coming out of your ears and smiles lopsidedly, chuckling under his breath at how adorable you were being.

"You waited for 7 hours?!” You exclaimed, eyes wide. 

His grin deepens and you can see his eyes sparkling with laughter , "You are drunk. Why are you drunk?”

You purse your lips shut, unwilling to speak. With all the overwhelming emotions swarming your mind, you knew if you started talking now you would surely never stop.

At your silence, Zayne prods gently, "Talk to me, Y/N.” His voice is deep and commanding in a way that almost always gets you to listen to him. 

You zip your lips shut and turn away, doing your damn best to not give in. But Zayne’s touch, still on your cheeks, forces you back towards his eyes.

"Be a good girl,” he demands softly, his eyes searching yours for answers. 

Blowing out your cheeks like a child, you’re unwilling to give up the attitude, "I’m drunk because I was drinking.”

"Did Matthew take advantage of you?” Zayne’s jaw is locked and the intensity in his eyes is blinding, damn near dangerous. 

"No! Zayne, no. I went to a bar to drink alone, after our date,” you try to hide the embarrassment from seeping into your voice.

"Why? Did he do something to you?” His voice is still threatening, and you sigh at the unrelenting questions. You knew Zayne well enough to know he wasn’t going to let up, so it would just be easier on you if you told him everything that happened.

"Matthew was amazing,” you don’t notice the way Zayne’s eyes darken at your praises for the intern, "The date was fantastic. And after, we saw the sunset.” His expression is still unreadable and you start to fidget under his intense gaze, not knowing in the slightest what he was thinking. 

"And then he kissed me. We kissed. And that was it. I went to the bar and he went home. End of story.” 

Zayne’s fists ball so tightly his knuckles turn white, but he keeps his gaze steady. He doesn’t speak, and you’re scared of the tense silence that falls between you two.

"He couldn’t at least accompany you? Make sure you were safe?” You can tell Zayne is angry by the way his feet taps uncharacteristically erratically against the floor, "Driven you home?”

His questions make it impossible for you to forget about your horrifying mistake today and you just feel so incredibly bad for Matthew. The regret and embarrassment gnaw at your mind like parasites. And so against your better, albeit slightly still drunken, judgment, you finally blow.

"He left because I was thinking of you, okay? Matthew was a gentleman, he was funny, kind, and charming. And yet I was thinking of you the whole time. And so he left and I went to a bar and got drunk all on my own, okay?”

"You were thinking of me?” Zayne’s voice is an annoying mix of bewilderment, intrigue, and what sounds like mockery, which just infuriates you.

"I am always thinking of you Zayne! I thought about you at dinner, I thought about you when we watched the sunset, and I thought about you when he kissed me,” you burst, your drunken lack of inhibitions leaving nothing unsaid. 

Zayne’s face is unreadable again, but there’s a heat in his eyes that makes you tremble in your seat, "You were thinking of me when he kissed you?”

Unable to bear his unrelenting repetitive questions anymore, you explode, "Yes Zayne! And when he kissed me I called out for you!” The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think twice about it. It takes you a second to realize what you’d just blurted out and you bury your face in your hands, wanting nothing more than to scream at the top of your lungs. Unfortunately it was 2am and you had neighbors that most definitely would not appreciate that. 

You feel his strong hands grab your wrists gently, prying your hands away from your face, wanting to see you, "You called for me?” His tone is as amused as it is intrigued and it frustrates you to no end, the shame weighing heavily on your mind. 

"Don’t tease me right now Zayne,“ you warn weakly, "I am always thinking about you. But you…” your voice trails off to a shallow whisper, "You don’t seem to think about me.”

Zayne is silent but his eyes are as intense as you’ve ever seen them, staring into your soul. The silence is thick in the air as you refuse to be the one to break it.

Finally, he speaks, voice clouded with indiscernible emotions, "Is that what you really think? That I don’t think about you?”

"Do you really think I waited for 5 hours, in my car, for you to come back because I don’t think about you?” Your breath catches in your throat at the pure and raw growl in his voice. 

Before you can respond, he continues, "I think about you every second of every day. I thought about you all day, thought about you on your date with Matthew.”

Zayne shifts so that he can cup your face with both his hands, drawing his face closer but not close enough, "I thought about him getting to hear your voice, getting to touch you…to kiss you. It drove me insane.” 

Your feelings churn in your stomach and into your chest, making it hard to breathe. The way Zayne is looking at you, his hands holding your face so possessively, threatens to stop your heart altogether. You’re drawn to him all over again, only this time it feels like he might be drawn to you too.

"W-why?”

Zayne doesn’t speak, and you watch as his eyes flutter to your parted lips as you pant out your breaths, eyes fighting to stay open amidst all the tension enveloping the two of you. 

"Why did you push me to go with him then?”

His eyes force themselves onto yours, as if unwilling to leave your lips, "I made a mistake.” 

His revelations quickly sober you up, and you’re left feeling vulnerable but bold. You softly grab a fist full of his tie, pulling him closer. You can faintly hear him groan under his breath, but he lets himself be guided towards you. Your lips are so close to each other that you’re inhaling each other in, and you beg gently, "Kiss me, Zayne.” 

Zayne wastes no time at all, threading his fingers from your cheek into your hair, pulling your face the remainder of the distance to his own. 

Your first kiss with Zayne is nothing like you’d daydreamed it would be. You’d imagined the patient and reserved surgeon to be soft, gentle, taking his time with you. You’d expected it to be passionate but reserved, like the handsome raven haired man himself. 

And while the passion was undeniably there, what you didn’t expect was the bruising claiming heat that came with it. Zayne’s soft lips marked you as his own, a lifetime’s worth of emotions evident in the way he molded himself against you. With every twitch of his lips, Zayne laid claim to what was his. He kissed you like you might disappear at any moment, as if this was all a dream.

And when his tongue swiped across the parting of your lips, asking for permission to enter, you gladly relented control and authority. After all, you were his. You think you had been for some time.  

You hadn’t expected your first kiss with Zayne to be like this, and yet it was everything you wanted and more.

When you shift yourself to climb on top of him and straddle him on your couch, Zayne reluctantly pulls away, hands still gripping the back of your head, "Y/n, we should stop.” But he can’t stop his hands from leaving your soft hair and resting on your hips, almost like a reflex. His words say one thing but his hands just can't seem to pry themselves off of you.

You’re taken aback by his words, unable to stop the insecurity and hurt that paints your face. Zayne notices instantly, one of his hands leaving your hips to stroke your cheek, hooking some of your hair behind your ear. You lean into his hand, the whiplash starting to exhaust you as much as it kept you on your toes. 

"I want to,” he whispers hoarsely as you squirm on top of him, answering your unsaid thoughts, "I can’t even convey how much I've fucking wanted to. But you’re drunk. And the first time I finally take you...I want you to feel every second of it.” 

Your eyes flutter at his words, stomach clenching in anticipation. Having fully sobered up a while ago, before he even kissed you, you can’t help but beg a little, "I’m not drunk anymore. And even if I was… I want you. I’ve wanted you…forever.” 

Zayne swears, his eyes going full doctor mode, and you can tell he’s inspecting every inch of you to try and discern if you’re truly sober or not. You fidget nervously under his intense stare, to which his hands grip your waist painfully tight to keep you in place.

"Stop,” he grits out forcefully, as if in pain. You do your best to still in his lap, and that’s when you feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection underneath your parted dress that had ridden up to bunch at your hips, right against the pantyhose against your cunt. 

"Are you sure this is what you want?” He groans as your body presses deeper into his lap, "Because once…we start I won’t be able to stop.” 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the heated warning doing nothing but arousing you to your core. Through your hooded eyes, you nod eagerly at him, "M’sure Zayne. Won’t want to stop.” 

He smirks at you, a heart stopping smile that melts your brain and cunt simultaneously into a leaking mess, "You asked for it love.” 

Before you can even have the chance to physically combust at the affectionate pet name, Zayne whisks you into the air, scooping you under your exposed knees effortlessly. You yelp, clutching onto his neck as he carries you like a bride into your bedroom, navigating your apartment like he owned it. He bent down to capture your lips with his again, like he couldn’t physically wait to get you to your bed before claiming you again. 

You feel the cold press of your sheets against your spine as Zayne sets you down gently, and settles in between your thighs on top of you. His eyes absolutely devour you whole, raking up and down your exposed satin clad skin, "You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to tell you all night.” His praise is throaty with desire and it makes you squeeze your thighs together against his body in anticipation. Your face heats at his words, and you run your palms up and down his abdomen, the material of his dress shirt feeling like silk against your burning skin. 

Zayne grins and chuckles, mostly to himself, but the sound catches your attention and you find yourself pouting in self-consciousness, "What’s funny?”

Zayne’s long fingers trace the outlines of your body under the satin dress, eliciting soft moans from you that please him to his core, "You just look so beautiful.” His fingers reach the bottom of your dress and begin to stroke the fabric of your pantyhose, inching up under your dress, so torturously slowly, "You wore this for him, yet I'm the one that’s going to tear it off you.”

Your body trembles at his words, the pool between your legs growing wetter. You can feel yourself growing impatient, only wanting his body to press onto yours, to suffocate your.

"Zayne please, don’t make me wait any more,” you murmur as you sit up on your elbows, pressing your forehead against his. You heartbeat is quick and your rapid breaths fan across his face. 

His eyes darken at your pleas, the hazel hues appearing almost a light brown, "Fucking hell Y/N, you’re going to drive me insane.” He sits up on his knees, loosening his tie before undoing it completely and discarding it on the floor next to your bed. You bite your lip as you watch him undo the top three buttons of his shirt, his toned chest on display under it. 

Leaning back down, he presses a bruising kiss against your swollen lips. His hands wander to the thin straps of your dress, gently tugging until they slip off your shoulders, letting him tug your dress down until your breasts are exposed. His tongue against yours is unrelenting, marking every inch of your mouth as his.

Detaching himself from you, he buries his face into your neck, his cold lips incredibly soothing against your lust burned skin. You cry out when you feel his teeth softly sink into the skin of your pulsepoint, as he suckles on you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. 

"Zayne,” you gasp out, his tongue and teeth working in tandem to have your mind filled with nothing but his mouth on you, "Please.”

He trails down your neck and collar, inhaling you into his lungs at every opportunity. You feel his smile against your skin as he reaches your breasts, your nipples pebbled from the lust. He voice is muffled against you, "Please what, my love?”

"I…” you’re too mortified to say the things you want him to do, so the silence overtakes you. Unhappy with your hesitation, Zayne bites into the supple flesh above your pert nipple, eliciting a string of moans and squeals from you. He’s instantly using his tongue to soothe the pain away, quickly replacing it with waves of raw pleasure. 

Zayne lifts his head, staring at you expectantly, "I can’t continue if you don’t tell me what you want.”

His unrelenting teasing drives you to the edge of madness, your arousal evident by the way it leaks through your panties and your pantyhose. But you’re stubborn, still refusing to speak. 

"Good girls listen to their doctors don’t they?” He places fleeting kisses onto your goosebump riddled areolas, careful to purposefully neglect your increasingly sensitive nipples.

"Should doctors really be this intimate with their patients?” You retort like a brat, wanting to dish back all of his incessant teasing.  

He smiles at you, thoroughly amused at your insolence, "I suppose not, but am I really just your doctor?” With that he captures your waiting nipples into his mouth. You cry out at the incredible feeling of his cold lips on your breasts but his warm tongue on your nipple, your lower body thrusting up uncontrollably into his crotch. 

He groans into your chest as you brush against his throbbing erection, restricted by the confines of his pants. Against the heat of your womanhood, Zayne hardens impossibly further, feeling like he might actually explode against the constraint. The sounds of your pleasure and your cries for him make it difficult for him to concentrate.

Switching to your other nipple, Zayne uses one hand to undo his belt, letting it fall to the ground with his tie. He undoes the button and zipper his pants, yanking them down with such feral urgency. When his cock was finally free, he broke away from your chest, hissing in relief. You look down and you’re met with the realization of why he was in so much pain. 

Zayne was large. In a way that terrified you to your very core. You could imagine that the restraint of his briefs alone would be uncomfortable, painful even, when holding something like that back. 

Zayne catches your stare and he grips your chin between his fingers, guiding you to his eyes instead, "It’ll fit baby, don’t worry.”

You fight to keep your lip from quivering, trying not to get lost in his green eyes, "Will it?”

"I'll make it fit, but first let me prepare you love,” he says Matter-of-factly, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. The certainty in his voice turns you unbelievably on and you find yourself needing to please him. Your hand seeks out his erection, grasping it firmly into your fingers.

He groans at the slightest touch, knees buckling into the bed beneath you. You start with languid and deliberate strokes, feeling every vein pulse under your fingers. Your thumb finds his large engorged head, already leaking with pre cum, feeling every smooth surface of his cock under your touch. While Zayne writhes on top of you, you revel in his glorious manhood, everything about it utterly perfect and terrifying.

As you touch him, Zayne leans into the crook of your shoulder, laying claim to your sensitive neck. He marks every inch of bare skin he can find, leaving a trail of red and wet bruises in his wake. 

Your entire palm is wet with his leaking arousal, as he moans so closely into your ear. Gently, he pries your palm away from him, sitting back up onto his knees, smirking satisfyingly down at the marks he’d left, "God, I've waited so long to have you.”

You reach down to shimmy out of your pantyhose and black evening dress, leaving you in your black lace thong, naked, willing, and pliant before him. You see him gulp harshly, his eyes hazy with need, and you sit up to level with him, "So take me Zayne.”

A low growl rips from his throat, as he pushes you back onto the bed, setting your head against your wooden headboard. Zayne tortures you, kissing down your collar, your chest, your naval, and finally down the soft mound of your pelvis. 

Zayne seems almost feral as he looks at your lace covered cunt and back up at you, "Did you really wear this for him?”

"N-no,” you whine, "I wouldn't have ever l-let him. He wasn't you.”

Zayne seems somewhat placated by your response, hooking his cold fingers into the waistband, his voice a low grumble, "That’s my good girl. No one will ever see you in or out of these, but me. Right?”

Your brain fogs over as he slips your soaked panties down your legs, his breath hitching seeing the string of clear slick clinging to your cunt. 

"Fuck.” He’s lost in his stares, in absolute awe of the meal before him, carving every single perfect centimeter into his memory. You squirm under his intense stare.

"Zayne please don’t make me wait anymore,” you wine, crying out as he bends down and his lips graze the apex of your slit. 

His voice is incredibly smug, "You are so beautiful when you beg for me.” You sigh in frustration as his lips and fingers continue to just barely graze your needy body. 

"Zayne, please,” your body thrusts into his, but he holds you back down, almost impatiently.

"Behave yourself, Y/N. You can do that for me, can’t you?” His voice is full of command, making you back down instantly, shivering at the suspense of his words.

"I didn't wait this long to have you just to rush all the things I want to do to you,” he all but purrs, as his lips find your soaking slit.

The room is filled with your lewd cries as Zayne’s tongue licks a stripe from your clit to your throbbing hole. As your doctor, Zayne knew the ins and outs of your body but you never expected him to know you like this. Like his tongue was designed for nothing else but to deliver you the most unimaginable pleasure in this world. 

Zayne groans when his tongue enters you for the first time, the quivers resonating straight to your core. His nose brushes against your clit as he fucks you with his tongue, the vibrations of his own lust filled grunts bringing you closer to releasing all over his skilled mouth.

Your thighs clench against his face, and you almost worry you might suffocate him. You try to pry them away from him, but he only grips them with his strong hands, bringing them closer to his face, wanting nothing more than to be yours, wholly and irrevocably.

"You taste better than I ever imagined,” he moans out, staring into your eyes from between your legs. You blush at the filth of his words and the glistening slick smeared across his lips and chin.

"Did you – ahh hah – think about me often?” You tease between the sounds that spill out of your mouth uncontrollably.

He doesn’t answer, instead capturing your entire clit into his lips, sucking in earnest. You feel his smirk as you squeal out, hands digging into the fabric of your sheets and tugging hard. His hands knead your ass as he continues to eat, positively starved.

"Z-Zayne I-I can’t take much more,” you slur, your toes curling against his sides as he goes back to spearing his tongue in and out of you, using the tip of his nose to massage your clit, inhaling the smell of your arousal into his lungs.

"Yeah? Is my girl gonna make a mess for me?” He breathes into you, his hands reaching up to toy with your nipples. You cry in response, feeling the coil in your gut tightening beyond belief, the pleasure threatening to make you explode.

"Cum into my mouth love, let me taste you,” he whispers breathlessly into your cunt, slipping his middle finger inside of you, the wet sounds of his skin pounding into yours filling the room. You come done instantly, screaming as your back arches off the bed and you release all over Zayne’s waiting mouth, hands ripping at his soft hair. 

"That’s it baby, look at you cumming from just one finger,” he muses, working you through your orgasm with just his middle finger. You let out a stream of broken moans, unable to form any words.

"Fuck you’re this tight around just one of my fingers?” He murmurs before dipping back down to devour everything you give him. 

He laps up your spend eagerly and diligently, not letting a single drop go to waste. Refusing to relent against your twitching clit, Zayne devours you until the overstimulation lights your pussy on fire. He’s always had a sweet tooth and it looks like he’s found his absolute favorite dessert, unwilling to give it up any time soon.

"Such a messy girl,” he mumbles to himself, the clear strings of arousal sticking from your wet thighs to his chin. 

Your thighs tremble at the discomfort of overstimulation, doing your best to back away from him, "Mmm Zayne, s’too sensitive. No more, please.”

He relents reluctantly, looking utterly displeased with having his treat taken away. As he sits up, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans forward into you, tapping your lips with his thumb.

"Open,” he commands forcefully, bringing his soaked middle finger up to you. You part your lips obediently, welcoming the taste of you on his skin. His eyes squeeze shut and he lets out a deep heated moan at the feel of your tongue on him, tasting everything he got to taste. His cock literally felt like a ton of bricks needing to be pleased. 

Releasing his finger, you reach for his length again, "I-I want to make you feel good too.” 

Zayne presses his cold lips to yours, simultaneously undoing the buttons of his shirt. He pulls aways to shrug the clothing off his broad shoulders, giving you an eyeful of his glorious physique. He shivers, letting you jerk his erection up and down, but pushing you down when you try to get on your knees before him.

"Next time. We have all the time in the world,” he whispers, pushing you against the headboard, holding your cheek in his large hand, "But right now I need to be inside you.”

The smoldering fire in his eyes makes your mouth dry, and you nod meekly. The promise of a ‘next time’ is enough to have you ready for him again. Your cunt still quivered, recovering from your previous orgasm, but pooling at the hoarse need in his tone. 

As your head lays on a pillow against the headboard of your bed, Zayne lifts you from the small of your back and shoves another pillow behind you, so that you’re elevated towards him, served on a silver platter.

"Spread your legs for me,” he growls, the urgency in his voice leaving little room to protest. And so you obey, widening your legs for him, watching as he admires the area between your thighs like it was 

His hand reaches to cup you, clit caught against his palm and fingers toying with your hole, "Who does this belong to?” 

But you can’t hear him through the searing pleasure of his touch against your over sensitive body, the blood pounding in your ears like drums. Looking at where his hand meets your body, you cry out at his ministrations against you, your thighs trembling in shivers. 

With his free hand Zayne grabs your chin, slipping his thumb into your mouth, harshly forcing your eyes to his, "Don’t look away. Be a good girl and answer me.”

Although his words are driven with lust, they remind you of the emotional turmoil you’d been weathering because of your feelings for the man in front of you.

"M’yours Zayne, always been yours,” tears well in your eyes and you hope he can understand the weight behind your words, behind all the lust and arousal filled craze. 

Zayne stares back at you, and his eyes hold an entire galaxy of emotions that match the colors of his irises: desire, devotion, awe…and love. 

"And I am yours,” his words strike your heart and you lean up to slot your mouth against his. As he kisses you, he lines up his thick length with your cunt, teasing your clit with his engorged tip, his pre cum mixing with your spend that still leaked out from your prior climax. You cried into his open mouth at his teases, your back arching off the pillow and further into his cock. At your movement, his head catches onto your throbbing and waiting hole, eliciting a deep grunt from him. 

He pulls away, groaning, "So impatient, you want it that bad?” You whimper, burying your face into his neck and latching onto his pulse point to save yourself from having to answer. 

"P-please…” you whisper into his ear. He groans, fishing through the pocket of his pants as he pulls them off of his legs. 

"Please what, love?” He smirks at you, pulling his wallet out, now just in his briefs pulled down to let his massive erection free. 

You gulp, staring at the way he stands so proudly against his naval, reaching comfortably to his belly button. His girth rivals that of at least three of your fingers.

The rustling of plastic snaps you out of your shameless ogling. Zayne places a condom packet between his teeth, tearing it with one hand. You gulp at the sight of him, but you protest, "I–i um,” you clear your throat, trying to work up the courage to vocalize what you want, "You don’t have to use that.”

Zayne’s dark eyes catch yours, and the edge in his voice is dangerous, a warning, "Don’t tempt me. I need to protect you.”

Your face burns as you try again., "W-what I mean is, well as my doctor you know I'm clean.” You do your best to stop your voice from wavering, "And I-I um I'm on the pill.”

Zayne’s eyebrows quirk as his irises darken with heat, "How come I didn't know that?

"I’ve been using an online service for a few months,” you say sheepishly, "S-so you don’t have to use that.”

Zayne catches on, a satisfied smirk gracing his features, "Is that so?” He teases his entire length on your slit, practically fucking you along the lips of your womanhood. Using his swollen tip, he taps your clit forcefully, eliciting a throaty yelp from you.

"Tell me what you want.” You shiver at the pure feral domineer in his voice.

"P-please Zayne, I want it. I need it.”

"What do you need baby?” 

You groan in frustration, but give into his demands, "I-I need you Zayne, need you inside. Need it so bad.” The way you can see his breath hitch in his throat fills you with confidence, so you lean closer until your bottom lip brushes against his, "Need to feel you inside, please Zayne.”

His jaw locks as he grits out forcefully, "I will give you everything.”

Zayne holds his cock with one hand, lining it up with your entrance. His other hand grips the wooden beams of your bed frame, "Can you take it Y/N?”

If you’re being completely honest, you’re not sure you can. Though you weren’t a virgin, you had never even seen a man so large, let alone attempted. But at Zayne’s expectant expression, you nod eagerly, "Y-yes I can, I-I can try.”

"Good girl,” he mutters, before sinking himself into you. The stretch is so much worse than you imagined it would be, practically splitting you in half. You squealed, clawing at his biceps as he did his best to enter you. Feeling so incredibly stuffed, you look down only to see he’s barely just gotten his tip inside.

The vein in Zayne’s forehead throbs as his jaw slackens, a string of swears leaving his lips, "Jesus you’re like a vice down there. I need you to loosen up love, or else I'll never be able to get inside.”

You pant against him, not knowing what to do but to watch the way he stares intently at your tummy. The heat and desire in his expression arouses you beyond belief, and you unconsciously squeeze your velvet walls in excitement. 

Zayne’s knuckles turn white as he grips the headboard for support, the veins in his forearms bulging as he groans out, "Fuck baby please. Are you trying to squeeze it off?”

"Sorry, m��sorry. S’too big,” you wail, hands gripping his shoulders for support. The stretch is nothing like you’ve ever felt, and you don’t know if you can take much more than what’s already inside you. "Z-Zayne it’s too big I c-can’t,” you pant, doing your best to relax and loosen up your muscles. 

"You can, you’re doing so good for me Y/N,” Zayne huffs out, pushing deeper into you, the slick from your forming arousal and his pre cum starting to make the stretch easier. The drag of his cock against your gummy walls starts to feel so torturously delicious, like your body was made to take him in. 

Finally, he eases into you, eyes unable to look away from where your bodies connected.

"If you could see how – hah – beautiful you look like this, spread out for me,” he grunts, being as gentle as he can manage, when all he wanted was to ram into your warm and tight cunt, squeezing him so tightly. 

"Been waiting for the day I could – shit – finally be inside you. Drove me fucking insane thinking about you and Matthew.”

His words are enough to have you leaking all over your joined bodies, the slick dampening his pelvis and your thighs. As he seats himself in you as deeply as he can, his tip brushing against your womb, he lets out a shaky breath of ecstasy.

"Is this what you – hah – thought about? When you were with another man?” His words are claiming, making butterflies explode in your gut and your cunt to flutter around him. You can only moan and drool as his body thuds into yours, over and over. 

"Sweetest little princess cunt I've ever felt,” he swears, languidly withdrawing from you before pushing back in, knocking the breath out of you. With your head leaning against the back of your bed frame you can see every second of his glistening length burrowing in and out of you, like it absolutely owned you. 

"Z-Zayne,” you moan, nails digging into his shoulders, "Please.” You don’t know exactly what you’re begging for, but you can’t stop the words from coming. 

"Hah, if you want something you have to – fuck – ask for it love,” he pants, doing his best not to get lost in the pure pleasure of finally getting to be inside you.

His words send you reeling, the ecstasy increasing with each deliberate and hard drag. You fight through the fucked out haze, vision blurred from your hooded lids, "Hah - harder please.”

At your request Zayne stutters for a brief second, your cunt squeezing so tight he could barely move, "Anything for you.” 

With his hand clutching the frame, he uses his other hand to rub harsh circles onto your swollen clit. His pelvis smacks against your thighs and ass so hard that the bed posts knock into the wall repeatedly, the skin slapping sounds mixing with the sounds of the wood against the plaster. 

At the added stimulation your eyes roll into your brain, your eyelids weighing down heavily. Zayne leans in until his chest presses against your breasts, your breaths heaving in tandem. His eyes follow yours, forcing you to hold eye contact with every deep thrust into your soul. Against your will, your eyelids flutter as the pleasure starts to overcome your fighting consciousness.

You can vaguely make out Zayne’s smirk, as his hand leaves the frame to cup your chin in his palm, "Don’t tell me you’re already worn out, love.” His fingers flick against your clit.

You yelp out, nails digging into his back with one hand while the other hand smacks his shoulder gently. You pout, "You’re so mean to me.”

He leans down to kiss your shoulder, his pace never faltering. He chuckles against your skin, "But you can take it, right? You always take me so well.” The double meaning of his words makes you clench in excitement, the praise making your chest tighten.

He groans as you clench down onto him, threatening to make him blow, "Hah so fucking tight. You like that huh baby? You like it when I praise you?” He thumbs your clit with more intensity, wanting to see you come absolutely undone for him.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming, nodding eagerly in response to his words. Zayne’s thrusts only grow in intensity, as if he’s trying to reach your esophagus from your cunt. You’re a mess of uncontrollable moans and mewls, unable to stop your eyes from rolling back and your tongue from hanging out as he fucked you into oblivion.

"Look at you,” he grins arrogantly, voice husky with desire and raw possessiveness, "Going on a date with my intern just to end up with my cock stuffed in you.”

You whine at his words, simultaneously not wanting to think about Matthew but also being so turned on by the dominating undertone of his words. His fingers abandon your clit, much to your disappointment, to trace the bulge his cock makes in your tummy. His other hand pulls your chin down so you can watch him.

"Look how deep I am, love,” he grunts. You watch in awe as the small bump in your stomach  bulges and disappears with the rhythm of Zayne’s thrusts. With every withdrawal, Zayne’s impressive cock glistens with slick, the throbbing veins bulging enough to make you drool. Absolutely entranced, you fit your hand under his to stroke at his cock as it pushed through your tummy.

Zayne swears as you caress his cock through the bump in your tummy, throwing his head back to catch his breath. His hand goes back to paw at your clit, trying to stop himself from blowing his load into you right there.  

As the climax builds in your gut, you throb around his impossibly hardened length spearing in and out of you, to which he twitches inside of you. The sounds of your combined whimpers and grunts, the lewd smacks of his damp slick dampened skin against yours, and the bed slamming against the wall overwhelm your brain until you can only think about Zayne, his cock inside you, and the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

"Zayne, I-I’m close,” you cry, hand abandoning your stomach to loop around his neck, digging your nails into his damp skin.

"Fuck – I know love, I can feel you trying to squeeze it out of me,” he grunts, body slamming into yours so hard that your body smacks against the headboard.

"I’m gonna – gonna cum,” you cry, nails digging into the taut muscles of his back.

"No,” he demands, and you do your best not to gape at him. He gasps through his next strokes, "Be a good girl and wait for me. I want to feel you finish all over me when I cum inside you.”

"O-okay,” you say, but you’re honestly unsure if you’ll be able to wait, the waves of pleasure crashing into you so roughly it threatens to overtake you right then and there.

"That’s my girl,” gripping your chin, Zayne leans in to kiss you again, his tongue claiming your warm and waiting mouth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body tenses as you try to quell the raging tides of the impending climax, moaning endlessly into Zayne’s mouth.

You pull away to breathe, your lungs needing as much oxygen as possible to withstand the ecstasy. Zayne’s hand grips the wooden beams above your bed again, his knuckles turning white as he watches the pleasure contort your beautiful face. 

"I-I can’t – ”

"You can, baby. I’m – hah – almost there, just hold on a little longer for me,” he grunts. The pleasure and pain of his edging threatens to knock you unconscious, but you nod and throw your head back as your eyes roll backwards again.

Through your fucked out haze you can vaguely see a strange icy sheen forming on the wooden beams of your bed’s headboard. You follow the path of luminous crystals and realize they’re forming from Zayne’s hand that grips against the frame so tightly his knuckles are pale and taut, as he comes closer to exploding inside you. 

Unable to shake yourself out of the pleasure, you can’t find the words to warn Zayne. You continue to watch in awe as the beautiful iridescent flakes frost over the dull old wood. His palm is covered in a layer of snow white frost, the tiny snowflakes dancing around his skin as it grips the furniture so forcefully. You realize he’s losing control of his evol, because of you. And the idea of that threatens to push you head first into your second orgasm of the night.

It happened so fast. As Zayne bullies himself in and out of you, thrusting as if his life depended on it, the wooden beams of your headboard cracks in his hand, the wood turning brittle against his icy evol, and shattering under the force of his bruising grip. 

Zayne shields your body with his own as frozen wooden splinters fly everywhere, his thrusts stuttering as the sound of cracking wood pierces the air. You can tell he’s scared, constantly worried about losing control of his evol around you like this. His hands clasp together, massaging his wrists and trying to calm the unpredictable storm of his evol. You can feel him about to pull away, to get away from you and keep you safe.

You hug him close to you as he tries to pull away not wanting him to stop, not caring the least bit about the splintering wood falling into your hair. The worry and disgust with himself is evident in his eyes, and it tears at your heart so you do your best to comfort him, "S’okay Zayne, it’s not a big deal, I promise.”

But his eyes are far away, thick with emotions that make your chest lurch. You hold his face in  your hands trying to get him to look at you and not the splintered mess of furniture above you. You lock your knees around his waist. "Zayne baby,” you soothe gently, "Look at me. Look at me please.”

His frantic eyes meet yours under the guidance of your palms. You watch as the storm in his eyes calms down ever so slightly when they meet yours. You brush your thumb against his cheek, whispering, "Don’t stop, please. M’so close. I need you.” 

But Zayne is hesitant, only filled with worry for you, his thrusts halting altogether but still thick and solid in you. His jaw clenches down, "Did I hurt you?”

"Not at all,” you reassure, hand stroking his anguish laced face, "I don’t care, please make me cum Zayne, want to cum for you s’bad.”

Zayne continues his thrusts slowly, trying to shake away his anger at himself, "Hah – I'm so sorry Y/N, I'll buy you a new one, okay?”

"Y-yes whatever you want, but please just fuck me,” you plead, not wanting your climax to slip through your fingers, "Please don’t stop.” 

Your begging is enough to have Zayne going feral again, slowly regaining the vigor in his thrusts. His hand dusts the wooden fragments away from your hair. Your head sinks deep into the pillow, and falls back to peer at the gaping hole in your bed frame, slightly in awe of his sheer primal strength. It honestly turned you on unbelievably, edging you closer and closer. 

"Zayne I c-can’t wait anymore, m’sorry m’cumming,” you wail, your nails digging through his back as the ecstasy explodes in your body, from the tips of your curled toes to your fucked out brain. Your walls flex against Zayne’s vigorous thrusts as he continues to chase his own high, briefly forgetting about the furniture he’d ruined in his brief slip of control. 

Your eyes pull away from the snowflakes melting on the splintered headboard and fixate on Zayne’s eyes as your vision spots with fireworks, his cock pistoning in and out of you relentlessly. 

He lifts your thighs up until they press against his chest, your muscles aching in protest. Your ankles rest on his shoulders as he drives himself into your guts at this angle. He leans down and your body screams at the stretch in your muscles but he hits you so deeply like this you can’t feel anything but pleasure. He hits your g spot at every thrust, your body barely recovering from the previous orgasm as he steers you straight into another. 

"Sh-shit,” he groans, his eyes hooded as they bore into yours, "Squeezing me so fucking tight, are you trying to milk me? If you keep clenching down like that I'm gonna – fuck!” He swears at your nails digging into his broad back, dragging deep scratches into him as he fucks you roughly through the pleasure. 

"P-please Zayne I want to feel you,” you cry, "Cum inside me, please.” As Zayne pounds into you with no semblance of mercy, stars blur your vision, your body doing your best to accommodate him and the endless waves of overwhelming ecstasy. Your wet release splashes against your skin with every thrust of his hard muscular body. 

"F-fuck I'm gonna cum so deep inside you baby,” he groans with his eyes intently staring into yours, "This pussy is all mine.”

"You’re mine,” his voice is intense, a primal growl of urge and possessiveness, claiming you as his with both words and with his body. He bends back down, pressing a wet open mouthed kiss into you, tongue intertwining with yours needily. Both his hands threads through your hair, tugging gently as he rocks into you. He groans into your mouth, body shuddering as he finally releases into you.

Zayne rips away from your lips to rock onto his knees before you and carry you onto his lap, wanting to be able to hold you as close as possible as he emptied rope after rope inside of you. The angle allowed him to literally fuck his spend up into you. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands around his neck, unable to even squeal at the sudden movement, only able to drool out against the crook of his neck. 

His spend is so deliciously hot inside of you, as your pussy quivers at the warmth, squeezing him even more. He forces his tongue into you again, wanting to be attached to you in every way as he pumps every thick rope into your waiting womb. As he tugs on your bottom lip, body still pressed on top of your legs, cock hitting your sweetest spots, you release all over him again.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your cunt pulsates uncontrollably, pulling more and more of his essence into you. Zayne’s thick muscles shake under you, the waves of his orgasm rocking his entire body into yours.  

You pant as his bounces slow, his unending stamina finally coming to a halt as his sweaty chest heaves against your trembling breasts. He presses gentle kisses to the deep hickeys he’d marked onto your skin, using his broad hands to caress your bruise splotched throat.

The sound of satisfied pants and soft moans blankets the two of you as you snuggle into him, never wanting this moment of post sex bliss to end. Your collective spend begins to leak down onto Zayne’s lap, your poor cunt physically unable to hold the copious amount of spend inside of you. 

As his member softens it begins to slip out of you uncomfortably, so you squeeze in an effort to keep him in you as long as physically possible. 

Zayne swears, his eyes heated and his gentle grip on your throat tightening just slightly, as he warns you darkly, "Behave. Unless you want me to take you again.”

And though the idea of him bringing you to orgasm again, and many times after, sounds like heaven on earth, you don’t think your poor cunt can possibly handle any more pleasure for tonight. He chuckles when you ease up, stroking the curvature of your naked spine with his icy fingers. 

"I’m sorry about your bed, my love,” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, falling softly backwards onto the bed and guiding you down with him until you rested on top of his hard muscular body, his softening erection still nuzzled deep inside you. He’s careful to lay the two of your joined bodies away from the destroyed headboard, holding your head protectively against his chest.  "I will buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

His free hand roams every inch of your body, from twirling the strands of your hair to gripping the supple flesh of your rear. 

"S’okay Zayne, it’s not necessary,” you murmur sleepily, tracing the contours of his taut muscles, "I don’t need a new frame.” Honestly the idea of Zayne breaking your bed in pure primal lust was enough to have the heat collecting back in between your thighs. 

"I would rather you take me on a date,” you smile into his skin, "Since you ruined the one I had today.”

Zayne chuckles, the sound so warm and beautiful to your ears you think you might melt right into his solid frame, "I suppose I did. Will you let me take you out tomorrow?”

You lean up so that your chin rests on his chest and you can peer at him through your lashes, giving him your best begging face, "Only if you beg.” 

He looks up at you, the amused lopsided smile on his face just begging to be wiped off, "Please? Let me take you to dinner.” He lifts your chin off his chest with his index finger, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He smirks when you shiver at his fleeting touch, watching you bend to his very will.

"And then after…” he trails off, fingers leaving your face to trace against the side of your exposed breasts, and up to your hard nipples. You bite your lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of moaning out. 

As he incessantly fiddles with your skin, you finish his thought with a joke, "After you can come destroy my new bed frame too.”

Zayne’s eyes darken with mischief and amusement, "You shouldn't write checks your body can’t cash, my love.”

The filthy promise in his words coupled with his cold fingers pressed deliciously into your pebbled peaks rip the whimper you’d been holding back out of your lips, your cunt clenching in anticipation despite your crippling exhaustion.

But it seems Zayne knows your body as well as you do. "But for tonight, just sleep,” he mumbles into the top of your head, pressing his lips into your hair. 

"Mmm stay here with me, please,” you murmur into his chest, letting the sleep take root in your pleasure numbed mind. 

"I'll be here when you wake up,” he reassures, his voice falling deeper and rougher with exhaustion and hands shifting to cover your bodies with your comforter. His hands then wrap around your waist, holding your body against this, as if scared you’d disappear from his arms. "I won’t ever leave you.” 

Your heart flutters as the unconsciousness claims you. "G’night Zayne,” you mumble, kissing his chest.

"Good night my love.”

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[creatingblackcharacters]

“The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth” - Violence, Violent Imagery & Black Horror

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of death, violence, blood, hate crimes, antiblackness, police violence, rape

Note! I am going to be speaking from a Black American point of view, as my identity informs my experience. That said, antiblackness itself is international. The idea of my Blackness as a threat, as a source of fear and violence to repress and to destroy, is something every Black person in the world that has ever dealt with white supremacy has experienced.

There are two things, I think, that are important to note as we start this conversation.

One: there is a long history of violence towards Black bodies that is due to our dehumanization. People do not care for the killing of a mouse in the way they care about a human. But if you think the people you are dealing with are not people, but animals- more particularly, pests, something distasteful- then you will be able to rationalize treating them as such.

Two: even though we live in a time period where that overt belief of Blackness as inhuman is less likely, we must recognize that there are centuries of belief behind this concept; centuries of arguments and actions that cement in our minds that a certain amount of violence towards Blackness is normal. That subconscious belief you may hold is steeped in centuries of effort to convince you of it without even questioning it. And because of this very real re-enforcement of desensitization, naturally another place this will manifest itself is in how we tell and comprehend stories.

There are also three points I'm about to make first- not the only three that can ever be made, but the ones that stand out the most to me when we talk about violence with Black characters:

One: Your Black readers may experience that scene you wrote differently than you meant anyone to, just because our history may change our perspective on what’s happening.

Two: The idea that Black characters and people deserve the pain they are experiencing.

Three: The disbelief or dismissal of the pain of Black characters and people.

You Better Start Believing In Ghost Stories- You’re In One

I don’t need to tell Black viewers scary fairytales of sadists, body snatchers and noncoincidental disappearances, cannibals, monsters appearing in the night, and dystopian, unjust systems that bury people alive- real life suffices! We recognize the symbolism because we’ve seen real demons.

Some real examples of familiar, terrifying stories that feel like drama, but are real experiences:

12 Years a Slave: “This is no fiction, no exaggeration. If I have failed in anything, it has been in presenting to the reader too prominently the bright side of the picture. I doubt not hundreds have been as unfortunate as myself; that hundreds of free citizens have been kidnapped and sold into slavery, and are at this moment wearing out their lives on plantations in Texas and Louisiana.” – Solomon Northup

When They See Us: I can’t get myself to watch When They See Us, because I learned about the actual trial of the Central Park Five- now the Exonerated Five- in my undergrad program. Five teen Black and brown boys, subjected to racist and cruel policing and vilification in the media- from Donald Trump calling for their deaths in the newspaper, to being imprisoned under what the Clintons deemed a generation of “superpredators” during a “tough on crime” administration. And as audacious as it is to say, as Solomon Northup explained, they were fortunate. The average Black person funneled into the prison system doesn’t get the opportunity to make it back out redeemed or exonerated, because the system is designed to capture and keep them there regardless of their innocence or guilt. Their lives are irreparably changed; they are forever trapped.

Jasper, Texas: Learning about the vicious, gruesome murder of James Byrd Jr, was horrific- and that was just the movie. No matter how “community comes together” everyone tells that story, the reality is that there are people who will beat you, drag you chained down a gravel road for three miles as your body shreds away until you are decapitated, and leave your mangled body in front of a Black church to send a message… Because you’re Black and they hate you. To date I am scared when I’m walking and I see trucks passing me, and don’t let them have the American or the Confederate flag on them. Even Ahmaud Arbery, all he was doing was jogging in his hometown, and white men from out of town decided he should be murdered for that.

Do you want to know what all of these men and boys, from 1841 to 2020, had in common? What they did to warrant what happened to them? Being outside while Black. Some might call it “wrong place wrong time”, but the reality is that there is no “right place”. Sonya Massey, Breonna Taylor- murdered inside their home. Where else can you be, if the danger has every right to barge inside? There is no “safe”.

It is already Frightening to live while Black- not because being Black is inherently frightening, but because our society has made it horrific to do so. But that leads into my next point:

“They Shouldn’t Have Resisted”

Think of all the videos of assaulted and murdered Black people from police violence. If you can stomach going into the comments- which I don’t, anymore- you’ll see this classic comment of hate in the thousands, twisting your stomach into knots:

“if they obeyed the officer, if they didn’t resist, this wouldn’t have happened”

Another way our punitive society normalizes itself is via the idea of respectability politics; the idea that “if you are Good, if you do what you are Supposed to do, you will not be hurt- I will not have to hurt you”. Therefore, if my people are always suffering violence, it must be because we are Bad. And in a society that is already less gracious to Black people, that is more likely to think we are less human, that we are innately bad and must earn the right to be exceptional… the use of excessive violence towards me must be the natural outcome. “If your people weren’t more likely to be criminals, there wouldn’t be the need to be suspicious of you”- that is the way our society has taught us to frame these interactions, placing the blame for our own victimization on us.

Sidebar: I would highly suggest reading The New Jim Crow, written in 2010 by Michelle Alexander, to see how this mentality helps tie into large scale criminalization and mass incarceration, and how the cycle is purposely perpetuated.

You have to constantly be aware of how you look, walk and talk- and even then, that won’t be enough to save you if the time comes. The turning point for me, personally, was the murder of Sandra Bland. If she could be educated, beautiful, a beacon of her community, be everything a “Good” Black person is supposed to be… and still be murdered via police violence, they can kill any of us. And that’s a very terrifying thought- that anything at any point can be the reason for your death, and it will be validated because someone thinks you shouldn’t have “been that way”. And that way has far less to do with what you did, than it does who you are. Being “that way” is Black.

My point is, if this belief is so normalized in real life about violence on Black bodies- that somehow, we must have done something to deserve this- what makes you think that this belief does not affect how you comprehend Black people suffering in stories?

Hippocratic Oath

Human experimentation? Vivisection? Organ stealing? Begging for medicine? Dramatically bleeding out? Not trusting just anyone to see that you are hurt, because they might take advantage? All very real fears. The idea that pain is normal for Black people is especially rampant in the healthcare field, where ideas like our melanin making our skin thick enough to feel less pain (no), an overblown fear of ‘drug misuse’, and believing we are overexaggerating our pain makes many Black people being unwilling to trust the healthcare system. And it comes down to this thought:

If you think that I feel less pain, you will allow me to suffer long before you believe that I am in pain.

I was psychologically spiraling I was in so much pain after my wisdom teeth removal, and my surgeon was more concerned about “addiction to the medication”. Only because Hot Chocolate’s mom is a nurse, did I get an effective medicine schedule. My mother ended up with jaw rot because her surgeon outright claimed that she didn’t believe that she was in more than the ‘healing’ pain after her wisdom teeth were removed. She also has a gigantic, macabre (and awesome fr) scar on her stomach from a c-section she received after four days of labor attempting to have me… all because she was too poor and too Black to afford better doctors who wouldn’t have dismissed her struggles to push.

As a major example of dismissed Black pain: let’s discuss the mortality rate of Black women during childbirth, as well as the likelihood of our children to die. When we say “they will let you bleed to death”, we mean it.

“Black women have the highest maternal mortality rate in the United States — 69.9 per 100,000 live births for 2021, almost three times the rate for white women, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Black babies are more likely to die, and also far more likely to be born prematurely, setting the stage for health issues that could follow them through their lives.”

Even gynecology roots in dismissal (and taking brutal advantage of) Black women's pain:

“The history of this particular medical branch … it begins on a slave farm in Alabama,” Owens said. “The advancement of obstetrics and gynecology had such an intimate relationship with slavery, and was literally built on the wounds of Black women.” Reproductive surgeries that were experimental at the time, like cesarean sections, were commonly performed on enslaved Black women. Physicians like the once-heralded J. Marion Sims, an Alabama doctor many call the “father of gynecology,” performed torturous surgical experiments on enslaved Black women in the 1840s without anesthesia. And well after the abolition of slavery, hospitals performed unnecessary hysterectomies on Black women, and eugenics programs sterilized them.”

If you think Black characters are not in pain, or that they’re overexaggerating, you’re more likely to be okay with them suffering more in comparison to those whose pain you take more seriously- to those you believe.

What’s My Point?

My point is that whatever terrifying scene you think you’re writing, whatever violent whump scenario you think you’re about to put your Black characters through, there’s a chance it has probably happened and was treated as nonimportant (damn shame, right?) And when those terrifying scenes are both written and read, the way their suffering will be felt depends on how much you as a reader care, how much you believe they are suffering.

There’s a joke amongst readers of color that many dystopian tales are tales of “what happened if white people experienced things that the rest of us have already been put through?” Think concepts like alien invasion and mass eradication of the existing population- you may think of that as an action flick, meanwhile peoples globally have suffered colonization for centuries. The Handmaid’s Tale- forced birthing and raising of “someone else’s” children, always subject to sexual harassment by the Master while subject to hate from the Mistress- that’s just being a Mammy.

There’s nothing wrong with having Black characters be violent or deal with violence, especially in a story where every character is going through shit. That is not the problem! What I am trying to tell you, though, is to be aware that certain violent imagery is going to evoke familiarity in Black viewers. And if I as a Black viewer see my very real traumas treated as entertainment fodder- or worse, dismissed- by the narrative and other viewers, I will probably not want to consume that piece of media anymore. I will also question the intentions and the beliefs of the people who treat said traumas so callously. Now, if that’s not something you care about, that’s on you! But for people who do care, it is something we need to make sure we are catching before we do it.

“So I just can’t write anything?!”

Stop that. There are plenty of examples of stories containing horror and violence with Black characters. There’s an entire genre of us telling our own stories, using the same violence as symbolism. I’m not telling you “no” (least not always). I’m telling you to take some consideration when you write the things that you do. There’s nothing wrong about writing your Black characters being violent or experiencing violence. But there is a difference between making it narratively relevant, and thoughtlessly using them as a “spook”, a stereotypical scary Black person, or a punching bag, especially in a way that may invoke certain trauma.

The Black Guy Dies First

The joke is that we never survive these horror movies because we either wouldn’t be there to begin with, or because we would make better decisions and the narrative can’t have that. But the reality is just that a lot of writers find Black characters- Black people- expendable in comparison to their white counterparts, and it shows. More of a “here, damn” sort of character, not worth investment and easy to shrug off. The book itself I haven’t read, just because it’s pretty new, but I’m looking forward to doing so. But from the summaries, it goes into horror media history and how Black characters have fared in these stories, as well as how that connects to the society those characters were written in. I.e., a thorough version of this lesson.

Instead, I wrote an entire list of questions you could possibly ask yourself involving violence or villainy involving a Black character. Feel free to print it and put it on your wall where you write if you have to! I cannot stress enough that asking yourself questions like these are good both for your creation and just… being less antiblack in general when you consume media.

Black Horror/Black Thriller

We, too, have turned our violent experiences into stories. I continue to highly suggest watching our films and reading our stories to see how we convey our fear, our terror, our violence and our pain. There are plenty of stories that work- Get Out, The Angry Black Girl and her Monster, Candyman, Lovecraft Country (the show) and Nanny are some examples. There’s even a blog by the co-writer of The Black Guy Dies First who runs BlackHorrorMovies where he reviews horror movies from throughout the decades.

Desiree Evans has a great essay, We Need Black Horror More Than Ever, that gets into why this genre is so creative and effective, that I think says what I have to say better than I could.

“Even before Peele, Black horror had a rich literary lineage going back to the folklore of Africa and its Diaspora. Stories of haints, witches, curses, and magic of all kinds can be found in the folktales collected by author and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston and in the folktales retold by acclaimed children’s book author Virginia Hamilton. One of my earliest childhood literary memories is being entranced by Hamilton’s The House of Dies Drear and Patricia McKissack’s children’s book classic The Dark-Thirty: Southern Tales of the Supernatural, both examples of the ways Black authors have tapped into Black history along with our rich ghostlore.” “Black horror can be clever and subversive, allowing Black writers to move against racist tropes, to reconfigure who stands at the center of a story, and to shift the focus from the dominant narrative to that which is hidden, submerged. To ask: what happens when the group that was Othered, gets to tell their side of the story?”

For on the nose simplicity, I’m going to use hood classic Tales From The Hood (1994) as an example of how violence can be integrated into Black horror tales. Tales From The Hood is like… The Twilight Zone by Black people. Messages discussing issues in our community, done through a mystical twist. Free on Tubi! If you want to stop here before some spoilers, it’s an hour and a half. A great time!

In the first story, a Black political activist is murdered by the cops. The scene is reflective of the real-world efforts to discredit and even murder activists speaking out against police violence, as well as the types of things done to criminalize Black citizens for capture. The song Strange Fruit plays in the background, to drive the point home that this is a lynching.

The second story deals with a Black little boy experiencing abuse in the home, drawing a green monster to show his teacher why he’s covered in wounds and is lashing out at school.

The fourth story is about a gangbanger who undergoes “behavioral modification” to be released from prison early. Think of the classic scene from A Clockwork Orange. He must watch as imagery of the Klan and of happy whites lynching Black bodies (real-life pictures and video, mind you!) play into his mind alongside gang violence.

Isn’t Violence Stereotypical or antiblack?

That last story from Tales From The Hood leads into a good point. It can be! But it does not have to be! Violence is a human experience. By suggesting we don’t experience it or commit it, you would be denying everything I’ve just spoken about. We don’t have to be racist to write our Black characters in violent situations. We also don’t have to comprehend those situations through a racist lens.

Even experiences that seem “stereotypical” do not have to be comprehended that way. I get a LOT of questions about if something is stereotypical, and my response is always that it depends on the writing!!! You could give me a harmless prompt and it becomes the most racist story ever once you leave my inbox. But you could give me a “stereotypical” prompt and it be genuine writing.

Let’s take the movie Juice for example. Juice in my honest to God opinion becomes a thriller about halfway in. On its surface, Juice looks like bad Black boys shooting and cursing and doing things they aren’t supposed to be doing! Incredibly stereotypical- violent young thugs. You might think, “you shouldn’t write something like this- you’re telling everyone this is what your community is like”. First- there’s that respectability politics again! Just because something is not a “respectable” story does not mean it doesn’t need to be told!

But if we’re actually paying attention, what we’re looking at is four young boys dealing with their environment in different ways. All four of them originally stick together to feel power amongst their brotherhood as they all act tough and discover their own identities. They are not perfect, but they are still kids. In this environment, to be tough, to be strong, you do the things that they are doing. You run from cops, you steal from stores, you mess with all the girls and talk shit and wave weapons. That’s what makes you “big”. That’s what gives you the “juice”- and the “juice” can make you untouchable.

I want to focus particularly on Bishop, yes, played by Tupac. Bishop, the antagonist of Juice, is particularly powerless, angry, and scared of the world around him. He puts on a big front of bravado, yelling, cursing, and talking big because he’s tired of being afraid, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it otherwise. So when he gets access to a gun- to power- he quickly spirals out of control. His response to his fear is to wave around a tool that makes him feel stronger, that stops the things that scare him from scaring him.

Now, that is not a unique tale! That is a tale that any race could write about, particularly young white men with gun violence! If you ever cared for Fairuza Balk’s character in The Craft, it is a similar fall from grace. But because it is on a young, Black man in the hood, audiences are less likely to empathize with Bishop. And granted, Bishop is unhinged! But many a white character has been, and is not shoved into a stereotype that white people cannot escape from!

Now would I be comfortable if a nonblack person attempted to write a narrative like Juice? Yes, because I’d worry about the tendency to lose the messaging and just fall into stereotype outright. But it can be done! The story can be told!

“But if Black violence bad, why rap?”

The short answer:

“In order for me to write poetry that isn’t political, I must listen to the birds, and in order to hear the birds, the warplanes must be silent.”

Marwhan Makhoul, Palestinian Poet

First, rap is not “only violence and misogyny”. Step your understanding of the genre up; there are plenty of options outside of the mainstream that don’t discuss those things. Second, every genre of music has mainstream popular songs about vice and sin. The idea that Black rappers have to be held to a higher standard is yet another example of how we are seen as inherently bad and must prove ourselves good. We could speak about nothing but drugs and alcohol and 1) there would still be white artists who do the very same and 2) we would still deserve to be treated like humans.

That said, many- not all- rappers rap about violence for the same reason Billy Joel wrote We Didn’t Start the Fire, the same reason Homer first spoke The Iliad- because they have something to say about it! They stand in a long tradition of people using poetry and rhythm to tell stories. Rap is an art of storytelling!

Rap is often used as an expression of frustration and righteous anger against a system built to keep us trapped within it. I’m not allowed to be angry? Why wouldn’t I be angry? Anger is a protective emotion, often when one feels helpless. Young Black people also began to reclaim and glorify the violence they lived in within their music, to take pride in their survival and in their success in a world that otherwise wanted them to fail. If I think the world fights against me no matter what I do, I’d rather live in pride than in shame with a bent head. Is it right? Maybe, maybe not. But if you don’t want them to rap about violence, why not alleviate the things leading to the violence in their environment?

Whether you choose to listen to their words, because the delivery scares you- and trust, angry Black men scared the music industry and society- doesn’t make the story any less valid!

Conclusion

I am going to drop a classic by Slick Rick called Children’s Story. I think listening to it- and I mean genuinely listening- summarizes what I’ve said here about how Black creators can tell stories, even violent ones, and how even the delivery through Blackness can change how you perceive them. Please take the time to listen before continuing.

I’ve been alive for 28 years and have known this song my whole life, and it just hit me tonight: not once is the kid in this story identified as Black! My perception of this story was completely altered by my own experiences, who told the story, and how it was told.

That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You can tell stories of violence that involve Black characters. I love and adore a good hurt/comfort myself! But you need to be cognizant of your audience and how they’ll perceive the story you’re telling, and that includes the types of imagery you include. It’s not effective catharsis via hurt/comfort for the audience if your Black readers are being completely left out of the comfort. “I wrote this for myself” that’s cool, but… if you wrote racism for yourself, and you’re willing to admit that to yourself, that’s on you. I’d like to think that’s not your intention! You can write these stories of woe and pain without mistreating your Black characters- but that requires knowing and acknowledging when and how you’re doing that!

@afropiscesism makes a solid point in this post: our horror stories are not just fairytales full of amorphous boogiemen meant to teach lessons. Racial violence is very real, very alive, and we cannot act like the things we write can be dismissed outright as “oh well it’s not real”. Sure, those characters aren’t real. But the way you feel about Black bodies and violence is, and often it can slip into your writing as a pattern without you even realizing it. Be willing to get uncomfortable and check yourself on this as you write, as well as noticing it in other works!

If you’re constantly thinking “I would never do this”, you’ll never stop yourself when you inevitably do! If you know what violent imagery can be evoked, you can utilize it or avoid it altogether- but only if you’re willing to get honest about it. You might not intend to do any of this, but it doesn’t matter if you don’t change the pattern, because as always, it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[yanderedrabbles]

does yandere boyfriend play video games? or is he the backseat gamer while reader does all the work?

Yandere Boyfriend Reviews Your Favourite Video Games:

He's most definitely a backseat gamer. Doesn't like playing anything scarier than Stardew Valley. Not very good with technology, so don't even try bringing a gaming PC near him.

However, he loves it when you play games. Has his own little chair set up to watch you and everything. Obviously, his favourites are story games. Stuff you can enjoy together without him having to pick up a controller. I'd like to think he has his own little review thing going. Maybe on some niche part of the internet, like the male version of Girlfriend Reviews. Who's reading his posts? I'd like to think other yanderes, who want to ensure their locked away darlings are getting the proper (and appropriate) enrichment.

Here are some extracts from his reviews:

Do NOT buy your girlfriend Dark Souls. When she can't beat the boss she WILL try and beat you instead. The issue isn't her hurting you, but the fact that she will sprain her wrist when she tries it. And then get mad at you for letting it happen. And then get even more mad when the bandages means she loses another boss fight. Save her the pain. Don't even look at Fromsoftware games.

ARTHUR MORGAN WILL STEAL YOUR GIRL! He's going to steal her away for at least sixty hours. But the more likely scenario is that you won't see for about three hundred. And when she finally emerges, she'll be crying and asking you to buy her a cowboy hat. If the TB didn't finish him, I'd have shot the bastard myself for making her cry. Don't buy Red Dead Redemption 2.

Ghost of Tsushima is a beautiful game with a beautiful story and beautiful scenery. I just wish Jin wouldn't keep getting into hot springs naked. I don't want my girl seeing all that.

The Sims was fun up until the part she turned me into a character and then locked me in her basement. Then it got really fun.

I'm never buying her Call of Duty again. She keeps trying to tell me that its 'just fanfiction' and that she doesn't 'really like Ghost like that.' Yeah right. Why does some fictional prick in a cheap mask have her blushing so much anyway? She really likes that mask, though. Hmm. Maybe I ought to get one too...

Stardew Valley is wonderful. But why do all these little people think they stand a chance with my girl? Their carrot planting season isn't optimised at all, and they think they're worthy of her? Take a hike pal. Try again when your harvest yield isn't so pathetic.

Love & Deepspace shouldn't get within a hundred feet of your girl. Stupid pretty boys with their stupid hair cuts and stupid smiles and stupid-

[jaydove-writes]

Moving intro to pinned post so bio is less cluttered

~ he/him, cis, biromantic asexual, engaged to @starlightprincess98, (Planning to get married February 14th 2026) born July 12th 1997 (listed the year so I don't have to update my age every year) ****

Platonic soulmates: @aflairforthemelodramaticc and @translesbianfoxgirl

**** Formerly known as **** @princesssparkle42 **** @jaydovesworld **** Other blogs include **** @ask-skybluecmc, if you want to do some MLP OC RP **** @phoenix-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your favorite games or mine (Though I also do that on main) **** @phiction-of-grandeur, if you want to talk about your stories or mine (Again I do that on main) **** @ask-the-felicity-crew, if you want to RP between your OCs and mine or ask me questions that I will answer as mine. The characters may or may not know they are fictional depending on when in the timeline you ask them.

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@ask-simon-devlyn, same as the Felicity Crew, but centered around the captain, Simon Devlyn. On this blog Simon knows he's fictional.

**** I love talking to people and making new friends! I'm also creating my own story series called Starbourne. Wanna be friends in the gaming multiverse? Here are my Friend Codes:

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Steam: 111892045

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Nintendo Switch: SW-5163-5533-6136 ****

Musical Fandoms:

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Chrono Trigger

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Undertale

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EPIC

**** Show Fandoms: **** MLP **** Steven Universe **** The Owl House **** Amphibia

**** The Ghost and Molly McGee **** Sailor Moon **** Cardcaptor Sakura

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Infinity Train

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Spongebob Squarepants ****

More later

**** Game Fandoms: **** Any RPG that features Mario (Such as Super Mario RPG, the Paper Mario series, or the Mario and Luigi RPG series) **** Any indie game inspired by Paper Mario (Such as Bug Fables or Born of Bread) ****

Undertale and Deltarune ****

In Stars and Time

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Kirby

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Hollow Knight and Silksong **** Zelda (mainly just watching other people play them) **** Pokemon (see Zelda) **** Might add more later **** Book Fandoms: **** Percy Jackson et al **** Amari **** Serafina **** Might add more later ****

Webcomic Fandoms

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Homestuck

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Down to Earth

***** Donation Links

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Kofi

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Patreon

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PayPal

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Book 1 of my series, Starbourne, is FREE!! For the other books please donate $6 per book to one of the aforementioned links. I'm planning on making this a series of 9, but currently working on book 2.

Doing one of those note things for motivation (or notivation because notes lol)

25 notes - I do the dishes and clean out the litter box (done, for now... But these are Sisyphean tasks)

50 notes - I clean up around the house (I did a little cleanup, might do more later)

100 notes - I do a little work on my book (it still needs editing before I can publish it and write the sequel, but I'll do some work on that when my PC stops crashing)

250 notes - I start working on book 2 (or work harder on editing book 1 if it still needs it)

500 notes - I participate in artfight (in the first July after it reaches this threshold. I doubt it'll get there by this month.)

1k notes - I start working on a video game in the Starbourne multiverse. A small one, like Undertale is to Deltarune. I'm calling it Saturn Robe which is an anagram for Starbourne, like Undertale is for Deltarune.

2.5k notes - I start working on my dream game, Starbourne. The one that's the reason I started writing in the first place. (If the small game isn't finished I work harder on that)

5k notes - I dedicate my time to taking care of myself/my partner/my family, and working on my dream game.

10k notes - I become a god in the Tumblrverse (this will not happen)

If you want to know more about Starbourne, check out my other blog @phiction-of-grandeur and my community for more details. My askbox is always open if you want to ask me something.

Here's the first book now:

And here's a newer version of the first book, with (hopefully) better writing. It's gonna be longer than the draft above.

Here's the book on AO3 as well ^^

And here's my artfight link. It's new so there's nothing there yet. ^^^

Here's a game I made in Scratch back in 2012... I occasionally update it when I think of a new idea for an update. Feel free to ask me about Epic Kitty Hunt updates!

[lyiswriting]

Plus size reader x stalker!OC

This is an original character! but I do get COD ghost and Ghostface vibes from him.

I finally caught him! The goddamn stalker that has been watching and freaking me out for months. I get that this might not have been my best idea but here we are! He's handcuffed to a chair and just looking at me. Watching my every move as I pace around the room indecisive if I should call the cops. Why do you do this? I ask sternly, I'm nervous but try not to show it but he knows better. Why not? Tilts his head, you're fucking gorgeous and entertaining. I scuffs that's not a good answer, there's a good answer to that?

Well...not exactly... I think you're precious, you hung the stars for me. Life has never been brighter, I love to watch your every move. How pretty you look asleep, cooking, reading, and writing. You fucking name it! His voice is rough and his eyes darken as he starts talking more. In the fucking shower he groans and throws his head back, even with his mask still on I can tell he's smirking. I look at him Your sick! Oh, but doll face you love every single second of it. I've read those books you fawn over, those are just fictional. He scuffs and shakes his head, maybe...but I laid in your bed, read your books when you didn't even know. I love your sheets and can't wait for when I get you in them.

You're a damn perv! As if that will ever fucking happen...I mumble as my hands shake trying to hold my phone steady. Once again, you love it. You love how I'm getting hard at just recalling all of this. That someone finally actually cares and loves you enough to lose his mind over you. To risk losing everything he has just because he can't stay away from you. Shifts in his seat look at how hard you have me, baby. I look at him shocked, how can he say that so casually. How can he be hard from all this!?

I don't get it, why go through all of this for me? I'm not special, not smart, not rich and totally not pretty according to society. Don't fucking say that! He suddenly barks making me jump. You are the epitome of gorgeous. He tilts his head as he starts to pant, I'm stupid for letting him keep talking. You think I would go through all of this for someone who isn't a diamond? For someone who looks like everyone else? He laughs and shakes his head no baby.

I'm being a nice guy to you and letting you fucking think you have the upper hand. So keep that little mouth of yours in check, he growls. I look at him and my body shaking in fear. Who the fuck do you think you are? I try to act tough, this is my house. You are the one that's handcuffed! I point at him as I walk closer I do have the upper hand! And what's wrong with me saying the truth? To the media I am not pretty,

I love your voice, he suddenly switched tones as he looks at me lovingly. I love the way you think, I love your body, no matter how big. I love every single mark and scar on it. You're my solstice. His soft tone suddenly goes rough again, but I won't let you talk about yourself in that way. I suddenly hear him grunt and something breaking. I back up as he stands the cuffs sitting on his wrists, broken.

[zwartexxroos]

[📼] Headcanons of Marvel Men when you dragged them to watch horror movies together.

(including Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker, Loki Laufeyson, Stephen Strange, Logan Howlett, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Steven Grant, Joaquin Torres, and Johnny Storm)

Tony Stark

"Horror? You mean, like, fake horror or 'this is gonna traumatize me' horror?"

Jokes the entire time.

Throws popcorn when jumpscares hit—at the screen.

Lowkey startled multiple times but pretends he’s not.

“I wasn’t scared, I was just reacting for your entertainment."

Ends up clinging to you when he thinks you won’t notice.

Steve Rogers

"Sure, I can handle a horror movie."

Lies.

Eyes go wide during creepy music build-ups.

Gasps quietly when something jumps out, then looks embarrassed.

Subtly scoots closer.

Probably ends the night saying, "Let’s balance that out with a comedy next time…"

Bucky Barnes

"No. Absolutely not. I’ve been through enough horror already."

Yet… ends up watching it.

Stone-faced the whole time, like nothing phases him—until a ghost crawls on the ceiling.

“I'm done. That’s some unnatural shit.”

Secretly enjoys how you clutch his arm.

May or may not use the excuse to keep his arm around you all night.

Peter Parker

"Uhh—like horror-horror? Like, paranormal or slasher? Wait—is it gory?"

Nervous bouncing leg.

Grips the popcorn bucket like it's a lifeline.

Hides behind a pillow but still peeks through.

Ends up holding onto your hand like it’s his lifeline.

“Next time can we watch Pixar instead?”

Loki Laufeyson

"Pathetic mortals and their idea of horror. I could do far worse with a flick of my hand."

Unbothered… until the atmosphere gets too real.

Quietly mumbles, “That spirit’s possessing the wrong vessel…”

Smirks, but you catch the tension in his shoulders.

“I am not afraid. But if you are… you may cling to me.”

Ends up clinging to you later when a exorcism scene goes wrong.

Stephen Strange

"I’ve literally fought creatures from beyond time and dimensions, this is nothing."

Fully confident. (at first)

Then something moves in the corner of the screen and he pauses like: “…Okay, that was well done.”

Watches with arms crossed and half-judging the plot.

Casually throws his cape over your shoulders when you get scared.

Will not admit it if he flinched even once.

Logan Howlett

"Tch. Waste of time. Horror ain’t scary when you’ve lived through it."

Sits grumpily.

Grumbles at characters making dumb decisions.

Until the chainsaw scene starts. Then he tenses.

Might slip an arm behind you like it’s no big deal.

“If anything touches you, I’ll gut it. Even if it’s fictional.”

Charles Xavier

"As long as I don’t accidentally pick up on your panic, this should be enjoyable."

Calm and collected.

Then you jump, and it makes him jolt too.

Chuckles softly, brushes your hair aside, whispers: "You’re more entertaining than the film, my dear."

If you already watch it once, would definitely reading your mind halfway through just to know when the scares are coming (he cheats!).

Erik Lehnsherr

"I don’t see the appeal of fear-based entertainment.

Sits through it quietly… at first.

Then absolutely tenses when something crawls across the ceiling backward.

Narrows his eyes like he’s about to metalbend the ghost.

"Why would you enjoy this?"

Kinda loves the way you press yourself against him.

Steven Grant

Super enthusiastic—loves horror lore.

“This one’s got great reviews! You’re gonna love it!”

Halfway through: whispers history of the haunted object on screen “Y’know, in ancient Egypt, they used to believe—”

Will totally grip your hand during scary bits though.

After? “Brilliant film! Fancy another one? Or should I… walk you home?”

Joaquin Torres

“Horror night? I’m in!”

Brings snacks, cozy blankets, a positive vibe.

Ends up screaming once and then laughing at himself.

Constant commentary like: “Nooope. Couldn’t be me. I’d be OUTTA there.”

Sneaks an arm around your shoulders “for comfort.”

Afterwards? “You should totally sleep over—uh—so you’re not scared, of course.”

Johnny Storm

Grinning when you tell him. “Pfft. Horror? Babe, I’m flame-proof.”

Smug at first, loudly mocking the movie.

Then a REALLY good scare hits and he yells and popcorn goes flying.

“I’m still not scared! Just startled!”

Whispers in your ear, “We should do scarier things after this, yeah?”

[littlelovelunette]

hi!! idk why this weird ass scenario has been on my mind for so long but it just has 😭 (also first request kinda nervous 😖) but is there a way you could do a sevika x reader where they used to date and broke up just for reader to find out she’s pregnant and keeping the baby, then later (baby is already born, you choose the age) sevika finds out about her child she never knew she had and tries to get back into reader’s life. pls make it as weird and angsty as you like 😛 (also i promise this isn’t a weird kink thing i just wanna see more parent sevika angst instead of her just being this absolute saint as dad/mom in every other fic 😭)

ABSENTEE

—Absentee parent!Sevika x Mother!Reader

angst, sevika walks out of her child's life without even knowing said child existed, mention of childbirth, g!p sevika, angsty, family drama

— Please note that this is entirely for shits and giggles and I do not imagine Sevika to act like this as a fictional character.

⊹₊⟡⋆ "You're an asshole!" You screamed at Sevika, veins at your neck popping as tears streamed down your glossed face.

Sevika sighed and yanked the exit door open, "I'm sorry, I tried to make this work." She looked away, "And I told you this isn't serious. It's just a hookup."

"Just a hookup?" Your hand ghosted over where you wanted to grab onto her bag and beg her to stay but you knew better than that.

You watched as she walked out that door that night and something in your stomach churned. A gag rose at your throat and you almost threw up right there. You rushed to the bathroom, retching and throwing up, struggling to keep your own hair up.

You felt sick. Like never before. Maybe it was the internal turmoil you were subjected to, maybe it was not. You didn't know and you weren't sure if you wanted to know. With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the toilet and looked at your own reflection at the mirror.

"Ugh..." You rubbed your mouth clean with a paper towel and stared at the tired woman staring back at you through your reflection.

As you scrolled through your phone, trying to reason with your sudden nausea, the pregnancy articles that kept coming up started to freak you out. "Oh goodness, no, Janna, please, no."

The pregnancy test that you took stayed seated on the counter in an almost mocking manner. You paced about the cramped bathroom, glancing over at the test every now and then. Finally, your timer alarm went off and you grabbed the stick, staring at the two lines.

No, it couldn't be...

"What do you mean you are pregnant?" Your mother yelled over the phone when you told her you needed help.

"I told you, I never knew until today. And today's the day she left me and I don't understand what to do now, this is wa—"

"Young lady," your mother cleared her throat, "I've tried telling you; Sevika is a complete scum, a complete dirtbag and I'm sure she gets off knowing well that she knocked you up and now YOU will be stuck raising said child!"

"Mom, please," you took a deep breath, a quiet sniffle, "This is not the time for this."

"Figure it out then, if you're old enough to date whoever and let them knock you up, you're old enough to raise a kid!"

"Mom, just—"

You looked at the phone that beeped signalling the call had ended. Now what? Your own family turned on you. You leaned against the bathroom counter, leg bouncing slightly as you tried Sevika's number.

No luck.

You threw your phone onto the bed and plopped down onto it too. You stared at the ceiling as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. Now what? She had left you and knocked you up and now you're left pregnant and heart aching for some comfort but if even your own family turned on you, why would Sevika look back? After all, you were nothing more than a casual hookup to her.

⊹₊⟡⋆ Childbirth was the most physically and mentally exhausting experience for you. You had no idea if you would even survive it as you laid there in the bed, aching from the contractions. Tears welled in your eyes as you pushed with all that you had. The only people who support you albeit a bit too methodically and clinically? The nurses.

After the baby was born, you knew you needed to work as hard as you could to ensure the baby had a proper life. After all, you didn't want your sweet daughter to ever worry about the trivial things in life. Even if you worked from home, you made the best of it.

"Come on, Ellie," you called out to your four year old daughter Ellie who was excitedly shuffling through the clothes at the store. "Come on, let's go."

"Mommy, look!" Ellie ran to you with a little hat in a hard grip as she skipped on, tripping over her own two feet and landing on her front.

"Oh, my god!" You were about to run to help her up, but then a stranger close by did so for you.

"Careful, little one," the stranger said in a deep voice, crouching to help little Ellie up who sniffled a little, looking down at her slightly scraped knee.

"Hi, I'm Ellie's mother, thanks for the—" your voice got caught in your throat, "You." You stared back at the woman who'd gotten you pregnant and abandoned you.

"She has my eyes," Sevika said in a breathy, awed voice.

"Come on, Ellie, let's go." You said, grabbing Ellie up and starting to walk towards the exit, putting the hat down.

"B-but mommy..."

She didn't argue, she was an obedient child afterall. You guided her to the car, and opened the door. You wished badly that Sevika would just leave you alone but she didn't.

"You didn't even tell me I had a daughter!" Sevika yelled after you.

"Do you think you deserved to know? After all, we were casual," you snapped and put Ellie in her seat at the back before you opened the driver's side door, "Now, please. Kindly, leave me alone."

You slammed the door shut as you got in the car, getting out of the parking lot and driving away. Your eyes threatened to blur out with tears but you held it in as you drove back home.

"Mommy, who was that?" Ellie asked, trying to look out of the car window.

"Nobody, sweetie." You looked at the road, "Nobody that matters, at least."

⊹₊⟡⋆ You parked and sighed, you wanted to hit your head against the steering wheel, sob even. But you didn't do anything. You pursed your lips and held it in instead.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Ellie blinked innocently.

"Yes, sweetie," you opened the door and got out of the car to help Ellie out, "Wash up for dinner, sweetheart."

Ellie sprinted upstairs, clearly excited at the idea of food while you tried to calm down. What did Sevika want after all these years of leaving you to raise Ellie all on your own?

As much as you wanted to keep Ellie from Sevika, you knew that she needed her mother in her life just as much as she needed you and you didn't wanna be the villain parent who keeps the other away from the child. What were the odds Sevika would take this to court anyway?

You groaned, head aching as you walked back into the kitchen and put your phone and keys on the counter. You needed to cook dinner despite wanting to just coop up in your room. As you cooked silently, your phone ringed.

Unknown caller ID?

You picked it up warily and held it against your ear. "Hello?"

"I know what I did to you can't be fixed overnight, but please can we try for our daughter?" Sevika sounded like she'd been crying. Wait, why'd you care?

"I will gut you."

"Plea—"

"I almost died on that fucking table birthing Ellie! What makes you think you can just crawl back into my life after YOU stuck me with a baby and didn't even care to check the fuck back!?" You snapped, knuckles whitening as you held the skillet in a tight grip.

"Maybe if you would've told me I had a daughter, I'd given a damn!" Sevika argued.

"I know you'd try to buy your way into this, you'd try to... take her away from me." You said, the words coming out a little more difficultly than expected.

"You don't meant that..." Sevika muttered, almost inaudible now.

"You're a monster for what you did to me and I won't allow you anywhere near our daughter." You said firmly.

"Please, calm down. If not for old time's sake, for Ellie? Please?" She pleaded.

"Sevika. I can't with this. Not right now. Later." You hung up abruptly.

You watched Ellie eat dinner with your sad eyes, pushing around your own food with the fork. She looked so cute, her little cheeks puffing with food in her mouth, she grinned happily, savouring every mouthful. You blinked slowly, staring distantly at your daughter.

All the memories that you had with Sevika in that very house your daughter grew up in, it all felt so far away now and you wanted to hold onto it for whatever solace you could but, what were the chances that Sevika wouldn't try to take your daughter away from you? You didn't see genuienly see her as a bad person, you were scared. You'd already lost everything in life and Ellie was your sunshine now.

⊹₊⟡⋆ "Sevika." You addressed as you shifted from one foot to another, phone against your ear.

"I'm listening." Sevika replied, the faint clinking of bottles on the other side of the call grounded you. Was she seriously cleaning up booze as she conversed?

"I don't want Ellie growing up without knowing of your existence on a whole." You said swallowing your pride.

"Interesting." Sevika's tone was even, amused.

"Shut up, stop being smug. You're only proving my mother right."

"Your mother?"

A moment of silence. You considered cutting the call and forgetting about the entire ordeal.

"Forget it. Shouldn't have called, I should just—"

"Hey, hey, 'm sorry for being a jerk, I wanna hear ya' out, c'mon." Normally, you wouldn't have been swayed but her voice held a sort of plea you had never heard before. Perhaps, with her child being at stake she was finally taking you seriously.

"Fine... Uh, come over next Sunday, we'll sort this out in person."

"Next Sunday? That's almost a week after!" She exclaimed.

"What do you expect me to do? Take it or leave it." You replied firmly.

"No consideration? Not even for old time's sake?"

"What old time? The fact we were casual? You knocked me up and left?"

"Right— so, um," Sevika stammered over her words which you found odd. She never did that. Not unless she was seconds away from asking a terribly stupid question.

"Spit it out." You snapped.

"Are you seeing anybody?" Sevika asked.

Another moment of silence.

"... Sevika, what the fuck?"

"I just need ta' know if there's any other parental figure for..." Sevika's words got lost.

"Ellie, her names Ellie."

"Suits her..."

"No, I'm not seeing anybody. But don't get any ideas." You said as you swiped down the kitchen counter with your other hand.

"Mhm, gotcha'." Sevika replied.

"I'm hanging up now, need to tuck her in bed." You said the moment you saw Ellie's little figure approaching you with her stuffed bunny toy in hand.

"Okay, okay, 'night." Sevika muttered.

"Uh-huh," you were about to hangup—

"Hey," Sevika suddenly said.

"What?"

"You're really brave. I wish I saw that before I fucked up something special."

[simonsrileyhusband]

Hello!!:]

HUGE fan of casual intimacy. But considering most of my loved ones are touch averse: I project it on fictional characters.

While my favs are Nikolai, Graves and Adler, I recognize and respect this is a Ghost-centric blog.

So my request would be a mix of small scenarious of either just casual but constant affection(Hug from behind, draped over each other like cats while watching Tv, ect.) or more sexual nonchalance(Cockwarming by sitting on his lap, or just resting head on his thighs while giving head, perhaps simply sleeping while still inside, you get the gist)

What you choose to do is of course up to you and I'm grateful either way that you supply us masc and nb folks with amazing fics.

Have a wonderful night^^

headcannons

simon is big on casual intimacy because it helps him show you he loves you since he isn’t good with his words.

his larger frame pressed against your back as you cut some fruits to snack on, his hand rubbing your sides as he rests his head on your shoulder or head

everytime you are watching something on the tv he cuddles up to you, no matter how little he cares about the show or movie, he just needs to be there holding you

wkaing up in the middle lf the night when you roll asay from his arms, just to move you back into his chest, making sure you dont do that again by gripping you a bit harder

bringing his paper work to the livingroom to sit besides you while you talk with your friends on the phone, his hand resting on your thigh

nsfw-ish

simon loves cockwarming, just having you close, his arms around you, your chest against his as you gently kiss his cheeks and neck. he doesnt care that he is working or watching a game, he loves to have you so close

sometimes, after a long night (usually when he comes back from a mission) he falls asleep still inside lf you, his strong arms holding you closely to him, humming lowly as he drigts into sleep

if you are cold handed he doesn mind you warming them up by grabbing his tits pecs

[kwanisms]

It’s the season of love, or lust. Here’s a collection of 14 separate tales to keep you company this Valentine’s season. demon/incubus!Idol × fem!Reader

» back || playlist || taglist « ❑ WORDCOUNT —  ❑ WARNINGS — adult language, female reader, shorter reader, reincarnated reader, chubby!Reader, smaller reader, jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of: marriage, travel, homesickness, food & alcohol consumption, history of drug use, depression & thoughts of suicide, feelings of isolation, past love, heartbreak, major character death, reincarnation, severe depression, loneliness, minor character death, food & alcohol consumption, occultism, witchcraft, demonic summoning & rituals, PTSD, graveyards, ghost hunting, communicating with spirits, hospital environments, long working hours, bodily trauma, blood, gore; see each part for full warnings! ❑ CONTENT — angst, fluff, smut; supernatural, fantasy, demons & angels, biblical, established relationships, office setting, boss!Reader, coworkers to lovers, ER doctor!Reader, demon!Idols; non idol au, demon au, farm au, hospital au; see each part for full content lists! ❑ NOTES — happy valentine's, my loves! Here is something no one asked for but I'm delivering anyway! I've got 14 stories here, 11 of which are sequels to existing aus I've created and three new ones! They're all of my existing demon aus! From Seventeen to Stray Kids to Day6, all of my demon characters are being revisited here! Taglist is open and will close at the end of January so sign up now! Thanks for the support thus far babes and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

 ➥ incubus!Kihyun × fem!Reader summary: After the events of her story, Y/N has had her curse broken and succubus powers removed, allowing her to live a normal life. She has managed to keep a low profile, getting a job in a diner, her entire world is turned upside down when one of the men she was tasked with seducing in her previous life shows up at the diner late one night with a bone to pick with her. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 1

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 ➥ incubus!Hongjoong × fem!Reader × Seonghwa summary: After being banished to hell, Hongjoong manages to find a weak point and escapes back to the mortal realm. He only has a short time before the hounds of Hell are sent after him to bring him back and he makes the most of his time by tracking down his former servant only to find Seonghwa’s vampire curse has been broken and that he’s now happily married to the woman who destroyed everything Hongjoong built up. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 2

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 ➥ incubus!Jisung × fem!Reader summary: Now that all his friends are seeming to settle down with their respective partners, Han decides to venture out on his own and explore a new city. While there, he meets someone who flips his world upside down and turns it inside out. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 3

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 ➥ demon!Jeonghan × fem!Reader summary: Jeonghan lost his chance at love by being stubborn and cruel. Since then, he’d been drifting through the world, finding no meaning at continuing his meaningless charade. He refused to return to Hell but being on Earth was even more torture. He thought about just ending everything when the world came to a halt upon spotting a familiar face on the streets of Paris. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 4

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 ➥ incubus!Johnny × fem!Reader summary: Y/N has been living her best life, having climbed the social ladder at work and now heads her department, thanks to the promotion she landed. She can’t forget the reason for her success and one night while at the office working late, the demon she made a deal with comes back to check in. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 5

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 ➥ demon!Mingi × fem!Reader summary: Summers spent in the country used to have a sense of nostalgia but now, as you helped clear out your aunt’s old farm house, it was just hot and all you did was sweat. When you come across an old, tattered black book, things go from hot to hotter when you are transported to an alternate dimension where you meet a mysterious man who inhabits your aunt’s house on what he calls the ‘Other Side.’  read now »» coming Feb 6

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 ➥ incubus!Sungjin × fem!Reader summary: Since the incident at the museum, involving the old grimoire, Y/N has kept a low profile and quit her job at the museum, instead getting a job at a bookstore in a quiet part of town. It’s been three years and she still has the book, keeping it locked in a glass case in her house. The demon has not appeared since but she can’t shake the uneasy feeling she has as the fifth year anniversary of the Summoning approaches. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 7

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 ➥ incubus!Yeonjun × fem!Reader summary: After a visit to the old graveyard with her friends, Y/N has had this uneasy feeling of being followed or watched. Maybe she’s being paranoid, or maybe it's the result of playing around with a Ouija board but one thing is certain; she keeps seeing someone or something watching her from the window in her bedroom. read now »» coming Feb 8

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 ➥ incubus!Jongho × fem!Reader summary: As a result of passing his seduction test, Jongho has become a full-fledged incubus. He’s now among the ranks of those who have made names for themselves. He finds that being an incubus comes with a great amount of freedom and responsibility. Responsibility he shirks because he can’t seem to stay away from the one who helped him pass his test: Y/N.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 9

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 ➥ demon!Seungmin × fem!Reader summary: Your idea of fun was playing video games with your friends or playing beer pong at a frat party. It did not include summoning a demon in the basement of the creepy, old abandoned house at the end of Willow Avenue.  read now »» coming Feb 10

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 ➥ demon!Chan × fem!Reader summary: Ever since she summoned him, Chan hasn’t been able to get Y/N out of his mind. He returns to her after some time and insists that she accept the proposal he made to her the last time he was there. He wants to be bound exclusively to her. Y/N is hesitant but Chan tells her to think it over while he makes his trip to visit her worth both their time. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 11

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 ➥ incubus!Chanyeol × fem!Reader summary: Since their encounter and Chanyeol’s nature as an incubus exposed, he and Y/N have had a secret relationship which tends to bring out the worst jealousy in both of them. They often sneak around the hospital, meeting in secret places.  read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 12

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 ➥ incubus!Hyunjin × fem!Reader × witch!Felix summary: After his visit, Hyunjin has moved into the house next door to Y/N and Felix, making himself at home as their neighbor and tormenting Felix by plaguing Y/N’s dreams. Hyunjin seems determined to make Felix’s life a living hell and drive a wedge between the witch and his girlfriend. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 13

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 ➥ incubus!Joshua × fem!Reader summary: Ever since that fateful night where Joshua revealed himself as a demon, Joshua and Y/N have built a life for themselves, living together in her house and working at the antique shop together. When Joshua decides to take her out for a romantic Valentine’s dinner, his jealous side emerges when he thinks the waiter is flirting with Y/N so he takes her home to remind her who she belongs to. read part one | read part two »» coming Feb 14

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