#if i try to do anything else i feel awful

[endeline]

Let The Light In: Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Words: 1.2K (unfortunately this is a bit of a filler while I sort out my finals 😭. Another *proper* new part to follow soon!)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies to lovers (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so incredibly in the wrong, slow burn, the girls are still fighting!

A/N: Literally posting/writing this on the train otw to class so if you see me editing this later (per usual), no you didn’t.

“I don’t know where your head’s been lately, but I really need you to lock in today, kid,” Leo's hands grip your shoulders firmly. The stern, disappointed expression that would have sent you running home in tears a few years ago has become all too familiar over the past few days.

Professionally, you’ve never had a worse week than this one. Your hands shake constantly, making it impossible to take clear pictures, and your tear-filled eyes make it so you can’t tell that your photos are blurry until it’s too late. Every click of the shutter feels like a failure, each misstep a confirmation that you're falling apart.

Leo’s voice softens slightly, though the urgency remains. “Look, I know you’re going through something, but we’ve got a job to do. People are counting on us.”

You nod, trying to muster some semblance of composure. “I know. I’ll get it together.” But even as you say it, doubt gnaws at the edges of your resolve.

Leo gives you a brief, encouraging squeeze before letting go. “I’m counting on you,” he says simply, turning back to the task at hand. You take a deep breath, willing your hands to steady, your vision to clear. You can't afford to let this week define you. It's time to lock in, just like Leo said.

The problem is that doing so is rather difficult when what, or rather who, you’re trying to focus on is the reason your chest has felt so tight all week. This is the first official game of the season, and your team has promised at least three news outlets that by the end of the 40 minutes they’ll have cover shots for their articles about the game. Realistically, you know this means photos of Paige, but with your newfound inability to even look at her, you wonder if a picture of Johnathan the Husky would suffice. Hell, for a fleeting moment, you seriously consider shifting your focus entirely, filling your memory card with shots of the mascot, relying on whatever Charlie shoots to fulfill your assignment. But you know that’s not an option. The publications want Paige, the world wants Paige, and your job hinges on delivering her in every frame.

Paige. Her name alone sends a shiver down your spine. You try to steady your hands, adjusting the settings on your camera, but every time you catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of your eye, your focus slips. Her confident stride, the way she commands attention on the court, it’s all too much.

You position yourself at the half court line, trying to angle your shots to capture the game without letting your eyes linger on her. The crowd’s roar, the squeak of sneakers on the polished floor, and the rhythmic bounce of the ball blend into a cacophony that should help you drown out your thoughts. Yet, every cheer for Paige feels like a personal attack on your composure.

Through the lens, you see her in action—swift, agile, unstoppable. It’s almost offensive how unaffected her game seems when your photography had taken such a blow this week. Each shot she takes, each defensive maneuver, you’re supposed to capture it all. Instead, you find yourself focusing on anything else: the scoreboard, Geno’s animated gestures, you even cave in and take shots of Johnathan, who’s currently entertaining a group of kids on the sidelines.

But you can’t avoid it forever. Paige makes a particularly impressive play, driving through the defense with a grace that leaves everyone in awe. You instinctively snap a photo, and for a brief moment, you’re lost in the brilliance of the shot—a perfect still of her in motion, the intensity in her expression almost palpable. Then reality crashes back in, and you feel the familiar weight pressing down on your chest.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself, trying to shake off the unease. But the lump in your throat doesn’t budge, and the weight on your chest only grows heavier. Every second wasted feels like a countdown to disaster.

Then drawing you back in, in a sudden burst of speed, Paige breaks away from the defense, sprinting down the court. You follow her through the lens, your finger poised on the shutter. She leaps, going for a layup, and you capture the perfect shot just as she scores. The crowd erupts, but your heart pounds for a different reason.

As Paige jogs back to her position, the whistle blows for a timeout. The players disperse toward the sidelines, and you take the opportunity to review the photos on your camera. Your hands still tremble slightly, but the last few shots are good—really good. For a moment, a flicker of hope ignites in your chest. Sparking dangerously when you hear a voice behind you, “hey, you get a good shot of that layup?”

You turn, startled, and find yourself staring at Charlie, who’s face-to-face with Paige. She’s breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, but she’s smiling. The sight of her up close, the intensity of her gaze, even when not on you, it’s almost too much. You feel your throat tighten.

“Uh, yeah,” you hear Charlie say, holding up the camera, casting you a nervous glance. “I think I got it.”

Charlie steps back slightly, allowing Paige to move closer. Paige glances at the screen, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Nice! Looks great,” she says, her smile widening. “Thanks, but we’ll probably use hers though, we both know she’s the real pro,” Charlie tilts her chin towards you. For a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to just the three of you, standing there in the midst of the bustling gym.

Paige's response is nonverbal, a mere shrug, as she turns her attention back to Charlie, effectively excluding you from the conversation until the sound of the buzzer fills the gym, calling her back to the court.

----

The gym had erupted into chaos as Paige's final three-pointer sailed through the net, securing UConn's victory at the last possible second. The crowd was a roaring sea of cheers and applause, but all of it seemed to fade into a hush when Paige turned towards you, her eyes searching the sidelines for your face.

"Did you get that! Please tell me you got that," she shouted as she sprinted towards you, the excitement vibrating in her voice, her face flushed with the thrill of victory and the sprint. Her hair was a wild cascade, damp with sweat, sticking to her forehead, yet she seemed oblivious to everything but you.

You nodded, your heart pounding not just from the adrenaline of the game but from her intense focus on you. "Oh come on you know I did!" you called back, flipping through the images on your camera to show her.

She reached you, breathless, her hands on her knees as she caught her breath, then straightened up to peer at the camera’s screen. Her face was inches from yours. As she looked at the images, her smile grew, and she reached out to touch your arm, a light, lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"These are incredible," she whispered, her eyes not just bright with victory but with a warmth that seemed reserved just for you.

Paige moved impossibly closer, her proximity sending a flush through you. Then, impulsively, she pulled you into a hug, her body warm against yours, her heart beating fast against your chest.

----

Your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself, a subconscious effort to hold onto the warmth of the memory. Your camera, once a bridge between you two, now hung heavily around your neck.

You stood there, a silent observer, as Paige melded back into her world on the court—a world where once you had shared a special place. Now, you were just another face on the sidelines, capturing moments that no longer felt personal but were merely part of a job. The weight of the camera was a physical and emotional anchor, pulling you back to reality, reminding you of what your role here was supposed to be, even if your heart lingered somewhere back in a past that seemed both incredibly close and painfully distant.

‘She loved you.’ The phrase that had been on repeat since you heard the slam of her car door echos through your head throughout the rest of the night.

[celaenaeiln]

What are you favorite things about Dickkory?

Please and Thank You☺️

SO. MANY. THINGS!!!

Where do I start?!

Their freedom

Their dedication

Their dynamic

Ok so my favorite thing - well one of three favorite things - about Dick and Kory is that they just let each other be who they are.

What I mean is Dick never tells Kori she has to look a certain way, act a certain way, or talk a certain way. Obviously he's going to stop her from killing people but he loves her for who she is.

Secret Origins (1986) Issue #13

This means the WORLD to me because EVERYONE loves Kori for her body canonically. Like every single guy is just so turned on by her looks but for Dick that doesn't matter. He loves her wholely and purely. I'm tearing up a little by how much respect he gives her.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #71

You have no idea how happy his words make me. He never ever EVER blames Kori for the way she dresses or restricts her in any fashion. He's always extremely supportive of her. If she wants to do modeling? He's all for it. If she wants to go dancing? He's right there with her. She wants to try something new? He's helping her. He is SUCH a supportive boyfriend in everything she does. The killing is still off-limits ofcourse but everything else he loves her so much. He loves her for who she is not how she looks.

The New Titans (1988) Issue #71

He NEVER puts her down. And she never puts him down. They're supportive. And this I can appreciate even more because some of Dick's other love interests have it out for him. They get some type of power play about digging open his insecurities and throwing his faults in his face but not her. He's aware of his own faults, he doesn't need that to be used as a weapon against him like some more modern love interests do. Kori's understanding and loving and in response to that Dick treats her like a queen.

That's the first reason. The second reason is they help each other.

Dick can be difficult to deal with because he locks his emotions away. When he feels stressed he isolates himself because he doesn't want to talk to anyone about how he's feeling. But Kori? She doesn't resent him for that. She actually patiently tries to get him to open up. She's understanding and loving of him and his situation. I love them because when things get hard they don't just abandon each other, move on, and then get back together again after they've solved their own problems alone - no. They work hard to work through it together.

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

Dick and Kori come from vastly different cultures and have different beliefs so this causes problems. Here Dick's contemplating settling down with Kori because of how she kills people.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #13

But in the face of it all, losing her is imporant to him that their difference in values

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #14

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #15

The thing about Dick and Kori having problems is that it's inspiring. Like you see all the troubles they faced, all the hardships, differences, and difficulties they went and it's amazing. Because Dick and Kori come from two different world. Literally. But they worked hard on their relationship. They worked through their differences because they loved each other so much that they wanted to stay together.

We could've have Dick and Kory forever if the real life Batman office writers hadn't broken off their wedding because they wanted to take Dick away from the Titans and give him to Batman. Do you realize what this means? If DC writers Dick hadn't been ripped away and Kori hadn't been disparaged by them, we would STILL be reading about Dick and Kory now. They would've been married and had kids by now.

But that brings me to my point - their love is amazing because they worked on the things that were different. It's awe-inspiring to love someone so much that you'll stay with them through anything.

Dickkory is my number one romantic pair for this reason. The problems that Dick has faced in his subsequent relationships is NOTHING compared to what he worked through with Kori. Which is why it frustrates me when a love interest abandons him at first stirrings of trouble because "hello? what you're getting now is cleaned up dick grayson. This is like playing a game on easy mode and still failing. If you can't be there for him when he has his act together, how could you ever be there for him when he's truly struggling?"

Going back to the scene at hand, Dick still stays with Kori but Kori is forced to marry another man at her father's orders and this is what breaks them apart. Because Kori is married to Ryand'r and Dick loves her. But despite this?

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #32

For Dick on the other hand it takes a case for him to understand -

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #34

But he gets it.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #34

They come back stronger than ever.

Their love is the greatest romance of the ages for this reason. Your partner is your confidant. When the whole world turns against you, YOU need to be there by their side and they need to stand by you through everything. If you suddenly go from being rich to dirt poor, your parents abandon you, your friends betray you - the greatest love is standing with your partner through everything.

And Dick loves Kori for this too

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #44

And that's what they embody and that's why I respect them.

Their relationship isn't a shattered vase glued together, their relationship is a muscle growth. You exercise, you stress the muscle and tear it. It causes you pain but that tear heals and the result is a stronger muscle and a healtier and fitter body. They're just so great.

So the second reason was their dedication to each other. The third reason is I love their dynamic!!

Kori is aggressive and strong but loving where as Dick is softer and strong but loving. It's like a girlboss and powerful malewife dynamic. Dick is phsycially shorter and smaller than Kori and Kori taller than him. They way she carries him around and touches him and holds him?!

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #15

The way that Dick gets so jealous and tries to show off for Kori only for his mount to slip off the cliff is so cute!! To everyone Dick is this cool, sexy, intelligent, perfect figure. The only time he gets childlishly jealous and reckless is when he's with Kori. And then having Kori bridal carry him after his mistake is just priceless.

But Dick doesn't begrudge Kori for this. What I love about Dick loving Kori is that he loves her for her power.

The Flash (1987) Issue #81

Dick thirsting for people who can pick him up and throw him around will always be my favorite part of him.

"I love that in a woman."

Yeah, Dick, we can hear that loud and clear. See it too.

LIKE LOOK AT THIS!!!-

Dark Knights of Steel Issue #7

With Kori there's no hesitation to give Dick affirmation.

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #50

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #2

Tales of the Teen Titans Issue #49

Everyone in the entirety of DC knows that Dick is exceedingly pretty. Even villains regularly call him out on it. But it's SO nice to hear his girlfriend tell him that in such an honest and nice non-sleezy way. And that's my probably most favorite thing about them. This girlboss/malewife dynamic they have going on. They're equals but it's not the usual dynamic where the guy showers the girl with compliments and she's satisfied back. She tells him of her own volition how much she loves him and how beautiful he looks. She carries him around and is aggressive in their love. And I just love that so much.

Their love overall is just off the charts.

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #39

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #38

Teen Titans Spotlight (1988) Issue #19

The New Teen Titans (1984) Issue #10

[riki-riks-chick]

jay smut :c

Life Saver ┃P.JS

Vamp!Jay x Turned!Reader

Jay turns y/n to keep her from dying, but was that the only reason?

cw: smut!, finger fucking, oral (fem rec), unprotected sex, vampire sex, blood mentions (biting/feeding), multiple orgasms, slight obsession, and i think that's it.

wdct: 1.7k

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Third Person POV~

You wake up in immense pain, vision blurry and ears ringing. you hear strong voices talking, and that's when you hear the words.  "You should have left her dead. why do you wanna be a hero so bad?" A strong voice rung through your ears as you opened your eyes, turning your head to face the two unfamiliar people, despite your aching head.

As soon as they heard the bed sheets rustle upon your movement, they both snapped their heads towards you. "You're awake! How do you feel!?" One of them rushed towards you, seating himself at the edge of the bed as you let your gaze fall on his platinum blonde head of hair. It framed his face perfectly. "I feel awful.." You spoke, your voice hoarse and raspy as you did. The other man in the room simply scoffed before taking his leave. 

 "Where am I?" You asked, glancing back at the kind man in front of you as he poured you a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedside table. "You're at my house.. You'll be staying here from now on.. Do you remember anything from when you were last awake?" He asked as you raised an inquisitive eyebrow, trying your hardest to remember your last conscious moment. 

 "Uhm.. I remember walking home after going out with my friends.. Those guys dragged me into that- wait.. what happened to me, and how did you find me?" You questioned as the man laughed nervously. "I saved your life..  It's a long story, really." He said as you shot up, immediately regretting the decision as your vision went blurry. "Steady.. The affects haven't worn off yet.. It's best to lay down for now.. Drink some water.."

You took a sip of water before laying back down. The second your head hit the cool silk pillow case, you felt somewhat at ease. "What's wrong with me? What affects are you talking about?" You asked as he sighed. "Promise not to freak out?.." He asked as you nodded. 

"I didn't want you to just die like that.. You looked so innocent, and... I may have turned you into vampire to keep you alive.." He explained as you stared at him, completely and utterly shocked. "I- I'm a vampire?" You stuttered out, and he nodded. "Yes, but it's hardly been long enough for the urges to kick in. Once you're okay to stand we can go through with your first feeding."

 "I'm a vampire!?" You repeated as he sighed. "Yes, but it's fine.. It's not much different from being human.. You're just immortal and have an undying thirst for human blood." He responded in a failed attempt to ease your mind, but you were still processing. "I'm a monster..."

 "Okay ouch.. We're not all monsters.. We live just like anyone else.. We didn't ask for this.." He said as you sighed. "Sorry..." You mumbled as he nodded. "It's whatever.. Get some rest and I'll check on you later.."

The second he left, the pulsing pain returned, making you wince. You couldn't even wrap your head around how much of a fucked up situation you were in. Eventually you fell back asleep, that way you wouldn't be distracted by the pain.

A few hours later, you were awaken by the same man as before. He was dressed differently this time, the dark clothing a stalking contrast against the white and gold face of the room.

He looked handsome, something you had hardly noticed before, and the sight of him seemed to ease your mind. "How are you feeling?.." He asked gently, his hand trailing your torso, it felt electrifying.

"I feel thirsty..." You explain simply, but he seems to understand perfectly. "I don't know if you're strong enough for your first feed, but you can feed off of me.." 

"What?..." You sound hesitant, but he brushes your hair out of your face, shushing you. "Don't worry... Every human has tasted blood before.. Just think of it as licking a bleeding cut.."

He then bites his wrist, his fangs stained crimson as he pulls you to sit up, letting you get your fill off of him. He runs his fingers through your hair in the process, easing you through it as you eventually pull away, your lips stained red, and your fangs peeking out curiously, the tips matching the same red color of your lips.

You seem to feel much better after your first feeding, but the glint in his eyes shows pure hunger. He leans in, capturing your lips with his own as he clears your lips of the crimson hue painting them. 

He pulls back, eyes glowing red as he smiles seductively. "I'm Jay..." He introduces before kissing you again, this time straddling you. His hands are planted on either side of you, hips meeting yours as you slide your hands up and over his shoulders, tugging him closer.

Something about him is simply impossible to resist, even the headache from earlier went away the second he got close. "Is this okay?.." He asks, his eyes almost begging you to say yes, and when you nod, he's sitting up, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. You help him, sliding it off of his toned shoulders as you undo his pants as well,  

He stares at you, in a daze almost as he watches you undo his pants, sliding them just barely past his hips before palming him through his boxers. He allows you to touch him for a bit before he grows too impatient, pushing your hand away before kicking off his pants completely. 

He then tugs at your shorts, tugging them off of you along with your silk panties, letting them litter the floor with the rest of his clothes. "You're really pretty... I have to say..." He whispers, running his finger over your hole as he spreads your folds. "So wet.. Good." He smirks, sliding a finger into you as a means of teasing. 

It's only one, and it's not that deep, but fuck it feels good. It's unbelievable how good he's making you feel off of one finger, and once he adds a second you can't even focus. 

"Holy fuck..." You grab his hand, moaning as he grasps your wrist, moving your hand. "Does it feel good?.." He asks, despite need of an answer. You nod, biting your lip as you tilt your head back against the pillows.

Jay pulls his fingers out of you, leaning down to kiss you again as he removes his boxers. "You know... I couldn't bring myself to leave you when I saw you like that.. I got this feeling, and it made me crave you.. Not in a vampiric way though."

You're hearing every word he says, but you can't seem to focus. He presses his tip against you, rubbing his cockhead along your glistening folds. "Can I? Please?.." He asks as you nods, moaning as he slowly pushes into you, filling you up completely.

He doesn't wait to move, his hips making slow efforts as he thrusts into you. His cock is deep inside you and you're seeing stars already.

You don't know if it has anything to do with the fact that your senses are now heightened, but you feel so much more sensitive than before.

"Jay..." You moan his name, feeling your stomach turn pleasurably with each thrust. His cockhead creates a bulge in your lower abdomen with each thrust, and he presses down on it, making everything feel ten times better. "Fuck.."

You feel like you've already experienced an orgasm, but you know for sure you haven't. Everything just seems so much better with him right now.

"If you feel like you need to cum, just let go... Trust me it won't be the last." He mutters lowly, thrusting harder as he slides his hand underneath your shirt, groping your breast. "Fuck Jay.." You grip his wrist, growing closer to your release with each burning touch. "I'm gonna cum.."

He smiles at your words, his hips seeming to increase the speed of their movements. "Cum for me, princess.. Let it all go."

His words seem to send you over the edge as a bout of pleasure blooms in the pit of your stomach. He's now leading you through the best orgasm, hips still moving fiercly against yours as you moan extremely loud.

He fucks you through your orgasm, wanting to push you over the edge even more. You feel incredible. Words getting mixed up, and just overall incoherent.

It's not long before he's coming undone too, thrusting hard, but slower as he cums inside you, filling you with his essence. "Stop clenching around me, fuck.."

He pulls out slowly, watching his white substance spill out of you as he runs his fingers through it, sucking them clean afterwards. "What a pretty little mess."

You're simply watching his every move, already feeling fucked out.

He lowers himself between your legs, licking your cunt from bottom to top as he sucks on your clit, lapping up the mess of cum between your legs.

You squirm beneath him, letting out little whines and whimpers as you tug on his hair. "Jay... Please.." The pleasure is intense and Jay knows it, he's obsessed with the way he's making you feel right now.

"You taste so good, princess..." He's breathing needily against your pussy, licking into it as he slides his fingers into your hole, moving them in and out at a fast pace while focusing his tongue on your clit.

You feel the all too familiar feeling build up inside you again as he continues to eat at your dripping cunt, his fingers fucking into you slightly faster with every passing minute.

You give no warning as you cum, but he's fully prepared for it, lapping up every fluid you let out for him.

When he finally pulls away, chin glistening with your liquids, he pulls his fingers out of you, sticking them into your mouth to make you taste yourself.

You moan around his fingers, gripping his wrist as he smirks down at you. After a short while, he pulls his hand away, leaning in to kiss you. His cock is pressed against you, fully erect and ready to fuck you again. "I hope you enjoy tonight because I want to be like this for the rest of eternity..."

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I hope this was good 🫣

[babygorewhore]

Staying over

Frat! Rafe Cameron x autistic! Fem reader

Rafe brings you over to his apartment to stay over for the first time. W. C 1.4K

Warnings! Mutual masturbation! Choking! Spitting! Daddy kink! Unprotected sex! Dividers by @xxbimbobunnyxx reader is autistic but it’s not explicitly said!

Your bag was stuffed with pajamas, medication, stuffed animals, and of course a charger for your headphones. It was the first night you were spending the night at Rafe’s apartment off the college campus as his girlfriend. You weren’t necessarily nervous staying with him. It was more about the change in routine being at someone else’s house. Rafe did pretty well in accommodating you and your needs but you were still apprehensive.

He opened the door for you, carrying your bag as you pulled off your headphones. He bought you a really expensive pair two weeks ago, one of the nicest gifts you’d ever received. But you loved giving him gifts too, especially hand crafted. You removed your shoes, matching socks padding the hardwood floor as you looked around. You saw your trinkets you made him on his desk and shelves.

“Aw, you have them up!” You grin and he nods.

“Of course I do, princess. My girls talent is always gonna be shown off.” You blush and look at the floor as you both walk into his bedroom. He sets down your bag and pulls you into a hug.

“You okay, baby? Hungry?” Rafe sets his chin on top of your head.

“No, I ate before you picked me up.” You answer back and he sighs.

“I love you, princess. I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

You giggle and bury your face in his chest. “We talked last night. And this morning. And this afternoon-“

“So? I want you with me all the time. You’re my favorite person.” He mumbles, playing with your hair and he pulls back. Rafe’s blue eyes search yours but your gaze roam his face.

“Do you wanna get comfortable? Watch a movie or something?”

You playfully poke his shoulder.

“Is that just an excuse, Mr. Cameron? For you to get me in your bed?” He smirks and leans down.

“I don’t need an excuse for that, baby. But I don’t want to overwhelm you or anything.”

“You’re sweet, you know that, Rafe?” He breathlessly runs a hand through his hair, flustered by your compliment.

“Yeah, only for you though. But damn, babe. How much did you pack for tonight?” He gestures to your backpack. “You gonna change outfits every hour?”

You push him gently with a laugh. “Shut up! I need my things or I’ll lose my mind!”

Rafe sits on the bed, legs spread as he rests his elbows on the mattress. His shirt material bunching. “Easy with the violence, baby girl. Why don’t you get changed? Show me what you brought.”

You unzip your bag, pulling out a cute piece you bought the other day. The material was soft and comfortable. An oversized Ghostface night shirt that would reach your mid thigh with your black pair of shorts.

You quickly changed, his eyes sweeping over you as you stood in front of him. Rafe’s hand settled low on your hips, fingers playing with the material of your shorts. “Mmm, you’re so pretty, princess. You’re my fuckin dream girl.”

You bite your lip, feeling slightly anxious as you notice a change in sound. It must have been a dying battery somewhere but it was making your skin crawl. You wanted your headphones but you also didn’t want to seem like you wanted to tune him out.

“You don’t think I’m…weird, right?” You ask quietly and he frowns.

“Uh oh. I know that look. You want your headphones?” You grimace and nod.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying to tolerate more but-“ Rafe tugs your face to him, cupping your neck.

“Nah, baby. None of that. It’s okay. I know what I signed up for.” You smile gratefully as he brings them to you seconds later, securing them around your ears.

After needed time of quiet, you sat on his bed with your eyes shut as you held your plushie close to you and Rafe tried not to fidget too much. Finally, you removed your barrier and set them down on his side table.

“Can we watch something?”

“Of course, baby doll. Anything you want. Even the scary shit.” You immediately perk up, media being some of your special interests.

“Sinister?” You suggest and he grimaces before catching himself. “What? Is that one too much for my big scary boyfriend?” You tease.

“Fuck no. I wouldn’t be a fuckin dumbass and stay in the house like that dude did.”

“No, you’d offer the demon to snort a line of coke with you.” You dead pan and he laughs. Loudly.

“Jesus, you’re funny.”

You were hyper focused on the movie as the night went on, informing Rafe facts you’d learned by hours of research on your own time and he listened best he could. But you didn’t notice his hand lingering around his crotch. Not until the movie was over and you had laid flat on your back with him next to you.

You felt him shift and you grew quiet. Your own needs rising as Rafe switched his LED lights on a dimmer setting. His fingers drifted to touch your arm, tracing your skin as he looked at you.

“You’re driving me insane, doll. I feel like I’m gonna fuckin bust in my pants.” You swallow and stare at the ceiling.

“Driving you insane?”

“Yeah. Your body is perfect. Shorts barely covering your ass and tits bouncing. You don’t even have to try. I’ve been thinking about you staying here for days. I jerk off about it.” He admits without an ounce of shame and your face heats up.

“Me too.”

“Yeah? You finger fuck that wet pussy thinking about me?” Rafe asks, his voice growing lower and you nod. Play with that pussy then you’re gonna cream on my dick.”

You suck your fingers, getting them damp before you tug down your shorts and panties. Your cunt clenches as you circle your clit, wetness pulsing as you feel Rafe take his cock in his fist. You slide two fingers in easily, your body accustomed to this as you pump them. You moan as you hear Rafe pant and feel him roll his hips.

“Ah, fuck. Something about you alone in your room, fucking yourself while you think about me.” He strokes harder before he finally breaks and pulls you on top of him.

Your legs straddle his lap, his hands gripping your ass as he pushes you down on his dick, he sits up and you tear off his shirt. Your fingernails lightly dig into his chest. You take him to the hilt, your right hand moving to play with his balls.

“Look at me,” He orders and you bounce on his cock, avoiding his eyes but he refused to let it go. “No. Keep your eyes on me, princess. I wanna see how it good it feels when you cream on my cock,” he growls and you obey him as you grind down.

He massages your tits as he helps you, your movements growing sloppy as you get closer. “Rafe-it feels so good-“ You stammer and he grunts.

“Yeah, babydoll? You like it when daddy fills you up? You like being a greedy little slut for me?” You nod with a whimper and he slaps your ass hard. “Cum for me, princess. And then I’m gonna fucking pound you until you’re screamin.”

You cum all over his dick, whining as you shake and your vision goes white but he’s relentless as he flips you on your back. His hand around your throat. He lifts one leg over his shoulder, getting a deeper angle and thrusts harder.

You shriek from overstimulation but your hands clutch his shoulders. “Open your mouth,” He says and you do. He spits inside, “You’re such a good girl, baby. Taking me like a fucking whore,”

“Mhm, needed this so bad, daddy. I want you to cum in me, want it to spill out and soak the bed.” You beg and he moans, tightening his grip on your neck, keeping your eyes on him.

“That’s it, princess. Proud of you for talking through it,” He huffs before he cums in you, the headboard slamming against the wall and your pussy squelches. He lets go of your throat, hands on either side of your head as he fucks through his climax.

“Fuck, princess. Squeezing me so hard, your cunt feels so good,” He praises and you blink rapidly as he pulls out, pumping his dick and cum drips on your tits. “Messy little slut. I want you to get on all fours. Gonna cum on that pretty tattoo on your back.”

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @drewstarkeyslut @slvt4jamesmarch @redhead1180 @rafesthroatbaby @rafescurtainbangz @rafeinterlude @gri959 @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess

[deramin2]

Absolutely love that Marisha was probably going to make a tamer choice, but Matt saw the perfect opportunity to push her as a Delilah, and really feed Laudna's paranoia. I think that really pushed her over the edge and Marisha fully ran with it.

And Liam really thought through what he knew (this was Laudna and she's being manipulated by Delilah but not intentionally hurting Orym), vs. what Orym knew (something he couldn't see attacked him in his sleep and he needs to defend himself from it because he had no idea what it's intentions were and has every reason to assume it's trying to kill all of them). Honestly Orym remained pretty defensive overall. Love that they both learned into how much both of them felt totally justified and like they were defending the party from harmful corrupting influence.

———

I'm someone with mental health problems that cause intrusive thoughts that can make me feel so absolutely certain that I'm justified in viewing other people as being intentionally harmful and lash out at them. In the moment it feels completely justified and righteous and a truth other people need to hear even though they'll resist it. I try really, really hard to resist expressing those thoughts. I try to remind myself I will end up regretting it and pushing people away permanently who (justifiably) won't put up with that treatment.

But sometimes it's so strong or I'm so triggered by the awfulness around me and despair that it escapes me. It feels like everyone else is lying to justify evil and I'm sick of it. Consequences be damned. It feels protective of other vulnerable people. And then I lash out and say things I regret and get yelled and blocked or dropped or otherwise lose people in my life and get more and more isolated. And feel like they're totally justified because really it's me who's the evil monster and need to be isolated for other prep people's protection because I can't be trusted and can't be better. I don't even want anyone too comfort me or love me because they don't deserve to be hurt by me eventually. (I'm not saying that's actually true, but that's how I feel and it feels very real to me while it's happening.)

———

Marisha absolutely nailed that depiction. In an ongoing way but particularly in CR C3 E95. And I love that it came right off the joyous mania of the shopping spree for and crafting season where they were all bonding and making plans for the future and letting off steam. But then she was triggered and all of that didn't matter. Off anything the strength of those emotions was a pendulum whose momentum helped her distress swing harder in the other direction.

She was triggered, and Delilah was a second layer of intrusive thoughts that made her feel so sure of her feelings and actions. 100% justified as Marisha said. And she would have been totally justified in just waking Orym up and having a conversation about the sword and at least putting it in the Bag of Holding overnight until they could make a long term decision. I think that's what Marisha was planning to do until Delilah showed up. She wasn't justified in hurting Orym in a unilateral decision that she should feed the sword to Delilah. Her thoughts were very real to get but not based on facts. Whatever her intentions she hurt Orym and avoided apologizing.

And I loved how Imogen pushed back this time. So often she's enabled Laudna because she loves her wants to comfort her. But this time I think she saw that's not what Laudna needs. She needs someone to check her and keep her from escalating. She's feeling complicated feelings right now because she loves Laudna, but she hates Delilah and what Delilah is getting Laudna to do. Like the partner of an addict who loves them, but hates what the substance is doing to them and how they're acting to feed that addiction. I can't wait to see how that plays out in the future.

The whole thing was incredibly real representation to me. This is an incredibly triggering situation that they're all in and they're all crumbling in the face of it. Chetney and Orym both made deals with Nana Mori. Chetney for fame, Orym for power. Ashton secretly took the fire primordial shard and nearly killed themselves in front of Fearne and then the other others. Imogen tried to flip her mom on the cult that's indoctrinated her for decades. FCG did blow himself up. Fearne was lured away by her shitbag sperm donor in the night so he could try to kill her and have a copy take her place. Dorian watched Lolth's crown take over Opal, his brother die, and his friends scattered. Laudna is feeding Delilah's power. None of them are okay and they're all being totally reckless. They're both bonding over their recklessness and being pushed apart by it. Can't wait to see what happens next.

[babyboy555777]

I just want to talk about Pen and Colin in the new season. I get it not everyone will understand either side. Like as why everyone is so excited for Pen and Colin, or why Pen is lady whistle down, or why Colin is yes hot but still cringe this new season, why their love story felt so fast.

>Pen is lady whistle down for a true reason, a very good reason in fact. If you watch the whole show, you see that everyone, she is around never listens to her. Never will ask her anything. Will never ask how she is feeling or listen to what she has to say. Just think about lady whistle down. EVERYONE listens to her. They want the gossip. They want what's new. People get excited to just get her paper when she writes. They will ready every word on that paper and yet look for more. This makes Pen feel amazing because even if no one knows who lady whistle down is, they still read that paper. They still talk about everything that was written. SHES BEING HEARD and that's all she ever wanted. Her mother, sisters, best friend, and even Colin never truly listen to her, but they do as her secret identity. She may not be in the right by spreading gossip but in her mind, it is the right, and it feels good. but you can even see after she writes about someone, she loves she feels the deepest regrets and wishes she never did. she would rather be unheard and in the dark then get angry at someone once and write awful things about them.

>Everyone might not be excited for Pen and Colin and it truly shows where you stand in this world, and how you were as a teen in love. The people that are truly excited about it are the same ones who had many different crushes on people growing up, but never being the crush. I relate to Pen so much. Wanting to be with a guy and having such strong feeling for him but holding it all back because of insecurities. Being a bigger girl, you do not tell a guy you have a crush on them unless they say so first. And even then, you don't because it could just be a joke. She truly loves Colin deeply but holds back her feeling because of who she is (Or who she is told who she is) her mother ofc thinks she will never be married and never find a husband because of her looks and the fact that she is in her books all the time. She wants to be treated like the girls in her books. To be loved not to matter of looks but based on just a true love connection.

>Colin may have had a glow up this season and be hot, but a lot of people are hating his acts because well it's not him. He's meant to be a gentle lover. A sweet man. He's meant to be the sweetest of the brothers. Yet here is trying to be like them because that's how every man he's around like. He goes out and has sex with random women and even then, he stares at the wall because all he can think about is Pen. ONE KISS RUINED THIS MAN. He knows now that is what true love feels like. He dreams of her and yearns for her all the time. He shamelessly stares at her at all these balls. He wants her now that he has felt that spark. He doesn't care what anyone else is thinking all he cares about is that he can look at her and see her true beauty. I also think he always had feelings for her but since they were both friends (Best friends at that) It might have felt shameful to like her in that way.

>Their love story was not fast. It was a slow burn. We were all lost in the other Bridgerton's love stories to really focus on them. They have been friends for years. They both have subtly flirted with each other even if the other didn't see it or think too much about it. Colin NEEDED that kiss from her to truly feel that connection. He saw her that night as a true love rather than someone who he has been friends with for years. He saw her in such a different light. Same with Pen she saw Colin in a different light. He got on his knees for her for god's sake. If you would have told season one Pen that her and her crush would be making out in a carriage and he would be on his knees for her, she would think you were losing your mind because "He is only just a friend" they deserve this passion because even if we see Pen wanting it more in other seasons rather than Colin he still wanted it deep down but didn't know he could even feel that way to her. Also, him being jealous for her finally being on her way to marriage is so real. He should have been. I think she would have ended up cutting I off herself if she saw Colin wasn't jealous. AND THAT IS ALL I HAVE TO SAY

[wttcsms]

excerpts;

i have over 100k+ words in unfinished drafts/wips in my google docs. yikes.

in an attempt to gauge general interest + also to motivate myself in attempting to at least finish half of the projects i've started, i'm going to share some of the fics i think y'all will be most interested in 🤍 (and also because these are my usual first rough draft attempts, so these are just the best of the worst LOL)

as always, lmk what you think, what you're most excited for, and i'm always open to chatting about any of my concepts in depth 🤭

featuring keiji akaashi, atsumu miya, sae itoshi, tobio kageyama, naoya zenin, satoru gojo, + a plot that's still open for any character so tell me why ur fave deserves it (all with fem reader)

— brace for impact, keiji akaashi elevator pitch: rich college girl with daddy issues is roommates/put under the care of old-time family friend, 20-something y/o keiji akaashi

“I just don’t want you to waste your life away.” He answers, which is the truth. He really hates picking you up when you’re drunk off your ass, unable to defend yourself against the swarms of sleazy college guys that are attending the same party as you. He hates the fact that you’ve been raised — if the dozen father-daughter interactions you had with your dad counts as him “raising” you — to believe that money can solve all your problems. Because, sure, having money has gotten you out of many tight spots, but it wasn’t money that drove to a college on the other side of the city to pick you up, it was him. He has to stand here and watch you push the universe’s boundaries, trying to test your luck, to see if there’s a problem or a bad situation that you can’t get out of this time. You’re reckless and privileged and insecure and rich — the deadliest combination for any college age girl to be. You’re going to ruin your life before it even fully begins. It’s like your default mode is self destruction. 

“Not this speech again.” You sigh, shifting your body so that your knees are turned towards the door instead of him. “Y’know, Akaashi, you’re not my dad.” 

“Yeah, because unlike him, I actually care about you.”

You’re silent now, still staring out the window. He’s usually better at keeping his mouth shut, but it’s hard to do whenever you’re constantly pushing and pushing and testing his patience and he’s just so—

“—sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. It’s a wonder how the words leave his mouth; you think the way he’s clenching his teeth acts as a formidable enough boundary. 

Actually, you think, it’s entirely justifiable. You’re coy, not dumb. You know when you’ve pushed Akaashi too far, and this is one of those times. And, really, you kind of — scratch that — you do deserve it. All of it. And then some. You’re irresponsible, and you drag him out to the other side of the city so he can act as your guardian, your protector, even though that is most certainly not the role he planned on playing. Honestly, you’re just surprised that he hasn’t left you out to rot like everyone else, and you’re thankful, you really are. But what are you supposed to say? That? The truth? Probably. 

You don’t, though. You just mutter some weak ass retort that sounds an awful lot like “you need to get laid” before staring out the window for the rest of the ride. 

— devil on my shoulder tellin' me i'll die soon (i don't really want that to impact you), atsumu miya elevator pitch: yakuza au but a healthy amount of porn and plot. sequel to this.

The first time Osamu Miya meets you, you’re unconscious, and he has a feeling you’d be grateful about this fact considering the state you’re in. 

Atsumu’s carrying you bridal style, and even in your sleep, you still cling to him. The sight would be almost sweet, but Osamu’s not an idiot. There can never be anything sweet in his dear older brother’s life. Even in the pale moonlight, Osamu can see the bruises and hickeys lining your neck, a trail of them that seem to disappear underneath your clothes (he wouldn’t be shocked if there’s a map of hickeys littering your skin). Your hair is sticking up at odd angles, your lips are swollen, and you are knocked out in every sense of the word. 

If the situation wasn’t serious (even without verbal confirmation, he’s well aware of how dire this situation is right now; Atsumu wouldn’t have visited him if it weren’t), Osamu thinks he would have made a comment about his brother’s rough handling. 

(He doesn’t, though, because Osamu knows all about just how rough his brother can get — after all, they both had the same upbringing.) 

“‘Samu,” Atsumu says, and his voice makes him sound like he’s worse for wear. He sounds like when he was fourteen and had his first taste of initiation, when a group of the strongest men would beat him relentlessly for thirty seconds and he wasn’t allowed to fight back. The crack in his voice is subtle, and even though Osamu rarely speaks to his brother anymore, he’s still a master at reading him. 

“Who’s the girl?” Osamu nods to your sleeping form, trying not to focus on the purple and red marks. God, he can’t tell if he, Atsumu, you, or all three of you are lucky it’s so dark. Osamu can’t really believe it’s possible to go out in public after a night with his brother; not without being on the receiving end of a few concerned looks. 

“I need a favor.” Atsumu ignores his question, which is typical behavior for him, so Osamu’s not entirely too surprised or annoyed. “She’s in danger, and it’s—” 

Atsumu grimaces like the next words he’s about to say are going to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. And maybe it’s because that’s his brother and they grew up together, or maybe it’s because ‘Tsumu’s always been a little predictable (or has Osamu just always been good at predicting?), but Osamu can almost mouth what his brother’s about to say.

“—my fault.” 

So, you must be someone awfully important to his brother then. Important enough that Atsumu would finally visit him in person after all these years (with barely any warning beforehand, too). Important enough that Atsumu would treat you so roughly (if the marks on your body are any indication of what you’ve been through) and still care about you so deeply. Important enough that he’s finally taking accountability, finally taking the blame for his actions.

He didn’t think it was possible, but Atsumu’s left him genuinely speechless for a moment. 

“Please, ‘Samu.” Atsumu Miya is not the type of person who breaks down easily. He does not beg, he commands. But right now, Atsumu sounds like he’s this close to getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together if that’s what it’ll take to get Osamu to help him. “You told me you would owe me after what I did for you. Consider this your repayment.” 

Apparently, you’re someone so important to Atsumu, he’s cashing in a favor that’s worth his life just to ensure your safety. Osamu can’t tell if that’s true idiocy or true love — then again, there’s hardly a difference between the two, is there? 

“Idiot. I would have helped ya regardless, y’know.” He means it. Every word. 

“I know.” And Atsumu means it, too. Because even if they’ve went years with little to no contact, even though they both belong to two completely different worlds, they’re still brothers. Which means that they also know each other as well as they know themselves, and Atsumu knows that Osamu can never truly be at peace until he feels like the completely imaginary debt he owes is paid back in full. 

The universe must have a taste for irony, though, because Atsumu thought that ensuring your safety and bringing his brother peace would make him feel good. Instead, transferring you to his brother’s arms allows the weight of the world to rest more comfortably on his shoulders. 

Osamu takes one last look at his older brother, and he’s not entirely surprised to see that his attention is on you, dark eyes staring so intensely at your sleeping figure, he wonders if he’s trying to commit your face to his memory. He’s worried about Atsumu. Sure, he’s got a whole entire gang on his side, a rather powerful one too, but ‘Tsumu’s never been the greatest at being left alone to his devices, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

But then Atsumu looks up at him, and Osamu feels like they’re both fourteen again. Trapped, vulnerable, in immense pain… But not alone, never alone. 

“Thanks, ‘Samu.” 

“Any time, ‘Tsumu.” 

(It’s the same words exchanged by their teenage selves years ago, whenever Osamu would help him clean his cuts and sloppily stitch him up.

To them, it was another way of saying “I love you”.)

— it always leads to you [chapter one], sae itoshi elevator pitch: literally the long ass, long awaited start to this series. if you listened to taylor's new album (ttpd)... yeah, that's basically the new soundtrack for this fic. do what u will with that info <3

A hard pill to swallow is that people never get over their first loves. 

It’s like, scientifically proven, or something. There’s been studies, you think. Not to mention that you belong to the group of people who have never gotten over their first loves. 

You’re aware that it’s probably embarrassing and should be something that brings you shame, but when Sae comes knocking on your door, infrequent, surprise visits that always catch you off-guard, you find yourself opening the door for him. 

(He has a key. He can let himself in any time he wants. You think he must forget.)

This time, he’s not knocking on your door, but he is waiting in the stairwell near the entrance to the floor of your apartment. He’s got a baseball cap on and a dark sweatshirt, and you want to tell him that everyone who lives here is most definitely getting shitfaced at the college bar you just left (the one whose only redeeming qualities are that it’s by campus and the drinks are cheap). He doesn’t have to worry about hiding his identity. 

You frown when he approaches you. 

“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you pout and complain about this halfheartedly, but it’s all for nothing. Sae never tells you when he’s coming; it’s almost like you’re just a spur-of-the-moment decision to him, which doesn’t feel right since the Sae you grew up with was always meticulous and purposeful with his actions. Granted, the Sae you grew up with left on a plane to an entirely different continent four years ago, and the one you have standing next to you now sometimes feels more like a doppelganger than your ex-boyfriend. 

He doesn’t answer, because of course he fucking wouldn’t. He waits for you to fumble with your keys; if you knew he was coming, you wouldn’t have let Akane convince you to take as many shots as you did. Now everything is kind of blurry and hazy, and your hands shake despite the lack of coldness you’re feeling. 

You delude yourself into thinking that there’s something of the old Sae left inside of him as he gently pries the keys from your fumbling fingers and unlocks the door to your apartment himself. 

Entering your apartment feels like traveling in a time machine, only instead of traveling back in time or to the future, Sae is entering a present-day parallel universe. This apartment, with its best (and only) amenity being a short distance from campus, could have been his. Could have been shared by the two of you, even. 

If he had stayed, that is.

Sometimes Sae ponders what his life would be like if he stuck around. If he had never had the ego or the audacity to want to see more of the world. You know better than to ask him why he never visits you when you’re on a holiday break from school, and he thinks it’s because you still know him the best out of anybody, even Rin. The truth is, Sae is too uncomfortable to come crawling back to his childhood home that he grew up in, the one he’s spent years determined to grow out of. He only comes back home when absolutely necessary — out of eldest son/family obligation. 

This college apartment, seeing remnants of a life you’re living that he doesn’t know much about (even though all he has to do is ask, and you would gladly tell), feels wrongly nostalgic. Like, the sweatshirt lying haphazardly on the couch displaying a big, fat Tokyo U logo on its front could have been his instead of your roommate’s. He could have played college ball instead of trying to get recruited directly to the big leagues. Sae’s good enough to get a scholarship. Even received a letter informing him that Tokyo U would be more than glad to have him, full-ride. 

(The letter resides in the back of his closet, crumpled up but never forgotten.) 

And, most importantly, you wouldn’t be looking at him like this. 

Even drunk off of cheap alcohol, you sober up startlingly fast when you see him. You shouldn’t give him so much power over your life, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t relish in the overwhelming relief that you still love him just the same. Nothing ever changes back home, and he says this with disdain, but when it comes to your unshifting affection for him, he figures staying the same can’t be all bad.

“Y’know, it always feels like you’re judging me when you just stand there and look at everything.” An intoxicated you is an honest you. If he wasn’t so determined to mask everything about himself, he would have smiled at your admittance. 

He doesn’t smile, though. He just continues to let his cold eyes roam across the entirety of your cramped, college apartment.

— an indentation in the shape of you, tobio kageyama elevator pitch: idol!reader who goes into hiding after a major scandal despite being the victim x pro!tobio who's been hopelessly pining after you since forever. now you're in hiding, but also living in the apartment right across from his.

SEARCH NEWS: [NAME] [SURNAME] > TOP RESULTS (SORTED FROM MOST TO LEAST RECENT)

WHERE DID [NAME] [SURNAME] GO? *INCLUDES EXCLUSIVE PHOTO OF HER MOST RECENT SIGHTING!*Posted on March 10, 2019

[NAME]’S SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN, IDOL HAS NOT BEEN SPOTTED IN A WEEK Posted on January 4, 2019   BREAKING: [NAME] [SURNAME] GOES SOLO! LEAVES IDOL GROUP TO START HER OWN CAREER! Posted November 6, 2018

KENTARO TANAKA NOW DATING J-POP IDOL AYAME MATSUMOTO, [NAME]’S FELLOW GIRL GROUP MEMBER!Posted on November 1, 2018

AFTER RECEIVING BACKLASH FROM ANNOUNCEMENT OF HER RELATIONSHIP, [NAME] [SURNAME] ISSUES AN APOLOGY ON ALL SOCIAL MEDIA ACCOUNTS Posted on September 3, 2018

NEW COUPLE ALERT! IDOL [NAME] AND HER RECORD LABEL’S EXECUTIVE, KENTARO TANAKA, SPARK DATING RUMORS Posted on August 16, 2018

When you spend most of your adolescent and young adult years standing in front of a camera, constantly served on a platter for the masses to scrutinize during your most formative years, you get used to being seen. People’s eyes locked in on you isn’t a comfortable feeling, but it’s one you’re very well acquainted with. Watchful, judging gazes cling to you like a second skin. 

It comes with the job is what your personal manager, Fumiko Gima, tells you, right before she tells you to toughen up. You had been fifteen at the time and saw a blogger discussing how you were the least attractive cast member on the children’s ensemble show you starred in. 

All eyes are on you from this point forward. You really going to let them see you cry? Fumiko is not a nice person, but she is incredibly kind, in her own way. She’s the type of person who believes in tough love, all while claiming that she doesn’t even think love exists. 

You think about the disapproving frown on her face when you revealed your relationship with Kentaro Tanaka. 

“You think you’re in love with him?” Sometimes it’s hard to believe that Fumiko is barely seven years older than you. Her youth is evident in her flawless skin and shiny hair (both of which are maintained by very meticulous routines), but the flat expression she wears on her face makes her seem like a woman who found out the hard way that her thirties are not going the way she planned. You’re eighteen when she asks you this question, and you don’t know how a twenty-five year old woman can have such an intimidating aura, but you think that only adds to her beauty. 

“He told me he loves me.” 

“People like him and I don’t believe in love.” Fumiko makes a face; sometimes, she lets her poker face drop in favor of making a face of disgust, annoyance, irritation, or extreme smugness. Right now, she looks disgusted. “Well, I wouldn’t normally place myself in the same group as him, but our industries are pretty much the same. You don’t get to where we’re at because of love, that’s for damn certain.” 

At this point in time, you’re adamant that it’s love because that’s what he says it is, and you’ve never been in love before, but you know that it’s something great. You’re eighteen, and insecure, and he’s in such a powerful position — he could have anyone he wants, and he loves you, so he picks you. Maybe Fumiko is just bitter because no one’s ever chosen her. 

— angel of the morning, atsumu miya elevator pitch: historical, ambiguous war au ft. soldier!atsumu x the civilian sweetheart reader who nurses him back to health

It’s the thunder that wakes you first. 

Lately, you’ve been a light sleeper. Paranoia is a good companion whenever you’re a young, pitifully unmarried lady who lives alone. You keep a chair propped under the knob of the front door, and you no longer open any windows, scared that you’ll forget to lock them at night. 

Normally, it’s the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer, or the creaks that come and interrupt the silence of the night (your parents used to swear that old houses just make those noises) that keeps you up. Sometimes it’s the neighbors next door; they like to get into screaming matches that seem to be so loud, they shake the walls of your home. 

It’s not your neighbors’ arguing that rattles the walls tonight. It’s the thunderstorm that the sweet old man at the farmer’s market warned you about. You be safe out, miss. Take some extra apples. It might be too flooded for you to go out like you normally do. 

You pull your blanket over your head, enveloping yourself in darkness but doing very little to block out the noise outside. The thunder seems to only grow louder, each boom punctuating the lightning that you’re certain is striking through the sky. It’s too loud. 

And rhythmic. 

You listen closer… Three booms in succession. A pause. Three more booms. After a minute of this pattern, the sound only comes more rapidly — louder than before, too. 

The loud booms — it’s not from the storm, then. 

There’s someone knocking at your door. 

You debate hiding under the blanket forever. Maybe this stranger will go away and leave once they realize that no one is going to answer the door. Besides, no one trustworthy is roaming the area at this time of night, right? What possible explanation could there be for someone to be stranded outside at midnight during a major thunderstorm? 

But the knocking persists. Whoever this stranger is, they don’t know when to quit. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so paralyzed with fear. 

“Open up!” A muffled voice still manages to cut through the front door, traveling all the way to your bedroom. It only serves to make you more afraid; what sort of monster is waiting for you outside? The storm rages on, and the knocking won’t stop. 

What happens if this person is in genuine trouble? Would a murderer truly be going through such lengths to kill someone? A thief? 

Well, you rationalize, it’s not as if you have many items worth stealing. Besides, you have no family, no marriage prospects, and a dwindling stash of money with no means to make more. You’re just existing at this point, and you’re surviving on limited time.

So you make your way to the front door, cringing as one section of the floor creaks as you tiptoe through the darkness of your home. You highly doubt the stranger outside can hear you, but you still hold your breath as you peek through the curtains. It’s too dark inside and out for anyone to notice the movement, and all you can make out is a large figure. There’s a knapsack by their feet and hanging off their shoulder is a gun. 

The knocks shouldn’t catch you off guard by now, but one particular hard bang against the door has you jumping in surprise, away from the window. 

This stranger must be a soldier. 

There’s not a lot of fighting to be done down here. The southern towns have mostly been unaffected. Most of the war is being fought up north. All the southern soldiers write back home, telling stories about the cities they visited, careful not to mention the red that runs through the streets and the way the citizens will have to update the population count on the sign outside their City Hall. 

But still, you know what everyone knows — when a soldier, especially one from your side, shows up on your front step, you better let him know that this home is now his. 

You slide the deadbolt with shaky hands, turn the lock on the doorknob, and only hesitate for a few seconds before removing the chair that serves as your last barrier. He’s a soldier, you remind yourself, hoping that you’re not wrong. The least you can do for him is offer him a hot bath for leaving him outside for so long. 

You open the door, revealing a blond-haired soldier weighed down from the weight of his sopping wet uniform, his hair sticking to his forehead because his face is also covered in rainwater, and it’s now that you notice that he’s got one arm wrapped around his abdomen. His hand is pressing down on his side, and you don’t think the dark liquid coating his fingers is water. 

“Finally.” He says. “I’m First Lieutenant Miya, and I fight for the south. I am seeking temporary refuge in your home, and I require only what you can afford to give me. I–“ Before he can finish rattling off what he’s been forced to memorize for times like these, First Lieutenant Miya falls forward, his body crashing into yours. 

It’s been a rough day. 

A rough week. 

A rough month.

A rough life, really, but Atsumu Miya’s long past the days of whining and complaining about things he can’t control. For example, he no longer dwells on his father abandoning his mother right before she gave birth to him and Osamu. There’s still a bitter taste that gets left on his tongue when he mentions dear old pa, which is why, for the most part, he chooses not to discuss him at all. He can’t control the way the north and the south view each other; sure, the mandatory draft isn’t his definition of a fun time, but he honestly didn’t have many plans after school, anyway. He probably would’ve joined the cause, regardless of the law or not. It’s just… A choice is nice to have, y’know? 

Like, if he had it his way, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in some ambush tonight. If only he weren’t just a lieutenant. If only his captain weren’t such a dumbass.

If he had a group to command, Atsumu’s certain that he wouldn’t lead his men into obvious traps, unlike some captains. But newly promoted Brigadier General Kita isn’t here to force people to listen to what Atsumu has to say. Kita has bigger problems to worry about, bigger troops to organize. 

Atsumu’s morning starts off bright and early with a five mile trek in the woods. The sky is overcast, and anyone with eyes is capable of predicting the storm that’s coming. Atsumu suggests building temporary shelter before the rain makes it too hard to walk; it’s already hard enough to navigate now, but Atsumu’s visited this town before, when he was a little boy. It floods easily, too easily. 

His captain doesn’t listen. Typical.

Around noon, they take a short break to eat. Rations are getting lower. Atsumu suggests that two or three soldiers turn around and head towards town to get supplies. His captain argues that their group is already small enough and sneers that Atsumu must be a northie lover since he’s trying so hard to sabotage this plan. 

The plan is shit, by the way. The captain swears his intel is good, that he’s just oh so certain that a troop of northern soldiers are planning to invade a series of small southern towns. They’re supposedly cutting through the woods to be discreet, and they plan on striking at night.

Atsumu thinks that the captain is just falling into their trap (spoiler: he’s right). There’s no way anyone would bother capturing small towns, just like there’s no way people ever want to listen to someone who’s just a lieutenant. Nobody thinks they have anything to offer, so it’s not worth the time to even pretend to care. These towns aren’t loaded with resources. They aren’t located in any coveted areas. There are only a couple of farms, but even then, they’re not big enough to justify wasting troops to terrorize the townspeople. 

But First Lieutenant Miya follows his orders anyway because what else is he supposed to do? Unfortunately, talking back comes to bite him in the ass because as nighttime starts to settle and the first drops of rain start to fall, his captain gives him a slimy smile before telling him, “Since you have such great ideas, Lieutenant, why don’t you go ahead and turn back into town to get us some of those supplies we needed?”

Well, Atsumu has a few choice words in reply, none of which will get him back into his captain’s good graces (not like he cares to be anyway). Atsumu can argue that it’s dark out, and no one in their right mind is going to be up at night. Atsumu can throw back his captain’s words and remind him that their measly team is already lacking in numbers. He can make the captain look dumb and ask him where the supposed enemy troops are at, since apparently they’re supposed to be capturing the town right about now. He can abandon the men, go back home, and enjoy a homecooked meal from ma. She wouldn’t care enough to scold him for being a dirty deserter; the lecture will come, surely, but she wouldn’t be too harsh with him. Atsumu misses home. He misses his brother, who belongs to a different troop. He misses Shinsuke, his former captain. He misses his mom. 

What he does end up doing, though, is biting back his tongue. He barely nods, clenches his teeth as he reluctantly says yes, sir, and treks off on his own. 

He’s about three miles in when the bullets start flying. 

Isn’t this just a lovely way to finish off the night, he thinks, before sprinting through the trees, weaving between them, trying to ignore how loud and how close the shots sound. He thinks he’ll probably go deaf by the time this damn war is over. A bullet narrowly misses his face, and then he starts to think he’ll probably be dead before then.

He can’t see. If he can’t see, he doubts the enemies can, either. That’s when he gets an idea. His legs are sore, he’s thirsty, and every step he takes is punctuated by a sloshing sound because the area is flooding, just like he predicted it would.

(Sometimes it’s a pain being right all the time.)

The shots are still coming at him in rapid succession, and he believes maybe it’s because they still think they have to shoot at him. If they think they got him, maybe they’ll leave him alone. It didn’t sound like anyone was bothering to chase after him, meaning they’re all probably perched in trees or hiding in bushes, shooting blindly into the night, hoping to land a lucky shot on a target. 

Before he can pretend to be hit, though, some bastard does get a lucky shot on him.

“Fuck!” He can’t help but yell out, the bullet piercing the side of his abdomen. A burning sensation begins to form on the spot where the bullet decided to make its happy home, and Atsumu can’t help but fall to the ground, clutching at the bottom half of his body. 

A minute goes by with no more shooting, and he’s glad he’s in enough pain not to realize that had he thought of his little plan of pretending to be shot sooner, he probably wouldn’t be in this predicament right now. 

It’d be so easy just to lie down and die. It’d be a slow death, sure. Painful, very much so. But no more fighting. No more captains belittling him. 

But if you die, a tiny voice in his head reminds him, it wouldn’t just be you that dies. It’d kill ma. It would ruin Osamu. Don’t be a selfish bastard. 

He allows himself only one more minute to stay absolutely still. He thinks the adrenaline pumping in his system helps to numb the pain, which is saying a lot, considering the fact that death would be preferable over this excruciating sensation. When he’s certain the coast is clear, he struggles to stand and keep himself steady.

He cannot die like this. 

Atsumu Miya knows better than to get upset at things he can’t control. He can’t control flying bullets aimed at him. He can’t control enemy soldiers; hell, he doesn’t even have soldiers he can control, enemy or ally. He can’t control a lot of shitty things that seem to happen to him, but as long as his heart is still beating, Atsumu Miya controls his own fate. He decides what happens next. 

It’s only a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, he rationalizes. He walks all the time. It’s not such a hard task. The storm continues to rage on, and Atsumu pretends he doesn’t even mind the water. He pretends that he’s not freezing. He pretends that he doesn’t care that his uniform is sticking to his body, making the dirty fabric cling onto him as if to act as a second skin. 

There’s a white flag in his knapsack. During training, they said to use it as a last resort. Die before you wave it, or something like that. 

He knows the intended use for it, but right now, he needs it as a tourniquet. He tightens the flag around his waist, using all his diminishing strength to get it as tight as possible. He can trick himself into thinking it’ll stop the flow of blood leaving his body, but at least it’ll slow it down. It’ll grant him enough time to make it into town and get help. 

He doesn’t choose the first house he sees; he chooses the one he likes the best. It’s nothing all too impressive — certainly not the biggest, but from what he can make out in the dark, it looks quaint. It reminds him of home, almost. There’s a porch with a bench outside and flowers on a window sill. It seems to glow in the darkness of the town, its paint a much brighter shade than the surrounding houses. A nice family must live here then. 

He knocks on the door, and there is no answer. Atsumu Miya did not walk this far with his life literally draining out of him to only make it this far. He knocks and knocks, and because he is too stubborn, even to the very end, he doesn’t quit. Someone must answer the door. It doesn’t cross his mind that perhaps this lovely family he’s envisioning might not even be home. It feels like ages since he first started banging on this door, and he thinks this might be it.

And then the door swings open, revealing a young lady with a certain glow about her. Maybe it’s the blood loss talking, but right now, you look like an absolute angel. His bright beacon of hope. 

“Finally.” He swallows hard, trying to remember what he’s supposed to tell you. The proper words are evading him right now. Honestly, even standing is a struggle now. He thinks he does a good enough job, but then he blinks, and his eyes don’t open back up after that.

— to the victor belong the spoils, naoya zenin elevator pitch: the dark longfic i mentioned abt borderline yandere naoya + how he basically slaughtered your whole entire clan and is going to force you to marry him because you have a cursed technique that will basically grant him invincibility

“Who did this?” You’ve seen Naoya so angry that his words seemed to shake the very interior of the room he was shouting in. You’ve seen Naoya so furious that he had everyone in his vicinity cowering in fear, scared to face his merciless wrath. Never have you seen him so enraged that he can hardly speak, the sentence coming out from between bared teeth; they’re discernible growls more than they are words, but his message doesn’t need to be understood in order to know his intent. 

Naoya Zenin is out for blood. 

“Tell me who did this.” He demands, hand gripping your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up and stare him directly in the eyes. You know why he does this; he can read you like a fucking book. He’ll know if you’re lying before you can even finish whatever fabricated story you’ve spent forever formulating. There’s no point in trying to trick him because it’ll cause him to get angrier, and then what? Then, you’ll have the whole entire room’s blood on your hands. A massacre dedicated just for you. 

You hadn’t cried when he had taken you from your home. You hadn’t cried when you were about to be killed by that curse. You hadn’t shed a single tear despite the unfamiliarity of the Zenin Estate, despite the fact that you were forced into a marriage with a man you did not know, despite the fact that you’ve never been this far from home, suffering silently in feelings of isolation and despair. You hadn’t cried after all of that, yet now you’re sobbing? Now you’re here, struggling to stand on your own, clutching onto the material of his shirt as if he’s your only lifeline, dangerously close to burying your face in his chest and crying your little eyes out. He’s been angry more times than he’s ever felt any other emotion. He’s numb to the feeling of his blood rising, of his vision being tainted with red, of having nothing but sick thoughts and vivid memories of torn flesh and severed limbs surrounding him. This emotion isn’t foreign to him; it’s a part ofhim. And he’s angry, yes, but there’s something else that he feels when he looks down and sees you making yourself smaller, as if trying to use him as your own personal shield.

— balancing act [chapter one], satoru gojo elevator pitch: the first month of your bet will you and gojo inevitably get together <3 the start of this series.

You have what you order down to a T. You first started your tried and true method of restaurant ordering when you were but a wee little intern, too shy to go to town on a rack of ribs in front of your peers and bosses. Once you entered the city’s dating scene (which is actually Dante’s tenth circle of hell — it’s just never discussed because that’s truly how vile trying to find a good man in a big city is), you realized that there’s not much difference between lunch dates and client lunches. 

You have the obligatory greeting exchanges (“hi,” “hello,” “how are you,” etc.), the awkward smiles, the mental countdown going off in your head as you wait for the perfect moment to get right into business (“what do you expect to gain from this partnership?” — a line surprisingly used more often in your meetings with potential investors and clients). There’s the pained professionalism, the tight-lipped smiles, the napkin resting in your lap, the battle to maintain constant eye-contact. When you sit across from someone at a table, date or client, you don’t see the person; you see a goal. 

And you’re good at working towards a goal. It’s why you’ve always been the analyst your managers rely on, why you’ve morphed into the senior associate that all your juniors look up to at G&G Capital, and why you automatically figure that if you set your sights on a man only to have him end things, it’s not you who was at fault. It has to be him. You’ve charmed the toughest clients and built fantastic working relationships with the most well-connected M&A lawyers; if you’re this good at professional relationships, why wouldn’t you also be fan-fucking-tastic at a romantic one? 

All the men who have taken you out on dates before wanted to sweep you off your feet. An ex-boyfriend once admitted to you that you appeared so unimpressed at everything, it had become this fun, twisted competition with himself to see what he had to do to get a look of amazement on your face. 

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re impressed.” Gojo says gleefully, holding open the dirty glass door so you and Utahime can walk in. 

Utahime looks like Gojo just slid open the backdoor to a white van and told her to get in. There’s shock with a hint of disgust evident on her pretty, doll-like features, and you know you’ve got a similar expression, too. 

The floors inside this restaurant — if the dingy, dimly lit shack crammed with small tables and rickety chairs can even be considered a restaurant — are sticky with decades’ worth of mystery liquids that have congealed into the half-inch thick residue that coats the floorboards. You have to purposely think about moving one foot in front of the other in order to walk because actual pressure needs to be applied if you don’t want your heels to become glued to the floor. You’re walking in front of Utahime and Gojo, and you end up choosing a table in the far back; it looks the cleanest. Briefly, you wonder if you’re allowed to be here, then think better of it as Utahime takes the seat next to you, and Gojo takes the one across. You highly doubt there’s a hostess here that’s dictating where the customers sit.

Especially since, upon one glance of the whole place, you realize that it’s empty save for you three. 

“Gojo, if we get killed, I hope they murder you in front of us first,” Utahime hisses. Her family’s so rich (and traditional), she’s never willingly been to a restaurant that doesn’t have a Michelin star. Before college, she’s never even eaten out at a chain restaurant. Being caught in a place like this has Utahime mentally spiraling towards rock bottom. 

“I hope they would, too. I don’t think I have the stomach to watch you meet your grisly end.” Gojo says serenely. Usually, he says things loudly, teasingly, gets all up in your face. When it comes to Utahime, he likes to play at being nonchalant. He’s been doing this to her for over a decade now, and it still grates her. 

Before Utahime can reply, the shaky voice of an older woman is exclaiming, “Oh! Welcome in! Have you gotten a chance to look over the menu?” The voice belongs to a short, plump woman with gray hair, a wrinkly face, but a kind smile that reveals yellowing teeth. She’s got a slight hunch to her back and nails with overgrown cuticles. You try to do a mental calculation of what you could buy this building for, to ensure that this sweet old lady never has to work a day in her life ever again. 

“You know what I want, Mrs. Kimura.” Gojo is giving her one of his signature dazzling smiles. “You can just double the portions today since my friend Utahime here eats enough for a family of five.” 

Mrs. Kimura lets out a throaty laugh. Utahime kicks Gojo in the shin from underneath the table. You’re wondering what Gojo orders from this place, and why does he order here so often to the point of them memorizing his meals? 

“I’m glad you brought friends with you today, Satoru. Meals always taste better when shared with loved ones!” She directs a warm smile in your direction, and you feel bad for returning it with your normal polite one. Tiny and brief. It’s more muscle memory than born from any real emotion. She’s shuffling away to the kitchen before you can try to summon a genuine smile for her, and Utahime’s phone is ringing, filling this near empty space with the tinny, anxiety-inducing sound of an iPhone ringer. 

She doesn’t excuse herself; just looks down at the glowing screen, grabs her phone, and heads outside to take the call.

Which leaves you sitting across from Gojo. Just the two of you. Just the two of you in a dingy restaurant seemingly run by only one old woman. The table looks older than you. The chair you’re sitting on makes a weird squeaky noise with any slight movement of your body. There’s no decor on the walls, no windows either. Nothing to distract you, nothing for you to feign interest in as you wait for Utahime to come back. 

You straighten your posture, try to discreetly look out the front door to gauge how close Utahime is to wrapping up her conversation, and find yourself with no choice but to look in front of you. All you see is Gojo.

He’s tall, you know that. Broad shoulders. Definitely not hideous, you can give him that much. You just feel shocked at how much space he takes up, how it feels like your eyes have to stretch to try to accommodate all of him. 

You don’t know why you feel so awkward, almost like a teenager going on her very first date with a boy she barely knows but still, for some inexplicable reason, wants so badly to impress. You can’t remember the last time you’ve ever felt this way, and you definitely don’t like this feeling at all. 

“How’d you find this place?” You ask him.

“I like to support small businesses.” He’s not teasing you, but Gojo has this bad habit of always adding a playful inflection to his words. 

“I hope you tip well. You look like their only supporter.” It’s not meant to be an insult to the painfully empty restaurant. You know how much Gojo is worth; when Itadori Googled “Satoru Gojo net worth” and showed the results to everyone, Gojo caught him in the act, looked at the top result, and threw his head back in laughter as he told Itadori to “add an extra zero and triple the number.” You think back to your calculation and assessment of the place. “Might as well buy the business.” 

“You make capitalism so cute.” He has to be teasing you now. You scowl. 

(He means it.)

— i wish to know the fatal flaw that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, satoru gojo elevator pitch: yandere gojo, royal au, nanny!reader... yeah idk what happened to this fic either, just that it was depraved and i wish i wrote more to share LOL

You’re acutely aware of the noise you’re making, every huff and small, desperate gasp for breath only further betraying your location, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You know, deep inside your pounding, frightened heart, that it doesn’t really matter how fast or how far you run. 

I will always find you.

Just the mere thought of him is enough for you to ignore the ache in your legs and push forward. If you can find the exit, if you can just see the daylight, surely you’d be able to—

You stop in your tracks.

There are two paths: one right, one wrong. Left or right? Freedom or imprisonment? 

There’s no time to waste, but you can’t make a choice. Which decision would be the right one? Surely either route would still be able to lead you to the exit, right? The sharp snap! of a branch being trampled on leaves you even more frightened. Without thinking, you take a left.

— i think you're too divine for my human mind, undecided elevator pitch: rough around the edges but w a heart of gold underground fighter!character x ring girl!reader. i think this was gonna be for bakugo LMAO but i do not have bnha brain rot so maybe a bllk or jjk or hq boy... NO ONE SAY ATSUMU I DON'T WANNA GIVE IT TO ATSUMU

The couch seems to shift with his weight, and you swallow hard, staring straight ahead at the same cement wall you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes because you’re still too much of a fucking wimp to navigate this area by yourself. 

Despite the two of you sitting at opposite ends of the couch, there’s only about one foot of space separating his knee from yours. You suppose that he gets away with the manspreading since he probably has no qualms with punching anyone who voices their offense. After witnessing just how brutal the infamous [ring name nickname] can get, you know that you’re definitely not going to be the one to say shit to him. You can’t even look at him.

Where the fuck is your sister? You have your arms crossed, covering your torso, and you think you must have subconsciously pressed yourself as far back into the couch as you possibly could. Everything about you must scream out “she wants to disappear!!!”, and the worst part of it all would be the fact that it’s the truth. You knew coming down here would be a bad idea, and the sinking feeling of regret is practically solidifying itself into your stomach. You think you could throw up. 

“Hey,” a voice — a deep voice, scratchy and low and so scarily close to you — breaks the silence. “You must be…”

Of course, you’re used to it by now. Always being referred to as “Akemi’s little sister” no matter the situation, the person, the setting. It makes sense, you rationalize. Everyone knows Akemi. And so, by extension, they must know you — her shadow, her little sister. 

“...helped out Sakura.” 

“What?” You don’t know anyone named Sakura, but you finally turn your head to properly look at him as you answer. He’s got on a white shirt now, incredibly form-fitting, and he’s staring right back at you. You're quick to meet his eyes before getting too nervous and focusing on the space just below his eyes. Then, that becomes too close to eye contact for comfort, so you settle for staring at his jaw. It’s a nice jaw. Sharp. He could probably cut you with it if you contradict any of his statements, so maybe you should pretend to know this Sakura girl. 

“You must be the girl that helped out Sakura.” He repeats. He says it slow and almost carefully, like he thinks you must be some sort of idiot who can’t comprehend the most basic of statements. “Gave her your jacket.” He clarifies, and it makes sense. The girl with the hot pink colored hair must have been Sakura. 

“Yeah.” You nod. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Huh?”

“Y’know… Pretty girls like you don’t normally end up here without a reason. So what’s your reason?”

He says it so casually, throwing it out there as easily as a punch. He probably means nothing deep by it, probably doesn’t even realize the fact that it is a compliment. 

He called you pretty.

“My sister.” You answer, finally looking away at him to look down at your hands that have settled nicely into your lap. Your cheeks feel a lot warmer than they did a second ago. You decide to blame this as a result of too many sweaty people in one basement. 

“She a ring girl?” 

“She’s dating a fighter here.”

“And you?”

“What about me?” 

“Are you dating a fighter here, too?” 

You look him properly in his face after that comment, almost resisting the urge to laugh. Fear that he’ll get offended and smack you into the floor stops that reaction. Instead, you stare at him, slightly surprised, lips almost curled up into an amused smile at just how unbelievable it would be for you to date anyone like him. 

“You finally did it.” 

“Did what?” 

“Look at me.” He holds eye contact, almost as if he’s trying to challenge you into looking away. “I don’t bite, y’know.” He smiles, showing off a surprisingly straight row of white teeth, not a single tooth missing despite the nature of his… job. “It’s against the rules.”

Yeah. Because [character], the fucking [ring name nickname], looks like the type of man who follows the rules.

[brutal-nemesis]

big question!! dude can we please see a scene in the AU where castys has his tongue cut off and he has to deal with that? like man, the shock and the pain and the fuckin grief? and neteri just being herself ofc

anyway the latest erebus chapter was heartbreaking you’re so good at being awful to these lads (i can’t stop reading)

Thank you I try,,,,,

Okay strap in fellas I think this is banger as hell I had a great time and let me know if you have any other requests for the AU!

Ingredients: shockingly, tongue gets cut off! some suffocation as well

Castys wasn’t great at sitting in chairs normally, something his parents had always reprimanded him for, but, hey, they’d never taken it as far as to fucking tie him to one, and Castys was grateful. This shit was uncomfortable. Like, yeah, the rough ropes around his wrists and ankles were tight and itchy, but also the position just sucked. Not that he’d rather be standing or something-

“You must be Castys!” The door had swung open, and now this little lady with a white coat on was walking up to him. 

“Yes, I’m Castys,” he said flatly as she scurried behind him before coming back without her bag. And then she just…stared at him. Castys wasn’t sure what she was looking at, since there really wasn’t much to see, just, like, him. Eventually her eyes wandered up to his, and she jumped in place a bit.

“Oh, right, I’m Neteri.” She stuck her hand out like she expected him to shake it.

“You know I’m tied up, right?”

“Ah. Yeah.” Her skin was dark enough that it wasn’t immediately obvious that she was blushing, but Castys was pretty sure she was. She ended up awkwardly grabbing his right hand and shaking it a bit. “I, um, I’ll be preparing you for this afternoon. Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Well, you’re not tied to a chair so I think you’ll be okay.”

She laughed. “You’re right, you’re right, but I’m just…I think I’m going to do something I’m not supposed to do.”

Castys raised an eyebrow. “Let me go because I’m funny?”

Neteri rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so clearly she did think he was funny. “No, you’re staying put, sorry bud. But I think I’m going to keep you. You’re kind of perfect.” She tried to cup his cheek in her hand, but Castys leaned away, staring at her with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” His mouth was really dry all of a sudden, he wasn’t perfect, he was a fuck-up, a useless heir, that had been his goal, he wasn’t good at anything he was supposed to be good at, he wasn’t well-mannered or polite, he had a huge fucking scar on his face and a lopsided smile because of it, he was filthy and vulgar and didn’t have any interest in getting married he was absolutely anything but perfect. So why the hell did she want him?

“It’s not important right now. You’ve got a big day ahead of you!” She clapped her hands, dismissing the subject entirely. He wanted to press her further, but after seeing the lovely object she pulled out of her pocket, everything else was forgotten.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, what are you gonna do about it, Castys? I thought you were tied to a chair!” Great, now it was his turn to feel his face grow hot, because, yeah, what the fuck was he gonna do?

Normally, he doubted he’d immediately recognize it for what it was, but today, right now, after just being told this lady wanted to keep him, it was instantly clear. And Neteri was right, he was only able to squirm uselessly and lean away as she wrapped the collar around his neck without much trouble. His first swallow after she’d sealed it shut felt horrible, and he absolutely did not want to get used to it.

“See, it’s not so bad. It looks cute on you!” She ruffled his hair, which only made Castys more uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be cute. I’m not a fucking dog.” He wasn’t sure whether the collar was part of Neteri’s weird desires or just to humiliate him, but either way he hated it.

“No, you’re not, but you’re also not a prince anymore, and you’re the property of the Xernan Empire, and this is a good reminder of that,” Neteri said as she walked around behind him, probably to her bag. Castys rolled his eyes. He didn’t need to be reminded that he wasn’t a prince, since it was his favorite new development in all of this. Unless…unless it wasn’t just a reminder for him, but for everyone else, too…He really, really hoped there wasn’t going to be some sort of public display, but given how Neteri’d said he had a “big day” ahead…fuck, that was probably the case, huh?

“Now, I’m going to…oh, I might get in so much trouble for this,” Neteri muttered as she stared at the floor, standing in front of him once again. She had leather gloves on, which would have been nice earlier when she was touching him, and she was holding…a pair of shears? He didn’t think she’d put on gloves if she was just going to cut his hair, and given that she thought she might get in trouble for it, it seemed like she was going to…maim him somehow. Castys curled his hands into fists as Neteri slapped her cheeks with her palms, still talking to herself. “No, I’m going to do this. I deserve it. It’s not that far off from what the emperor wants. Okay,” she held the shears up and gave Castys a concerningly bright smile. “Any last words?”

For once, Castys didn’t take the opportunity to speak.

Instead, he locked his jaw shut tight, teeth clenched so hard it hurt, lips pressed together, walls of protection around his tongue. 

That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it?

Neteri cocked her head, watching him. “Nothing to say all of a sudden? No jokes?” Her smile disappeared as her eyes narrowed. “You figured it out, didn’t you, Castys? What I’m going to do to you.”

He didn’t bother nodding.

Neteri stepped up to him, her knee on the chair in between his legs, leaning over him, her face right above his as he craned back to avoid her. “You’re going to have to get used to obeying me, Castys.” The cold metal of the shears rested on his cheek. “So open your mouth.”

If there’s one thing Castys was good at, it was disobeying orders.

After a few moments of neither of them moving, Neteri pinched Castys’s nose shut with her free hand, not saying a word. Fine, he could play that game. Hold on as the pressure in his chest built, as his head started to spin, as his vision started to darken, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just give in to the inevitable and take a breath. He could do it quick, a little gasp, fast enough that she wouldn’t be able to do anything. Okay, three, two…

The exhale was shaky, but it was fine, just a quick inhale as he snapped his mouth shut-

His teeth scraped against metal, the sensation sending shivers down his spine.

Neteri stared at him with a detached coldness as she rotated the shears, forcing his jaw open wide, wide enough for her to stick her hand in and grab his tongue, pulling it out despite his attempts to pull it back, turning the shears to the side now, opening them up, the cold blades-

Snip.

Castys’s mouth was hot it was burning he was choking the smell of blood was so strong he was suffocating on it her hand was still in his mouth her fingers pressed against his wound magic piercing through his jaw he’d scream if he had the air and then that was it her hand was gone he lurched forward coughing and spitting blood and saliva all down the front of the threadbare shirt he’d been given and once he saw the discarded little piece of pink flesh on the floor he couldn’t look at anything else he couldn’t believe that was it it was gone it wasn’t in his mouth his mouth was empty there was only the blood still dripping out and when Neteri laid a hand on his back he wanted to growl at her not to touch him but he couldn’t he couldn’t say anything anymore he was quiet nothing to say no thoughts or opinions of his own just how his parents had wanted him-

“It’s alright, Castys, just breathe. It was a little more difficult than it needed to be, but you did it.” And why did it need to be at all? “Just two more things left today and then you can rest. And then hopefully…” Her hand slid up, resting on the back of his neck, on that awful collar, and Castys wanted to scream. He never, ever wanted to belong to her.

But what he wanted didn’t matter anymore.

Castys was dragged out and whipped and branded and left out on display, brought back and patched up by Neteri and given soup that he couldn’t taste, and when the door slammed shut behind her, he finally allowed himself to cry.

His back and chest hurt, of course, the wounds aggravated no matter how he moved or what position he laid in, but he could deal with it. It was nothing compared to what he’d lost, the little pocket of empty space inside his mouth.

Words were all he’d ever have to really fight back, complaining when he was forced to do things he didn’t want to, scaring off all the suitors his parents picked out, jokes keeping him calm when he was scared or upset, even when he couldn’t do anything he could still say something, make sure everyone knew how he felt, and now he was more helpless than ever before and he couldn’t say a single fucking thing. 

He didn’t even know where he was going to end up, either sold off to some asshole or left in Neteri’s clutches, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to be treated like a person. The collar made it pretty clear. He was less than human now, a pet, a lab rat, property, something that didn’t need to have thoughts or opinions anymore. 

He’d rather be a prince after all.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump 

@starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words​ @misspelledwitch @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump​ 

@painsandconfusion @i-can-even-burn-salad @befuddled-calico-whump​ @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​

@whumpedydump

[whumpetywhumpwhump]

whumpee isn't feeling well, and caretaker decides to try and preserve their dignity and wait outside of the bathroom for them while they (Vomit, use toilet, etc.). Whumpee ends up making a mess of themselves or the room, and in a panic of not wanting to be seen, they lock the door to keep caretaker out.

Maybe they turn on the shower to try and clean themselves off, but due to their fever they set the water up too high, and it just makes them even sicker.

Caretaker is begging whumpee to open the door, but whumpee is either too stubborn or sick to let them in, and so they sit on the floor, covered in their own mess, feeling miserable and alone.

I hope that's an okay prompt!

TW: Mentions of vomit

Whumpee sits beneath the steaming spray of the shower, head against the tiled wall, breaths quick and shallow. They feel awful- worse than before- and the panic that's steadily been building for days since they first started feeling ill suddenly skyrockets.

They're sick. They're really sick.

"Whumpee! Whumpee, open the door!"

Caretaker sounds desperate, even though their voice is muffled by the thundering of the shower and the blood rushing through Whumpee's head, but there's nothing Whumpee can do. They want to open the door, they really do. They just... can't. They don't have the energy to do anything else but sit here, struggling for each breath, head swimming with the too-high heat of the water, covered in their own goddamn vomit. It's pathetic. They can't even move themselves a little so the shower washes off the mess they came in to remove.

A small sob escapes their lungs, and they let their eyes fall closed. Caretaker is starting to throw themselves against the door now. Hopefully in a few seconds they'll come in and help Whumpee.

For now, though, Whumpee cries, too weak to even produce tears.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on ok i belted out a brief laughingstock Scene for possible future use that i Had to write down bc if i didn't, i'd never remember it. and why not share?

~

“Barnaby? Barnaby, old chap, are you with me?” 

Barnaby blinks, registering the green fingers snapping in front of his nose. He huffs a laugh and pushes Howdy’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listenin’. You were saying?”

Howdy gives him an exasperated look, a fond look. “Thinking about running off to a farm again, were you?”

“Nah, just the clouds. They’re a lot less work.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t. Who would I talk to during the long hours if you went and floated off?” Howdy winks before turning to his shelves, already yammering away about something or other.

Something or other that Barnaby is once again not listening to, because what was that? Barnaby quickly presses his cool paw-pads to his burning cheeks, feeling the bristling fur there. 

Has Howdy ever winked at him? Now that he’s noticed it, Barnaby can’t recall. If it’s new, then why? Why a wink of all things? What did that mean? And that look Howdy gave him… 

Barnaby adjusts his abruptly too-tight tie. It’s unusually warm in the store, isn’t it? Howdy must have forgotten to turn on the AC. 

Gosh, what is Howdy even saying? He’s still talking, but Barnaby hasn’t absorbed a word. He can’t even tell if Howdy is still speaking english. It’s all garbled.

There’s something wrong with Barnaby. He must be coming down with something… or he’s just overthinking it. Overworking the ol’ noggin. A good long nap should set him right. 

“Listen,” Barnaby interrupts, patting the counter, “I uh, I don’t know where my head’s at. I better go find it - I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh… alright, then,” Howdy says, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. 

Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Barnaby slaps that thought out of the park. He doesn’t want Howdy to be disappointed, that’s absurd. That’s something a bad friend would think. Barnaby may be many things, but a bad friend isn’t one of them.

“I’ll whip up a joke that’ll knock your socks off next time I see ya,” Barnaby promises. He smiles around the discomfort and the entirely new feeling squirming around each other in his chest. 

“Now you’ve gone and brought up my expectations,” Howdy says. He leans on the counter and grins. “Are you sure you can back up such a claim, Mr. Beagle?”

Another hot flush races under Barnaby’s fur, and to his growing mortification, his tail starts wagging at breakneck speed. He lets out an uncharacteristically nervous laugh and backs away from the counter. To both of their horror, his back hits a shelf, making it rattle and tip.

“Oh, sh-” Barnaby lunges to right it before it can topple. He whips around and laughs again. Howdy’s wide-eyed stare burns. “Sorry ‘bout that! Talk about a bulldog in a bugshop, geez.”

“When you find your head, make sure to screw it on nice and tight,” Howdy says, a strange look on his face to match his tone. “And check your temperature while you’re at it - it’s not like you to be off-balance.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m off-balance,” Barnaby says. He inches towards the door, willing his stupid tail to calm down. “I just have ears instead of rearview mirrors.”

“Uh-huh…” Howdy slides to the side, trying to peer around him. 

Barnaby fumbles for the door. The scrape and bang of his search for the handle echoes in the quiet store. One of Howdy’s eyebrows creeps higher the longer Barnaby stands there, making a complete fool of himself. 

Finally, the door clicks, and Barnaby nearly tumbles over backwards in his haste to get out. He stumbles down the steps and briskly walks away, adjusting his hat and tie. As soon as he’s out of sight, he slaps his paws to his face and sags against the bodega.

“Idiot,” he hisses to himself. He presses his back flat against the wall and slams the side of his fist against it. Normally, Barnaby would use a situation like this to his advantage. But Howdy wasn’t laughing, and Barnaby wasn’t being funny. “Bulldog in a - gah, idiot!”

Great. Now Howdy thinks he’s not only a clumsy oaf, but that he’s losing his touch too.

Barnaby growls in frustration, pushing off the wall and stomping away from the plaza on all fours. What does he care what Howdy thinks of him? Others’ opinions of Barnaby have never been anywhere near his list of top priorities - barring Wally’s, of course. If they were, he'd never tell another joke again.

Yes, Howdy is a good friend of Barnaby’s. A close friend, even. But since when has he had such a - such an effect? Barnaby shakes his head, growling again. 

There was no effect. Barnaby is just going insane. Or he’s getting sick, like Howdy implied. That would explain the sudden hot flash, the loss of typically impeccable coordination, and, oh yeah! Barnaby’s brain leaking out of his ears.  

[bunnihearted]

🐰🩹🧸🏨

[luvsavos]

random vent(?) in the tags, feel free to ignore i just have a lot of pent up emotions to get out today apparently

[ferdydurke]

I say this often but its crazy how much of a vortex depression is.

[olliecoded]

dude. i am such a fucking selfish piece of shit.

[arainesque]

I'd love to jump into the head of someone who is more emotionally aware than me. (I'm not smart, please don't interpret this as that) but I've always intellectualized things (always) for as long as I can remember.

I'd just love to experience the world from a perspective where you know what you're feeling.