#my bill used to be *lower* than it would otherwise be

[memorizingthedigitsofpi]

cancelling my cable right now, and it was really easy to avoid the upsale / retention offers because I don't actually own a TV 🤣

(if you do own a TV but want to avoid the upsale thing, I recommend just claiming you don't own one anymore. fast, effective, and gets a laugh from the agent)

[thecameronchronicles]

Favors

TW: Smut. Language. Oral sex (female receiving). Mentions of drugs and drug use 

Kook!Reader.

SUMMARY: Rafe uses his talented tongue to convince you to go to The Cut to get his drugs. 

WORD COUNT: 1200

REQUESTED

Rafe sending girlfriend!reader to buy drugs from Barry for him because he gives her a pretty girl discount but she kind of hates doing that so Rafes has to convince her to do it and he usually does that with his tongue 

Favors

"What's this?" You asked as your eyes met with the rolled bills set between Rafe's pinched fingers. Those same fingers that forced you to the habitual bite of your lower lip to what they could offer, had been rivaled by your annoyance to his motions. 

"I need more coke." He explained as if this had been some harmless request to simply venture to the corner store. But the reason for your hesitancy wasn't even the beckoning of his illegal vice, but that of him asking you to do it for him to begin with. 

"And you can't do it because…?" You inquired with frustrated agitation. 

"Because I don't have your ass…" You smirked at his vulgar compliment before angling yourself to view his backside. 

"I don't know…I think if you wear some tighter shorts, you could get the same discount I do." You picked at the edges of the manicure he paid for earlier that week as he set a hand to your cheek. 

You pulled your eyes in the preparation to roll in rejection to the soft methods he would try and win your submission. A sudden gasp of surprise set you to focus on him completely as he took an abrupt hold of your hair. He positioned you to face him, lips close enough to taste the mint from an earlier brush as your eyes fought in commitment between his new smirk and blue hues faded with lust. 

"I give you everything, don't I baby? My attention…that necklace…my patience." You scoffed. 

"I don't think you know what those words mean, Rafe…"

"I'm not patient?" He forced you to your feet, leading you to the direction of the bed with your calves at a rest to the disheveled sheets from a slothful owner. 

"So I don't let you take your time on your knees for me? When you take me all the way to the back of your throat," The backs of his fingers traced your neck as he continued, "Crying and choking for me…because you just can't get enough of how I feel inside of you?" 

"I-"

"And I'm not selfless when I'm on my knees for you? Letting you drown me because you're so fucking desperate?" He clenched his teeth, tightening his grip through your hair as his second fell to your sex. Your fingers were quick to wrap around his hand. 

"If I make you come selflessly while I exercise my patience…then you're going to take your pretty little ass to The Cut and get me my discount…" His eyes darkened further as he thought of his alternative. 

"Otherwise, you're going to be…compensation for my lack of a high. A bag's worth…" He cocked his jaw. "I'd say that would mean until morning at least-"

"Rafe…"

"It's more than a fair deal…But either way…you are gonna come for me. How, is up to you…" You considered the options before offering a single nod. This sole bob of your head offered enough consent to push you to the bed. 

"Then keep those pretty lips closed…" He pulled your thighs further apart, his fingers descending your naked skin as he took hold of your panties and carried them to your ankles. 

"But these legs…wide…" He removed his shirt, allowing you a moment to adore his physique that had been the result of peer pressure and pride , before dropping to his knees. A leg set high over each shoulder would subject your eyes to fixate on him as he licked his lips. 

"You know I'd eat you out for free, baby, yeah?" You weren't able to speak as he silenced you with a teasing strip made from his tongue. 

"Because I fucking love how desperate you are to come…whining and shit…willing to go to The Cut as long as I get you off…" He lowered completely to your sex. 

"And I will. Just like I always do." He explained as he committed to your clit. Wrapped at the tip of his tongue was your bundle of nerves, teased and sucked in a slow climb of accelerated ambition. 

"RAFE!" You belted as he lunged that vulgar tongue into you, mimicking what was to come, but not allowing you the benefit of him. 

"You taste so…desperate…" He grinned, rising from you to showcase the trophy on a drip down his chin as you rolled your eyes once he reconnected to your sex. 

"Mmm…" He moaned to the mindless rise of your hips, a natural reaction to his oral skillet, all while you were left to endure him. In the attempts made to do this very thing by the closing of your thighs against his cheeks, you were rejected as his fingers ate into your skin and forced you apart. 

"Wider." He growled as your legs shook. You need to be closed as tightly as possible to keep that immediate rush at bay. But he wanted you to spill over quickly. It no longer mattered what he would get out of it. His desire was to make you beg, squirm, and come harder than before. All for those words of cruelty made against his character. 

"Wider!" He spoke as more of a comment than a direction as he forced your legs flat. An uncomfortable stretch was quickly quelled by his tongue, all sensation kept at your core. 

"Rafe! It's too much!" He scoffed in a pitied roll of his eyes. A slow roll that made you want to view such a response between your thighs as you suffocated him with your sex on his back. 

"Fuck me! Fuck me right now!"

"I don't think so baby…that would be selfish of me…impatient…this is all…about ..you…" He spoke in breaks made of his oral pleasure as you were forced to experience his merciless motivations. 

 He groaned into you after you'd fought him long enough to break weak. One more slip of his tongue and you would be taken over that edge and allowed that release. But instead of granting that, 

he retracted. 

"What the hell, Rafe!" You whined. 

"Now who is impatient?" He teased as you were led to your knees. He savored you this way as well, building you back to that crest as you were finally allowed that release. Slowly but surely you felt those familiar waves pulling you to moan into screeches left by his tongue. Fisted fingers in the sheets beneath would be eased before a set of fingers replaced that now overstimulated sex. 

"Now since I've done my part….I'm expecting you to do yours…Only after…" He thrusted a few times into a bend to your g-slot as you began a rhythm once again. Only to retract. 

"Hurry back or I'll show you just how impatient and selfish I can really be…" He explained as a slap to your ass sent you collecting your clothes before he snatched your panties from your hands. 

"RAFE!"

"Let him know you've already been taken care of. He has a thing for you, and I want him to know all he gets to do is look-" 

"I don't know…he does give quite a deal-"

"You give him anything but my cash and-" He was suddenly angry. 

"Relax. Nobody feels like you do." He nodded. 

"And nobody will hurt you like I can either. In all the right ways…" he ghosted your lips before sending you on your way. And yet you could tell if you were more eager to remain apart to know what you would return to, or to return prompt as a reward. That was a dilemma in dating Rafe Cameron. His rewards were just as beneficial to you as his punishments…

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @drews1love @phildunphyisadilf @belcalis9503

MASTERLIST

RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

2ND RAFE CAMERON MASTERLIST

[bluehoodiewoozi]

The First Step

Boo Seungkwan x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, coming of age

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: mental breakdowns. adulting is hard. food mentions. mutual pining. 

[Series: Serenity Street 17] Your neighbour witnessed your mental breakdown and decided to take you under his protective wing.

The first step is always the hardest. 

You found yourself repeating the mantra to yourself day and night after moving into your new apartment. It was a free comfort. 

No more parents, siblings or roommates. Just you, yourself, and your new independence, in an apartment that you were almost entirely responsible of. You could decorate to your own desires, you could sleep until noon without anyone judging, you could get as many houseplants and paintings and chairs and blankets as you ever wished. 

You had smiled brightly when you first placed your three plates into the cupboard and fluffed the cushions on the sofa. You had laughed in joy when you played your music out loud without anyone telling you to lower the volume. These were your first steps into adulthood and the first steps were always the hardest. 

At first the mantra seemed to work and you didn’t feel too awful about your newfound independence, but after a while, the words lost their magic.

How many steps could be the counted as the first ones? Who’s to say if you had already taken all of them and all that was left was adult misery?

Now, a month into living entirely on your own, you were on the breaking point. You paid rent and bills for the first time and you realised a crucial fact: you were entirely alone. 

For some reason, today, this thought made your return from work uneasy. You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to go there at all. Would it be too late to catch a train to your old home?

The lift moved upwards too fast for your liking that day. You opted for the slow route the stairs provided. Just so you could feel miserable for a little longer. Just to have a little more time to comfort yourself.

Four floors of stairs should have been more than enough to resolve the conflict raging in you. At the very least it should’ve distracted you. But the travel did neither and you were just as miserable – if not more – when you reached the door of apartment 4A. 

As you stared the number, feeling somehow hollow at the thought of spending yet another night alone, lonely and miserable, something warm touched your cheek. It rolled gently along the skin. A single tear.

You scoffed at the idea of crying over something so silly. There was no way you were crying. Absolutely no way; you brushed the tear off your cheek and sniffled while searching your pockets for the key. 

Your hands were shaking. Why were they shaking? Why was the entire world seeming to shake around you, mocking your loneliness?

“Hey, are you okay?” a soft voice sounded from your left.

Hastily, you brushed any tears off your face and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

It was easier to ignore the way your voice cracked in the middle of the sentence. But the person worrying for you seemed to think otherwise. He sighed.

“There’s no use in lying to me, you know,” he told you matter-of-factly while taking slow steps closer to you. “I’m kind of like a human lie detector.”

“It’s fine. It’s whatever.” You shook any ideas of telling him out of your head. You had no interest in having a therapy session with a stranger. 

Yet tears still fell as you held the key up to the hole it was supposed to fit in. You brushed them off again before a streak of black became visible on the sleeve. You scoffed. “And now my make-up’s ruined! Great!”

“Here,” the man offered and took the key from your shaking hands. He unlocked the door for you and led you inside with a gentle hand on your upper back. “There we go. You look like you need to lie down for a little.”

You opened your mouth to argue. Only a breathless sob came out as you nearly fell onto the sofa. Your own body was betraying you in front of a stranger.

“I’m Seungkwan,” he offered, as if reading your mind and the doubts inside of it, “I live in 4B. So, I’m not a complete stranger. You can trust me, even if it’s just a little.” He then grimaced a little. “Or, if you really don’t trust me, you can just report me to Lee Jihoon. I’m sure he’d be glad to yell at me for causing an already-crying person distress.”

For some reason, his words made you feel a little better. Maybe it served as a distraction. Maybe it reminded you that you weren’t as alone in this building as you felt. 

“Would he really yell at you?” you asked in a meek voice when your cries subsided after a little a while. 

As your eyes slowly cleared, you found yourself staring at a friendly-looking man, his hair a dark tousled mess, his grey sweater covered in patches of white dog fur, and a pair of bunny slippers on his feet. He seemed nothing if not friendly.

Seungkwan scoffed at your question. “Jihoon would yell at me for fun on a random Wednesday midnight. He once chewed me out for removing a silly post-it note off the notice board.” His feet nudged yours. “Have you met him yet? He’s the building owner’s son so he’s sort of in charge of all the tenants. How long have you lived here anyway? I think I was out of town when you moved in.”

“A month now.”

“A whole month? And this is the first time we’ve talked?” He seemed puzzled, flabbergasted, and almost offended. “That’s strange. I’m usually friends with everyone within a week.”

You sighed and stared at your feet. “I’m not the most sociable type. Sorry.”

Immediately he frowned. “What are you apologising for? It’s fine. We’re going to be friends now.” He said it with such conviction that you had no option but to trust him. 

Maybe you just liked the thought of having a friend in this building. Someone to talk to and vent to and to offer you emotional support. A friend, finally. 

“Did you have dinner yet?” he asked soon after. “If you don’t feel like cooking, we can share mine? I made too much food again anyway.”

“I…” You really doubted you should agree. He was still, essentially, a stranger. Your neighbour, sure, and a possible future friend, but you knew nothing about him outside of his overly kind nature. Perhaps you were feeling desperate for some company that night, or maybe you wanted to take yet another first step – you said yes. 

Within fifteen minutes, Seungkwan had covered your coffee table with plates full of side dishes and rice. He smiled brightly as he watched you eat your first mouthfuls. And it seemed that just as fast as the impromptu dinner started, it ended. Soon, your stomach was full as was your heart and your mind felt a little bit more at peace now. 

“See, you look happier already,” he cooed and offered you a sweet look that made butterflies fly just a little in your lonely heart. “Eat some more. If we can’t finish this, I’ll have to bring these to the sixth floor to Vernon again and I just don’t have the energy to deal with him today.”

“I can’t fit any more food in me,” you whined and fell further into your soft sofa. “I’m going to burst at this rate. Why do you cook so much anyway?”

He shrugged. “Force of habit. I used to room with Vernon and Junhui in 6A and they eat a lot, but they’re such a mess that I just couldn’t take it anymore and moved to 4B when the possibility came.” He ate a mouthful of kimchi before adding, “Best decision of my life.”

Your heart felt heavy again. “Did you ever feel lonely after you moved into 4B?”

“Lonely?” He blinked at you. “Lonely how?”

“Like you’re all on your own again and you don’t have anyone to depend on? Like you’re entirely responsible for your life now? And now if you break the washing machine you have to replace it entirely out of your funds?”

You watched him as the reality of your situation sunk in. His lips fell into a pout the more he thought about it. 

“Is that why you were crying earlier?” he asked gently. “You’re scared of living on your own like this?”

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” you corrected with a deep breath between the phrases, “but it is all a little scary. It’s like the real life has just begun.”

“Because it has,” he reminded you with a gentle pat on the back, “but that’s the best part. You’ll get used to it soon, you’ll find more friends soon, and then you’ll have people to depend on and you’ll know what to do. It just takes a little time to figure it out.”

You sighed. It came out a little shaky. “Will you help me? Will you help me figure it all out?”

He offered a smile. “If you want my help, absolutely. And if you want the help of other people in this building, just say the word, and they’ll all come running to help you fix your washing machine, okay?”

You let out a laugh, and though it wasn’t quite cheerful yet, it was getting there slowly, just as you were getting used to your situation slowly. 

“But to answer your question,” Seungkwan began after a moment of thought, “yes. I felt lonely at first. I kept going back to 6A in the evenings, just lounging on their couch as they ate my leftovers. I still cook for three even though it’s just me.” He sighed. “I did get a dog though, so that’s good. I never could’ve gotten a dog living with those two. They’re both cat people.”

“Should I get a pet too?” you wondered for a moment, more just to have a thought than to actually consider it. 

Seungkwan looked around the apartment for a moment, then turned to give you a glance and a smile. “I think maybe start with a houseplant first. If you need someone to water it when you’re out of town, just call me or any of the other tenants. I think Chan and Anna both have a knack for plants. Just don’t call Jihyeon – she’s as forgetful and lazy as they come.”

Feeling a little lighter after hearing his words, you decided to joke, “And if I break my washing machine, which tenant do I call then?”

Seungkwan took a bite of rice and radish. He chewed thoughtfully before deciding, “Joshua from 3A. He’s good with this kind of stuff.”

Funnily enough Jihoon had told you the exact opposite: to avoid asking for Joshua’s help at any cost. You laughed at the contradiction. This time laughter didn’t feel so difficult. 

Little did you know, it was at this moment that Seungkwan made a silent promise to protect your smile for as long as you would allow him.

He quickly became your best friend in the entire city. It came easy with the way he always seemed to return from his morning run just as you were leaving for work. The at-first hesitant bows and smiles quickly turned into cheerful waves and morning news. And just like that, you had a friend. You didn’t feel so lonely anymore.

“Oh, I hate to ask this, but do you mind if we have dinner together tonight?” he had asked you this morning, his face still red from the physical exertion. “My cooker broke last week and I’m about to go insane if I don’t get a home-cooked meal.”

You had shrugged and told him, “Fine, but you’re cooking.”

Truthfully, you almost forgot about your promise at work. There was so much to do, and so little time. The memory of the morning exchange only came to you as you walked into the building on Serenity Street. You wondered if Seungkwan had known you’d be too exhausted to cook dinner that night. 

The thought of warm food on your mind, with a newfound vigour, you stepped into the lift and pressed the button for the 4th floor. Before long – but just long enough that you felt a little impatient – you were at your destination, and so was Seungkwan.

He was once again wearing his bright smile, red pyjama pants and a grey sweater (this time it didn’t have any dog fur at least). His hair was still a tired mess and he was wearing his signature bunny slippers as he waited outside of your door. 

“Good evening, my wonderful neighbour,” he declared loudly the moment you stepped into his view. 

You offered him a playfully dramatic bow and unlocked the door, opening it for him. “What’s on the menu today, my good sir?”

He snorted at the honorific and practically ran to throw his phone onto the coffee table and himself onto your sofa as if it was his own home. “Whatever the master of the house wishes. I can cook well.”

“In that case,” you contemplated for a bit before deciding on your latest craving, “pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” He hummed in agreement but made no movement to remove himself from your sofa.

You lifted your foot to nudge him with it. “Do you not have a sofa of your own? Or, like, a bed?”

He grunted and closed his eyes tighter. “My sofa isn’t as soft. Seriously,” he sat up just a bit to give it a once-over, “where did you get this thing from? It’s like a luxury item.”

“I don’t know, it was here when I moved in,” you laughed. “Ask Jihoon.”

He fell back into the softness and moaned in content. “I will. The next time I see him.”

You shrugged off your coat and sat down next to him, lifting your legs onto the sofa and, when you realised you could have more fun with it because this was your sofa, you threw your legs over his thighs. He only hummed and gave your calf a soft pat. 

When a few minutes had passed of just relaxing and becoming one with the couch, you finally felt your tummy grumble. So, you nudged Seungkwan. “Hey, when are you going to make pancakes?”

Seungkwan sighed. “Do I have to?”

“You promised.”

“I also promised my mom I’d stop eating convenience store snacks every other day, and yet here we are.”

“So, you’re not going to make me pancakes?”

He hummed affirmative. 

You shook your head in mock disappointment. “Guess I’ll have to report you to Jihoon then. Such a shame. I’m sure he’ll love to yell at you though.”

His eyes opened just a little to glare at you. When you offered an innocent smile, he groaned and sat up properly. “And to think I took you under my wing because you seemed like such a shy little sweetheart.”

“Are you suggesting I’m not?”

“You might actually be the devil.”

“Ouch. Now, make us some pancakes.”

Seungkwan sighed deeply and reached for his phone. You watched curiously as he unlocked it. “Hey, Siri?” He paused for a moment before sighing once again and asking, “How do you make pancakes?”

Your laughter quickly filled the apartment, unable to believe he didn’t know how to make something a simple as pancakes. What a great cook!

“Do you want me to cook instead?” you teased as he read over the instructions provided by his phone. “I think I’ll do better than you.”

He offered you a mild glare. “I’d like you to put a bit more trust in my ability to cook, neighbour.”

“I’d trust you if you didn’t have to ask Siri for a pancake recipe,” you retorted with a laugh and relaxed into the couch.

“I’ll show you!” He stood up abruptly, pushing your legs off his own, and offered you yet another mild glare, a bit more playful than irked.

You hummed. “Let me know if you need any help.”

“I won’t need any help. I’m not five.” He stuck out his tongue before laughing at his own silliness and waddling to the kitchen while mumbling to himself, “I’m like a child today; what’s going on?”

Deciding to give Seungkwan the benefit of a doubt, you remained in your seat and picked up your phone to pass the time. He was an adult man, so surely he could make pancakes on his own.

Barely two minutes passed – complete with the sound of cupboards being opened and closed – before you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Seungkwan stood behind the couch, looking like a sheepish child with the way he slumped and pouted in your front of your eyes.

You blinked up at him. “... Yes?”

He pouted some more. “Where’s your mixing bowl?”

“I thought you didn’t need help.”

“Just tell me where the mixing bowl is and I won’t ask for any more help,” he vowed but somehow the both of you knew it was an empty promise. Still, you got up and helped him out. 

Watching him cook would at least distract you from your exhaustion. 

Five minutes passed and you found yourself questioning your decision to let him into your kitchen at all. As he continued adding more and more flour to the mix, you tapped his wrist. “I’m not entirely sure that’s correct.”

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“Absolutely. You’re going to break our teeth.”

He blinked at you. “Isn’t the mix supposed to be thick?”

“You’re not baking a cookies, you’re frying pancakes.” 

“... Is that why not even Vernon liked my pancakes?” he realised, looking as annoyed as he did heartbroken. “No one ever told me the mix was supposed to be lighter.”

“I’m telling you now,” you told him with a laugh and a gentle pat on his head. “The mix is ready, you just have to fry it now. Do you want some help?”

He scoffed. “I’ve got this part down, I’m sure. I’m not that dumb.”

“I’m not saying you’re dumb,” you whined in response, “I’m just saying that this will take you forever do make on your own and I’m hungry now. I’m gonna faint at this rate, Seungkwan.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed and put his hands up in defeat. “You get the pans, I’ll turn the cooker on.” He clicked his tongue at your excitement. “You’re so lucky we’re friends.”

Unfortunately your friend couldn’t always be there to comfort you and offer amusement after a long day. 

“Leave your message after the signal,” you heard his voice repeat back to you when you tried to call him on your way home. The things you would’ve done for just one minute of his company after this Friday.

It had been a horrible day all around, ever since you opened your eyes. You woke up late, the lift kept jolting weirdly when you tried to leave the building, then you were late to work and making mistakes left and right, eventually spilling your hot drink on your legs during lunch break – all around terrible and horrible and awful. 

All you wanted was your best friend’s support. 

“Leave your message after the signal,” his voice asked you once again, the pre-recorded message just playing back every time you dialled his number. You’d have to spend this lonely and bad evening on your own.

As you entered the apartment building, you just about started crying on the spot right in front of the lift. 

“Out of service due to a mechanical error. Sorry :(” read the building owner’s son’s handwriting on a white piece of paper taped to the doors.

Of course the lift was broken on this particular day. Tears were already burning in your eyes, but at least you now knew why the lift had been so shaky in the morning. 

You took a deep breath and turned towards the stairs. To your dismay, the building owner just so happened to enter the hallway when you turned that way. He offered you curious look. “Hey, are you okay? Is this because of the lift? It should be fixed by next week.”

You wished it had been just about the lift. You replied with a shake of your head and headed up the stairs. He called after you but you decided to ignore it. You needed the comfort of either you best friend or no one, but not a stranger you only saw once a week.

The door of your apartment could not have been further away. When you finally reached it, another horrible reality hit you. 

You felt your pockets, rummaging through them with increasing panic. Soon you were crying while desperately searching your pockets and bag. Finally, it became clear: you had forgotten your apartment key in your desk drawer at work. The mental image of shutting said drawer as you left work seemed to echo in your mind. You slumped against the door and sat on the floor with a sob.

“Hey, are you okay?” your other friendly neighbour asked. 

Jihyeon was her name and she was a college student living in apartment 4D – the least least renovated apartment in the building, and thus the cheapest one. You only knew about her through Seungkwan’s retellings of his playful feud with said neighbour. 

Could you consider a friend to confide in?

“Did something happen?” she wondered and rushed to kneel in front of you. “Do you want me to call someone?”

“I can’t get into my apartment,” you eventually told her through tears. “God, this day has been absolutely horrible.”

She frowned at your words and reached out to pat your shoulder. “I don’t have the spare key of 4A either. I don’t know if even Jihoon does. Do you want me to go ask him?”

You dreaded going back to the first floor to ask for Jihoon’s help when he’d already witnessed you have a break-down over what he must have assumed was the lift. You figured you’d rather just sleep on your welcome mat.

“I guess that’s a no,” Jihyeon concluded hurriedly and pulled you into a gentle hug when you started crying just a little harder. Crying into her shoulder felt a little safer, at least. “There, there, I’ve got you.”

“What’s going on here?” you heard a familiar voice you’d been longing for after what felt like hours of crying.

Jihyeon let you keep crying as she answered, “She had a bad day and she doesn’t have her key. She’s been crying for 15 minutes now.”

Seungkwan let out a little whine. Then you felt a pair of arms wrap around you, gently pulling you away from Jihyeon’s comforting embrace. The smell of Seungkwan’s cologne did wonders to you. 

“What happened, hm?” he asked you softly when your cries let up a little.

“I forgot my key at work,” you told him, unsure if you could recount the rest of your day without crying more yet. “I just want to eat dinner and sleep all of this off.”

The feel of his lips on your forehead was unfamiliar. Another first step. You wondered how hard it was for him. Was it was difficult at all.

He then offered, “Do you want to come to my apartment? I’ll make you some food and you can sleep a little.” 

You nodded so lightly that you wondered if he’d realise you did it at all. But Seungkwan knew you better than anyone in this building – and possibly this entire town – and he knew perfectly well what you meant.

He leaned down to offer you a little smile before helping you onto your shaky legs. His key was ready in his hand already, just waiting to unlock the door. 

When you stepped into his apartment, you quickly realised that in your months of friendship, you hadn’t been to Seungkwan’s home even once. He always came to your apartment, often with dinner and a wide smile. Today you came into his apartment, with a sad heart and eyes full of tears.

“Here, I’ll take your coat.”

You let him do as he pleased. You didn’t even protest when he just about dragged you to his sofa and placed a soft throw blanket over your lap. As tears dried, you just felt a little numb. You distracted yourself from the empty feeling with the affection of Seungkwan’s little white dog. The small animal had made his way into your lap and seemed to greatly enjoy tummy rubs.

“I think he likes you more than he likes me,” you hazily remember Seungkwan telling you at one point. 

Your sense of time must have also been affected because you could’ve sworn dinner was ready within mere minutes and it was finished just as fast. In reality over an hour had passed.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he offered while encouraging you to nap on his sofa. “Then you could sleep in your own bed instead of my sofa– Actually, do you want my bed? I can’t let you sleep on this thing made of bricks.”

“It’s not too bad,” you managed to tell him over the edge of the blanket. The dog had also settled down with you under the fleece material, happy to rest his little head on your arm.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Are you insane? You’ll get back problems.”

“You don’t have to give up your bed for me,” you told him as he began dragging you towards his bedroom. “I’m fine on the sofa.”

“No, I’m fine on the sofa. You had a hard day and deserve the best sleep,” he declared and began searching through his drawers when he eventually got you to sit on the soft mattress. Before you could even say anything, he handed you a t-shirt and some shorts. “I can’t let you sleep in your work clothes either. These will be more comfortable.”

He left the room without giving you the chance to protest. So, you did as he expected and dressed in his clothes. Something about them felt so comforting that you found yourself regretting the thought of rejecting them. 

“There you go,” Seungkwan told you just a few minutes later, placing the blankets over you in a motherly manner. He had made sure to bring the fleece throw he had given you on the sofa, as well as the white little dog – Bookkeu was his name. 

“He’ll keep you warm at night,” your friend joked and gave the dog a little pat on the head. The dog didn’t seem to mind and just snuggled further into your side. “I’ll leave you to sleep now,” Seungkwan whispered after pressing just one more small kiss to your forehead. “If you need anything, I’m in the living room. Good night.”

Whatever his bed was made of, it was the best sleep you had had since moving into the building. You felt at home in his room, his dog by your side, and sleep still heavy in your eyes. 

When you finally woke up on Saturday, your brain was less emotionally distressed and more annoyed. As you sat there, you wondered if you’d have to spend the entire weekend in Seungkwan’s apartment – your one houseplant would die of loneliness (but mostly underwatering). 

Deciding this was a problem to be solved after breakfast, you stumbled out of Seungkwan’s room. Bookkeu was right on your tail.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Seungkwan’s singing voice greeted you, accompanied by the smell of fresh pancakes.

You weren’t sure you could trust his pancakes. His last attempt hadn’t exactly been encouraging. Suspicious of the food but grateful nevertheless, you sat down at his table. “You cooked.”

“I did,” he told you with a laugh. “And now you get to eat.”

You placed a pancake on your plate carefully, eyeing it as if it would start screaming at any moment. 

“I think I made them the right way this time,” Seungkwan mentioned as he watched your theatrical act. “I even asked for Mingyu’s help. I never ask for Mingyu’s help.”

“Mingyu?” You raised an eyebrow and finally took a forkful of the pancake, hesitantly lifting it. “You called him?”

“No, we met when I went downstairs to see Jihoon.” 

He gently pushed your full fork upwards towards your lips. It helped that your jaw had fallen open to ask the next question. Your words were muffled by the bite of pancakes as you asked, “Why did you go to see Jihoon?”

Seungkwan snapped his fingers, remembering something. He jumped up and rushed towards the kitchen to rummage through something. A moment later, he returned with something small and shiny in his hand. He opened his palm and smiled at your proudly. “I got you a spare key.”

You dropped your fork. “A spare key?”

“Yeah, Jihoon said he was going to give you one anyway, to give to one of the neighbours in case you forget your own,” he told you and placed the key in your hand. “All apartments have two spares, one for you to give to someone you trust, and another for the owners, or Jihoon, in the case of emergency.”

“Then I’m supposed to give this to someone I trust?” 

He nodded. “I gave mine to Jihyeon. She may be a little lazy and she might procrastinate more than healthy, but she’s trustworthy. I’m sure she’d be happy if you gave yours to her too.”

“Who has her key then?” you wondered, your finally curiosity making a comeback after the previous day’s dreadful events. 

“I’m pretty sure Junhui has it.”

“Why Junhui?” As much as you thought the man in question was a sweetheart, you highly doubted his ability to keep a spare key safe. Especially after all of the horror stories Seungkwan had told you about Junhui and Vernon’s apartment. 

Seungkwan thought for a moment, brows furrowing, before shrugging. “Who knows what goes through her head, honestly. I’m sure you’ll make a better choice though.”

You told yourself you’d think about it later, but you had an idea already.

The more time you spent with Seungkwan, the more you began to wonder if what was between you was just friendship. Maybe it was and you were just overthinking it. Or maybe his heart fluttered a little bit whenever he saw your smile too. 

“Just date already,” Mingyu told the two of you when you returned from shopping and Seungkwan took half of your bags from you. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out at the nosy neighbour but Seungkwan beat you to it. 

“Mind your own business, Kim Mingyu!”

The man in question rolled his eyes. “I’m trying to but the two of you are blocking the lift with all of these bags and your heart-eyes.”

“What business do you have that you need to use the lift anyway? You live on the first floor,” you wondered, fully aware that he lived on the first floor. The only possible reason you could think of was escaping Xin’s or Jihoon’s wrath. 

He sighed deeply and turned on his heel. “Fine, I’ll just take the stairs.”

“Nice,” Seungkwan laughed as the doors closed, “we have the lift to ourselves. This thing is too small for three people.”

He then began inspecting your bags. “What did you buy anyway? These don’t look like groceries.”

“Thought I’d finally decorate my apartment to my liking,” you confessed. “It’s getting kind of dull living like this.”

“But you still didn’t buy any houseplants though,” Seungkwan joked. “I think your apartment could use some better air.”

You grimaced. “I don’t know anything about houseplants though. I’d probably kill it like I did the last three.”

“Have you tried getting a cactus?”

The lift came to a stop and opened its doors. You stepped out and headed towards your apartment with Seungkwan in tow.

“Oh, wait,” Seungkwan begged and rushed to his own door, “let me get Bookkeu. He’d love to see your apartment.”

You weren’t sure if white dog fur would go with your new vision of the apartment, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

Within seconds, Bookkeu was out the door and jumping in front of your feet, excited beyond belief. 

“He really likes you more than his own owner,” Seungkwan sighed in disappointment and waited for you to unlock the door. “And to think I spent all those years raising you, you brat.”

“I’m starting to think Bookkeu likes everyone but Seungkwan,” Jihyeon cracked her door open just to make the joke and then closed the door again. Rumour had it her apartment has zero noise isolation and she could hear every word uttered in this hallway. You felt a little bad for her. 

Seungkwan rolled his eyes before closing them and reminding himself, “Everyone is free to form their own opinions.”

You opened the door in the meantime. Unsurprisingly, Bookkeu was the first one inside. You and Seungkwan struggled a little to enter with all of the bags. How you had made it home at all was a miracle.

“This is a lot of stuff,” Seungkwan concluded once the bags were laid out onto the floor. “Do you need all of this?”

“I just want to feel at home in my apartment,” you told him with a shrug.

He hummed in agreement. “Are you also going to do any actual remodelling? Or just the decorations?”

“I’m thinking of changing the wallpaper.”

“Great, just let me know when and I’ll come over to help. That’s a two-people job.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered at how easily he agreed to help you, even without being asked. He just expected to help you wherever he could. You’d pay back the favour one day.

“Should we put on some music?” he suggested, already reaching for his phone with one hand while heading to your bedroom. “Your speaker’s on your bedside table, right?”

You nodded and began unpacking the first bag. Bit by bit, you uncovered the new curtains and table cloths you had purchased. Just seeing them in your apartment brought you joy.

As you debated which curtains to put up, you heard the speaker beginning to play on the coffee table – you must have been very distracted to not notice Seungkwan returning and sitting so close to you on the floor that he was touching you. 

“Oh, I put this together for you,” he excitedly told you while turning the volume up. “I think you’ll like these songs.”

Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t fair that he had this effect on you when he was just being friendly. 

Once you were sure your voice wouldn’t betray your conflict of feelings, you uttered, “You made me a playlist?” He nodded nonchalantly (but if you had paid him just a little more attention, you would’ve realised his ears were more red than his hoodie). You just couldn’t believe it. “A playlist? For me?”

“Yeah,” he stuttered after a while, unable to meet your eyes as he tried to play it cool. “If you don’t like it, you can just say.”

“Can you send me the link?”

He gulped and whipped his head to meet your eyes. “What?”

“The link. Send it.” It was your turn to act cool. Your hands were shaking just a little as you continued unpacking. “I’ll have to give it a good listen one day to judge if you know me that well at all.”

You weren’t looking so he dared to smile. “Alright. I’ll send it later.”

“By the way,” you cleared your throat and continued your act, “take the spare key when you leave later.”

Seungkwan just about dropped his phone on Bookkeu’s head. It occurred to you that maybe – just maybe – you had a similar effect on him as he did on you.

“You want me to have it?” he asked to confirm. “Are you sure? You don’t want to give it to Jihyeon?”

“I trust you more,” you told him softly. “I’d like you to have it.”

His lips formed a pout as he bit back the wish to cry of joy – he had earned your trust and made you feel safe, just as he had promised himself he would. You thought of him as your friend.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispered after a while, his hand finding yours to give it a gentle squeeze before returning to where Bookkeu sat in his lap. “I’ll keep your key safe.” (He wished he had the courage take the first steps and add, “just like I’ll keep you safe.”)

NOTE: Happy holiday season! This fic was written when I was homesick and thus it may be self-indulgent, but I hope it brought some comfort or was at least somewhat enjoyable to read <3 

This was originally supposed to have more romance, but you know what? Not everyone needs to be in love and not every fic needs to have a cheesy confession scene. I like this fic the way it is. However, fully expect these two to become a cute couple in the background of the next serenity street fics!

[theladyofdeath]

Better or Worse {12}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

Warnings: I'm sorry it's a day late! Life will be hectic until the end of the month. We hope you all enjoy this chapter! x

....................... Cassian .......................

“This is absolutely gorgeous.”

It’s the thirtieth time Nesta has said that in the half an hour we’ve been in the farmer’s market, but every single time, I find myself staring at her as I agree.

I haven’t been able to string a sentence together since Nesta woke me up in the best way possible.

Having a dream that your wife has her hands on you only to wake up and find her grinding against your cock instead is not how I expected this trip to begin, but I won’t complain.

Something changed in the moment we made each other come, something fundamental that we had lost in our marriage was found again. As she ran her hand over the surface of a rug hanging in one of the stalls, I couldn’t help but imagine she was dragging it down my chest, nails digging in just enough to playfully scratch, over my abs, towards my—

“There’s no way I can fit this in my carry on, is there?”

Pulling myself from a fantasy I promised I would turn into reality tonight, I drag my eyes from my wife to the area rug she’s examining. It’s massive, nearly as tall as I am, the blues and golds and grays matching the color palate in her office. 

When I look back at her face, I know she’s caught me staring— likely at her ass— and knows I don’t give a shit about a rug.

She does though. Even if she’s poking fun at me, she has stopped to look at this longer than anything else we’ve come across.

I step closer, putting a hand on her lower back, pulling her into me. I need to touch her, I can’t help it. After finally being able to again, I can’t stop, needing to have her hand in mine or a hold on her in some way. I know she feels the same.

“Definitely won’t fit in your carry on, but I’m sure we could have it shipped home.”

She grins, and I can see the wheels in her mind turning. “If we’re shipping things home, does that mean there’s no limit to what I can buy today?” 

I huff a laugh. “I mean, you may wanna take shipping prices into consideration.” 

She doesn’t. Not only does she pay for the rug, but she also buys three matching throw pillows. Thankfully they allow us to swing back around when we’re finished to pick them up, otherwise I’d be the one hauling them through the market.

We continue around the booths, hand in hand, refusing to let one another go. The touch of her hand in mind is the only thing grounding me. Otherwise, my thoughts of taking her back to the hotel consume me. 

It’s a perfect day. The sun is out, not a cloud in sight. It’s hot, but there’s a cool breeze coming off the ocean. 

“Let’s take a break.” I pull her towards a series of food trucks, but she frowns. 

“But we’re not even halfway through. Let’s just go to—”

“I promise we can finish, but I’m starving. Someone made me miss breakfast at the hotel.” Whether it’s from the implication of my words or my tone, her cheeks turn pink and a hint of mischief settles in her eyes. 

“Fine. A quick break, then I have to go look at those stunning wall hangers.”

I don’t know what the fuck a wall hanger is, but apparently they’re stunning, so we’ll be going home with at least two, no doubt.

A couple hours and an astoundingly high shipping bill later, we’re heading back to the hotel. I can’t even bring myself to be upset. It’s not as if the money is going to hurt us and Nesta is happy. I haven’t seen her smile this much in months. That’s what this trip is about after all, finding our happiness as a couple, relaxing, and spending time together.

Next up is dinner and while we were in the market today, I spotted a restaurant over the water, the most delectable scents reaching me and I knew that’s where we’d go. Nesta wanted a quick shower and despite this morning, I wanted her to invite me in with her. It seemed poetic to me. The last time we had sex was in a shower, we could come full circle. She doesn’t though and I check in with my brothers instead.

Greg is loving his time at Feyre and Rhysand’s, spending every second with Nyx. I save a picture Rhys sent of the two of them fast asleep in his little bed last night to show Nesta when she gets out of the shower.

I’m on the balcony, listening to the waves crash against the shore and returning a couple emails when the sliding door opens. I turn to my wife and freeze.

She’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.

Her hair is still slightly damp, curling slightly in the humidity. Her makeup is subtle, letting her natural beauty shine, but her body.

Cauldron, boil me, after ten years, that body is still going to be the death of me.

The black bodysuit she wears clings to every inch of her curves, the lace edges of the neckline teasing her cleavage, just begging me to drag my tongue between her breasts. Her jean shorts are short and distressed, showing off her long tan legs, leading down to strappy, little sandals.

She’s the heat of a summer night personified and I want nothing more than to let her burn me.

When I meet her eyes once more, she’s watching me with a seductive smile. “Do I look okay?” 

Knowing that she already knows my answer to that, I ask, “Are you sure you want to go to dinner?”

Her grin widens as she slides her arms around my neck. “Yes, I’m starving.”

Me too, I want to say, even though food is the last thing on my mind. I kiss her softly on the lips, then her neck, along her collarbone. She lets out a breath that sends chills down my spine.

“Feed me first,” she whispers into my ear, “and I promise to make the wait worth it.”

I curse quietly before sighing and meeting her eyes, bright and joyful. “Fine. But you better eat fast.”

Her head falls back as she laughs and her beauty, once again, blows me away.

We walk along the beach to the restaurant and only have to wait a few minutes before we’re seated. Although they’re known for their seafood, I have to get a steak. Every time I go somewhere new, I have to see if they can cook a steak as well as me.

Usually, they can’t, but I’m pleasantly surprised when they can. 

“Since you’re getting steak, I’m getting shrimp,” Nesta says, before she even opens her menu.

I look at her from across the table. “How do you know I’m getting steak?”

“Because they serve steak here,” she says, simply, and when the server comes to greet us she orders a sex on the beach, which has my mind happily going back to what awaits me once we get back to the hotel. 

I order a whiskey and when Nesta tells the server to make it a double, I raise my eyebrows as she hurries off to get our drinks. “Trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe,” she says, flipping her menu open and smirking as our gazes lock. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all.”

She bites her lip as she turns her attention to the menu before her and it takes everything in me not to grab her across the table and bite down on that full bottom lip myself.

I let myself revel in that fantasy for a moment before letting my eyes trail over my own menu. I’m perusing the sides, when I say, “They’ve got your favorite.”

The server appears then and Nesta thanks her before taking a generous sip from her straw. She closes her eyes and lets out a happy, little moan.

That moan goes straight to my cock.

She hums contentedly as she opens her eyes and looks at me. “Favorite what?”

She nibbles on the edge of her straw and it takes me a moment to remember what I’d been talking about. “Side dish,” I say, taking a drink of my whiskey. It’s good, smooth. “They’ve got bacon wrapped asparagus.”

She hums again, flipping to the sides herself and looking over them. “Everything looks delicious.”

“I know.” For a moment, I entertain the idea of asking to meet the chef, but I’m on vacation with my wife. Another time, after I’ve had the food, to see if it lives up to the hype.

Our server returns and we order. I get the steak, medium rare, with mixed greens and mashed potatoes. Nesta, who loves seafood, but never gets it, orders seared shrimp, steamed broccoli, and, of course, the bacon wrapped asparagus.

The conversation flows easily between us as we wait. There’s no tension, no stress, no discomfort, and I know it’s not the alcohol to thank. No, we’ve come a long way, and it feels good.

Nesta’s foot slides up and down my calf beneath the table as we talk, as we flirt. 

I start on the fruity drink once my whiskey is gone, although I do order another, and by the time our food comes, I’m definitely feeling a buzz.

I watch Nesta stab a piece of broccoli into her mouth before cutting into my steak. I must admit that it’s cooked to perfection, and it tastes nearly just as good.

“So?” She asks, swallowing a bite of bacon wrapped asparagus. “Does it pass your test?”

“Pretty damn good,” I admit, popping another bite into my mouth. “Yours? How’s the asparagus?”

“Not bad,” she says, but nods to my potatoes. “I’ll trade you some for some mashed potatoes, though.”

I stop, lifting a brow. “You want to trade me your favorite side for mashed potatoes?”

“I mean, they’re garlic mashed potatoes, which are by far the superior mashed potatoes.”

I’m still staring at her. “But I thought bacon wrapped asparagus is your favorite. I mean, when I make it, you’ve always told me it’s your favorite.”

Nesta laughs quietly as she shakes her head. “Alright, fine. You’re trying to pull a confession out of me, it seems, so…no, it’s not my favorite. It’s good, but not my favorite.”

I’m speechless. Do you know how many times I have purposefully made bacon wrapped asparagus for my wife, thinking it was her favorite?

An ass ton.

“Holy shit, I don’t even know you,” I say, stabbing a piece of meat. “And, my asparagus is a little offended.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. “I think you’re being a little dramatic.”

The server drops off our drinks, asking if we need anything else, which Nesta politely declines and turns her attention back to me.

“For real, Nes, I had no idea, I really thought that was your favorite.” I blink at her, still processing this information. “The entire foundation of our marriage has been built on a lie.”

“Okay, now I know you’re being dramatic.” She can’t hide her smile though and dabs at her mouth with her napkin. “Your turn.”

I take another bite before following it with a drink. “My turn for what?”

“For a confession,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I gave you one, now you tell me something.”

Shaking my head, I look at her. “We’ve been married for almost ten years, Nes, there’s not much you don’t know about me.”

“And until just now, you would have sworn that asparagus was my favorite thing on the planet.”

“I know it’s not your favorite thing on the planet,” I correct, feeling warm and tingly from the alcohol. “That would be my co—”

Reaching across the table, she covers my mouth with her hand, laughing. “You may be right, but I don’t think the rest of the restaurant needs to know that.”

The way she’s suddenly leaning forward, her tits have just about fallen out of her low cut top. I can see the barest hint of her nipple and I fight off a groan as she removes her hand and sits back in her chair. She follows my gaze and her cheeks flush. “Oops.”

Glancing around the restaurant, she adjusts herself, but I can tell she’s loving the attention I’m giving her.

Just as she lifts her glass to her lips, I say, my eyes still lingering on her cleavage, “Nipple piercings.”

She pauses, and one brow slowly lifts. “Seriously?”

I nod, slowly, eyes meeting hers to gauge her reaction. “Hot as hell. And I’ve always thought you could pull them off beautifully.”

Her eyes narrow as she finally takes a drink, then says, “Huh.”

“Huh?”

She nods, sucking in her bottom lip. “I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, considering half your body is covered in tattoos and you had a nose ring until three years ago. You should’ve told me.” She takes a piece of shrimp into her mouth. “Maybe I would’ve tried them out for you.”

It’s my turn for my eyes to narrow. “Liar. It’s not your style, and that’s okay. Trust me, I’ve never had any issues with your tits, babe.”

An older woman at the table beside me scoffs, and I send her a quick apology her way before turning back to my wife, who’s laughing quietly. 

“For a man who spends a lot of time in restaurants, you have terrible table manners,” she says.

I shrug. “I spend most my time in the kitchen, and there are zero manners in the kitchen.”

She rolls her eyes, but does it lovingly. “Seriously, though. I would’ve done it. Maybe as a wedding present, when I was young and hot.”

I snort. “You’re twenty-nine, you’re still young and hotter every damn day.”

“Hot enough to get my nipples pierced now?”

I put my fork down, giving her my full attention. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs, but I can see her cheeks heating. “I don’t…hate the idea. I’m sure it would hurt like hell, but I’ve always liked the look of them on other people.”

Cocking an eyebrow, I smirk. “You spend a lot of time looking at other women’s nipple piercings?”

Her blush deepens as she reaches for her drink. “Shut up.”

I can only attribute my overly active imagination to the fact that it's been seven months since I’ve had sex, but instantly I imagine her on top of me, riding me, the little gems dangling from the jewelry attached to her nipple moving in time with her hips. I’m transfixed on the image, though I’ve never considered it before. Nesta has her ears pierced…and that’s it. No extra piercings for fun, no tattoos. Feyre convinced her to get a second hole on her lobes about five years ago and after the list of pros and cons she made as to why she should or shouldn’t get them done, I decided to keep my dreams to myself.

I glance down at her chest again, ogling her, but who gives a fuck, because she’s my wife, and I think about how much I love her tits.

I didn’t think it was possible, but this could make me love them more.

She reaches for her phone and starts typing away. “There’s a tattoo parlor about two blocks away that has it listed as a service on their website.”

My eyes slowly trailed back up to hers. “What? Now?”

“I was thinking about finishing my shrimp first,” she says, playfully, putting her phone back into her pocket. 

I call for the check anyways, and by the time it gets to us, my plate is cleared and my drink has been drained. Nesta takes her sweet time, though, loving to tease me.

I have a feeling there will be a lot more teasing before the night is done. 

Half an hour later, we’re walking through town. I feel pretty light on my feet — not drunk, but buzzed. Nesta seems to be sober enough as she leads me down the two blocks to the tattoo parlor.

Once she’s inside, she tells them what she wants and is being led away. I start to follow her, but she puts up her hand.

“Oh, no,” she says, grinning. “You wait out here.”

I frown. “Why? I want to watch.”

“You only get the final product.” Her tone leaves no room for discussion and after a wink, she’s gone. 

I stay standing there, arms crossed, refusing to sit down.

“Don’t worry,” the guy sketching behind the counter says. “Varian’s done it a million times, he’ll take care of her.”

There’s not one part of that sentence that I like.

I don’t want some asshole named Varian taking care of my wife.

Nonetheless, I take a seat, because if I burst through this place in a jealous rage, I’m assuming it won’t make Nesta happy.

Fifteen minutes of aimlessly scrolling Facebook later, footsteps approach and my wife beams at me. “Ready to go?”

Jumping to my feet, I shove my phone into my pocket. “Can I see?”

Both Nesta and the guy behind the counter laugh at that, but she just shakes her head and reaches for my hand. “I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”

So begins the longest walk of my life. I try not to be obvious but I keep glancing towards her chest, trying to see something. I can’t see anything, no indication that anything has changed, and I really hope she’s not playing a prank on me.

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” I ask as we’re approaching the hotel. “You really got them pierced?”

“Yes, Cass.” Her voice is full of laughter and god, I’ve missed the familiarity in her tone when she says my name.

“How’d it feel?” I ask, unable to keep from wondering.

“Oh, it hurt like a bitch,” she admits, and her hand tightens in my hand a bit. “He did the first one and it took a few minutes to talk myself into letting him do the second.” Once again, the idea of another man not only looking at, but touching my wife’s breasts has me seeing red. Nesta went on, barely acknowledging my sudden burst of fury. “He was telling me that his wife only has one nipple pierced cause she couldn’t go through it twice.”

Right. Dude has a wife and was only doing his job. I keep reminding myself of that as we enter the hotel and head straight for the elevator.

Nesta tugs on my hand, her smile devious. “You don’t want to go to the bar for a bit—”

I grab her by the waist and kiss her roughly. “If you don’t get your ass in that elevator, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the room.”

“Is that a promise?” She winks at me, but heads for the bay of elevators nonetheless.

We ride the elevator up to the ninth floor with thankfully nobody else joining us. I pull the key card out of my wallet before we’ve even reached the door, swipe it and hold the door open for Nesta. The room is bathed in darkness and only grows darker as I shut and lock the door behind me. “Now can I see?”

Crossing the room, Nesta flips on one of the lamps by the bed and reaches up to one of the straps of her bodysuit. “You can look but you can’t touch. They’re sensitive.”

I slowly walk to where she’s standing. “I’ll be gentle.”

She gives me a stern look, but she’s unable to hide her grin. “No touching.”

“Fine,” I agree, and I’d comply with every one of her wishes at this moment. Accepting defeat, I sit on the foot of the bed and look at her. 

Slowly, that teasing of hers continuing, she keeps pulling one strap of her bodysuit down, then the other, until it’s pooled around her waist. 

I stare.

Two small pearls sit on both sides of her nipples. I should’ve known she wouldn’t have gone with simple silver.

I don’t know how long I stare, but Nesta doesn’t move, she just lets me obsess over her. 

“So?” She asks, at last, into the quiet. 

I clear my throat. “I, uh…don’t think I have ever been this turned on.”

Nesta laughs and steps toward me, between my legs. “I think it’s the alcohol.”

My hands find her hips and pull her closer. “It’s not the alcohol,” I assure her, pressing my lips softly to her chest, between her breasts. Her hands run through my hair, and then we’re on the bed.

This morning may have been about me, my pleasure, but tonight was about her.

Her nipples were just about the only part of her body that I didn’t touch as I recklessly feasted on my wife.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The Lost Cause prologue part IV

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a rollicking solarpunk adventure about defending the Green New Deal from seagoing anarcho-capitalist wreckers and white nationalist militias; Bill McKibben called it "a chronicle of mutual aid that is politically perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful":

The book comes out on Nov 14 from Tor Books and Head of Zeus, and I'm running a Kickstarter campaign to pre-sell the ebook, hardcover and (especially) the audiobook (Amazon refuses to carry my audiobooks, so this is the only way to get them into readers' hands); you can back it now:

http://lost-cause.org

To whet your appetite, I'm serializing the book's prologue, which really kicks things off:

Here's part one:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/06/green-new-deal-fic/#the-first-generation-in-a-century-not-to-fear-the-future

And part two:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/07/met-cute-ugly/#part-ii

And part three:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#lost-cause-prologue

And now, part four:

A couple of my friends were working on an AP science project—­ they’d made an enzyme they thought would break down polyethylene at room temperature—­and I’d promised that I’d help them after school. Walking home past Verdugo Park, I ran into some more friends sitting in the grass and chatting, so I sat with them, watching the kids on the playground and the dog-­walkers and the swordfighting class boffing each other with foam swords, and hours slipped by.

By the time I headed home, the sun was low and the day was finally starting to cool off. I remembered that I’d forgotten to pull the blinds before going out and imagined how hot and stuffy the house would be. Maybe Gramps had gotten back early enough to lower them. Otherwise, I could lie in the backyard in my hammock and do some reading while I waited for the house to air out some.

The blinds were drawn. I went in through the back door and dropped my bag on my bed, stripped off my tee and pulled on a fresh one, and headed to the kitchen for a snack.

“Gramps?”

He didn’t answer, which I figured meant that he was playing his podcasts through his hearing aids. They were supposed to be smart enough to pass speech through, but they struggled with people shouting from other rooms. I grabbed some more iced coffee and went into the living room.

Gramps was sitting in his spot on the old sofa, staring out the window. “Gramps?”

He didn’t look around. I moved into his line of sight and then drew back. His face was set in a mask of rage I hadn’t seen since I was a kid and came to live with him, the face he’d make before he’d hit me. He hadn’t hit me in a long time, not since he’d raised a bruise where one of my middle-­school teachers could see it and she’d called CPS on him. They’d made him do a month of mandatory anger-­management classes.

“Gramps?” I reached for him but didn’t touch him. He was quivering.

He fixed his gaze on me. Glared.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He stood up. He was shorter than me now, and couldn’t quite straighten up, but it still felt like he was towering over me. “Kid, you know exactly what’s wrong, and don’t pretend otherwise.”

Oh.

“Gramps, he could have killed me. I saved his life. I know he’s a friend of yours—­”

“Shut the fuck up about that, kid. Don’t talk about my friends. Don’t talk about who I know and who I don’t know. You know what that dumb asshole Mike Kennedy is up against? Forty years. Seven felony counts. Most of ’em to do with you: kidnapping, assault, attempted murder. Death penalty shit. Don’t think that the DA isn’t going to use that, the feds have got a hard-­on for anyone who doesn’t toe the line on their Green New Deal bullshit. They’re gonna tell him that either he testifies against his friends or he’ll get a lethal injection. Kennedy’s no genius, either. He’ll cave. You just watch.”

“Gramps—­”

“Shut up, I said. You think saying my name on your viral video is gonna help anything. Shit, kid, why didn’t you just turn me in yourself?”

“Come on, Gramps. I didn’t plan this, Mike did.” I wanted so badly to leave, but Gramps was between me and the door. “Tell you what, let’s go visit him. They’ll let him have visitors in lockup, right?”

Gramps sagged back down into his chair. “Kennedy’s not in lockup. They let him go an hour ago.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, that sounds good, right?”

He shook his head and gave me a disgusted look. “No, kid, that doesn’t sound good. That sounds like he ratted everyone out already. In which case he’s a fucking dead man.”

I took a deep breath. Gramps was clearly on the brink of losing it altogether and telling him he was being overly dramatic would definitely push him right over the edge. “If that’s true, then maybe you should talk to your other friends, or maybe him—­”

“Just shut up, okay? Don’t talk about shit you don’t and can’t understand. Look, if Kennedy sold out his friends then he’s got what’s coming to him and besides, there isn’t a damned thing in the world I could do to stop it. But what’s more likely is that he didn’t say a word, but they’ve put him on the street so that people get the impression that maybe he did, and now he’s in fear for his life and the only way to save his skin is to run back to the station house and start talking. It wouldn’t be the first time they tried that stunt. And the fact is, it doesn’t matter which one it is because he’s gonna get shut up before he can do that, because everyone understands what’s going on here and what’s at stake. So me calling that sad sack now would just make me the last person who spoke to the victim before he turned up dead.”

“That’s terrible.”

“No, kid, that’s life. What’s terrible is that my own grandson is involved in this ugly stupid mess, and that every dumbass on the internet is trading clips with my name in them, doxing me, associating me with this ridiculous garbage.”

Now I was starting to get mad. “I didn’t do it on purpose, you know. Your friend threatened to kill me. I didn’t tell him to get up on that roof or fill his Super Soaker with hydrochloric acid.”

“Yeah, you didn’t, that’s true.” He picked up a beer from the table next to him, finished the last swallow, set it down. “You didn’t. But you were and you did and now—­” He shook his empty beer. “Ah, shit. Brooks, listen, you know that my friends are okay, but some of their friends . . .”

I knew. I’d sometimes spot Gramps’s friends marching with the Maga Club groups, carrying ugly signs, conspiracies and racism and “demographics are destiny.” Or set up with a table on Magnolia on Food Truck Friday, showing videos about “the great replacement” and “socialist tyranny.”

“I know who you mean.”

“None of ’em ever liked you. They didn’t like your father even before he went to Canada with that woman. When he did, well, that sealed it for ’em. To leave America and go work for the socialists? Kid, it’s a good thing he never tried to come back here, I’ll tell you that much. Far as they’re concerned, the only good thing that rabbit flu did was kill a bunch of foreign commies, agitators, traitors, and climate bed wetters. By which they mean your father and mother. And by extension, that means you. Your sex thing doesn’t help either—­”

My head filled with that buzzing sound I heard whenever Gramps tried to talk to me about sexuality. The fact that I wouldn’t call myself straight made him crazy. The fact that I wouldn’t say “gay” or “bi” or any of those old-­fashioned terms made him absolutely bugfuck. “Queer” was okay with me, or “pan,” but honestly, who the fuck cared? Why would my grandfather need to know which people I wanted to fuck and which people I did fuck? I’d explained this to him calmly and I’d had shouting matches with him about it. My other friends had problems with this stuff, sure, but their parents were able to at least pretend to understand. Gramps was a generation older and not only didn’t he understand, he didn’t want to. “Just pick one, kid,” is what he’d say, and then I’d overhear him saying worse to his friends when they took over the kitchen to play poker or the living room to watch a game.

“Jesus, Gramps”—­that buzzing sound was blood, of course, coursing in my ears as my rage built and built—­“would you just shut up about that bullshit? I don’t care what your asshole friends want. In case you didn’t notice, one of them nearly murdered me last night—­”

“Shut. Up.” Loud, in that boss voice he used when he was getting everyone else to listen to him, whether it was on a jobsite or during an argument over cards. “Yeah, one of my friends just about murdered you last night, but he didn’t, did he? You know why? Because of me. Because of who I am in this community. Our name, Palazzo, it goes back a long way in this town. We’re Lockheed originals, thanks to my own dad. That counts for something. You’re safe because you’re my grandson, that’s what I’m trying to explain to you. But it’s not a get-­out-­of-­jail-­free card. You’re not untouchable.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I hated it when Gramps acted like he was in the Mafia because he and his friends were the kinds of assholes who periodically got drunk or disturbed enough to commit some act of idiotic vandalism.

“Kid—­” he started. I left.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/10/weaponized-interdependence/#super-soaker-full-of-hydrochloric-acid

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

[yaminerua]

I spend most of my day looking after my brother these days and a few months back I was advised to apply for carers allowance bc I was eligible for it and also we need every penny we can get to keep ourselves from sinking under all these costs…

I applied in February in a panic after realising my universal credit had been set up assuming I was already receiving it and so was paying a lower amount than it otherwise would have.

I used the online form to do it bc I cannot handle calling up on the telephone. Its nearly the end of May now and I haven’t received any news on whether I’m getting it or not…

After a few weeks I checked to see how long the backlog can take and it said it could be up to 12-15 weeks so I just foolishly decided to be patient and wait but it’s now only days away from being 15 weeks since I applied and I’m terrified it never went through and that I’ve been waiting 15 weeks for nothing while we’ve been struggling to pay our various utilities no thanks to the huge energy bills…

there’s nothing for it now. I’m going to have to speak to them and find out if it ever did get through to them or if I’m going to have to start from scratch all over again and make a fresh claim but the prospect of having to call up freezes me in panic mode and I feel ill until I abandon the thought

so that’s going well. Ugh.

[sometimesrosy]

Hey Rosy, I’m feeling like I never have before. Things are going well in my life: bought an apartment with family’s help, got a steady job, a steady relationship of over 5 years now. But I don’t feel that way: I’m stressed because the loan tax is basically the monthly wage of one of us, plus bills there’s basically nothing left. My job has been draining me for months now and I feel like I studied for nothing. And the worst of all, and how I’ve never felt, I’m feeling like I need some sort of space from my partner. I’ve imagined my life next to him, want to marry him and seriously be with him forever. But lately I’m feeling like I need space, and I know it’s because stress is getting to me, to the point where I found myself realizing I can’t imagine a single future for my life anymore, not with him nor without him. This happened only once, but it was enough to freak me out. He’s coping with the same problems as me but in his own way. He’s content with his life, happy at his job, and glad as long as we can pay the bills and I’m by his side. How can I be this ungrateful? As I said, he’s coping too, he’s even offered to change jobs to something that pays more but is by shifts, which obviously impacts his (our) quality of life. I don’t like to feel this way. I’m feeling really selfish. Just a vent.

So lets look at this in a different way.

We could look for ways to make your world work better.

But I think we need to look instead at the stress levels.

I think you need to find ways to lower your anxiety about the future, and perhaps some ways to look at the life that you're already living and find what is good in THAT.

Anxiety about money and bills and work can be very draining.

But the thing is, in most cases, once the bills are taken care of or gotten past, the concern disappears.

In the future, you simply won't care about those bills anymore, because they are temporary problems with simple solutions... even if you struggle to find the solution. Once you do, poof. It's gone out of your mind.

So what is really sinking into you is the anxiety and feeling of idk being trapped?

You mention you need some space. That you're unable to find a vision of the future. That might be because you're so wrapped up in the money worries you aren't actually in THE PRESENT.

I hope this isn't sounding glib, but I think you might want to try some self care, and be with yourself in the moment.

Let me make a list of things you might want to try. Maybe not, but if nothing on the list works for you maybe you'll think about things that would fit better.

Make sure you're sleeping well. Honestly. Sleep cures a lot. Not everything, but it helps.

Freaking hydrate. Sounds stupid. Actually helps.

Some form of meditation and/or spirituality. I personally like yoga because I can't keep my mind still otherwise, but like why not go to church or do a mantra or idk read the bible or the tarot whatever works for you.

Keep a list every day of three things you are grateful for or that bring you joy.

Carve out an hour or two in your day where you get to actually be alone to do what you want to do. For me it might be paint or read or write for someone else perhaps it's watching an old favorite show or gardening or laying in the sun. Again. IDK. Depends on what works for you.

Talk to someone. A psychologist. Your boyfriend. Mom. A friend. Share your problems and feelings. Tell them if you just want someone to listen and be sympathetic or if you're looking for advice.

Dance. Sing. Walk. Run. Take a shower. Do something sensory that takes you out of your mind.

Anyway, I am not sure what the problem that you are having is. It sounds like stress. I get stress. But maybe there's something more. Keep an eye on it, and be aware if you might need more than just a vent.

[the-bjd-community-confess]

bear with me here. lately, well, for the past 6 months we’ve been trying to buy a house. rent in my area is terrible and moving out of my area isn’t an option, so in theory it’s literally cheaper to buy a house. plus my bf and i have good (for our area) jobs. however we wanted to only put down 15%, so we need this thing called mortgage insurance. which also goes through a credit check, like the mortgage would. we’re on the mortgage together. somehow i was approved for the mortgage but denied for the insurance, because them checking my credit lowered my score to one fucking point below what’s needed. i don’t have a bad score, or a terrible debt to income ratio, my score is literally only “fair” because i bought a car 3 years ago and that vs my student loans that i’ve had for ages lowered my credit age, and therefore my score. bc. i don’t fucking know. capitalism™️. so we have to put down 20% of a down payment which we didn’t budget for because we were fine if it weren’t for, y’know fucking credit bureaus. it’s an extra 10k we don’t have because we didn’t expect to need.

so anyway i’m taking it hard. real hard. because along with my house savings i obviously also have a doll savings (it’s much lower though) for, you know, my expensive hobby that i finally started to being able to like actually buy for around 4 years ago. and i feel guilty because it’s like, if it wasn’t for my score and if i wasn’t indulging on things that make me happy, i’d be able to save more for “””adult things””” like buying a house. i almost in a panic started calculating and figuring out how i could sell my collection and all my doll stuff because i’m sure if i sold literally everything i have related to the hobby i would be able to cover the extra 10k. i was like packing shit up and taking pics in a fugue state before my bf stopped me and was like it’s not your fault?? but anxiety and growing up poor af until this job i got after college says otherwise. as a kid and even in college i did not buy anything that wasn’t necessary or if i did it was a long time saving for like a 60$ video game, so having this much fucking money (comparatively) is so wild to me and i was so excited to finally collect and sew and create for these beautiful dolls i’ve always admire. my collection is mostly the “”cheaper dolls”” with some expensiver dolls (resinsoul is great though i legitimately love them for more than $ reasons),

i buy a lot of second hand because i love restoring things, i don’t even buy the big fancy full sets (i shell ocs mainly), and tend to use layaways to assuage my anxiety about paying sums of money over 3 digits. somewhere inside me my brain says “you brought this on yourself, you knew this was a waste of money”. it’s not i know logically, especially if all my other needs and debts are taken care of, but like. h

tl;dr so anyway this is a fucking weird ass confession. i feel sick for even indulging in this hobby and spending money on things i like instead of only paying my bills and food and taking care of my cats bc i could have used that money to add to my house savings to offset my apparently shitty credit score. i’m contemplating a second job and selling every doll thing i have because i don’t feel like i’m pulling my weight even though i am according to my bf. we’re not going to be homeless, we’ll just sign another year where we are, but it’s crushing to know that i clawed my way to stable income and doing something that makes me happy and i still can’t even be good enough for a house that’s only about 130k . that’s so so fucking cheap in this state it’s insane. i hate everything and feel so fucking guilty.

~Anonymous

[hideyseek]

4 and 6!

thank you!!!!

#4 for the wips ask game is apartment!verse, what will hypothetically one day be a collection of arthur/eames fic involving apartments, because i really like apartments. this is from a fic i started for inceptionbingo'21 where eames used to live in the apartment arthur uses as his safe house and for ~currently unresolved plot hole reasons~ still has a key.

The toilet flushes, and the bathroom door opens.

Arthur’s got his gun out and pointed before he registers that it’s Eames. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, putting it down. 

“Not the first time I’ve been greeted like this, darling,” says Eames, trying his best to zip up surreptitiously. Arthur notices, and rolls his eyes and makes a gesture like he’s about to pick his gun back up. 

“Seriously,” says Arthur, seriously, putting the gun away. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

“Your—?” says Eames. He looks around. “Your apartment, huh.”

“What other explanation could there be for me standing in an apartment that you think you live in?” says Arthur flatly. 

“It’s a dream?” Eames tries. “A for fun dream?”

Arthur frowns. 

“You broke into my apartment because you’re pissed at me again for something,” Eames suggests, doing something with his face as he says it. It isn’t cute. It really isn’t cute. 

Plus, if the breaking in part was ignored, the statement is accurate. Arthur is certainly pissed at Eames again in the current moment, for something. And he’s definitely been pissed at Eames before.

“Yeah I’m pissed at you,” says Arthur, picking up his takeout. It’d fallen on the floor and tipped right over but mercifully none of his curry had spilled. “Come on. I’m having dinner and you’re answering my questions.”

He sets it down on the counter, reaches for a cupboard and opens it and behind him Eames says incredulously, “You put bowls in there?”

Arthur flips around. “Yes? You have a problem with that?”

Eames is squinting. “That’s where the cups go, Arthur. Cups and mugs on top. Bowls go on a lower shelf.” He sounds like he’s in pain. 

“Eames,” says Arthur. “Shut up and microwave rice. It’s in the Tupperware in the fridge.” He starts rustling around in a drawer for spoons.

“You’re going to feed me,” says Eames, pleased.  “I doubt you’d be willing to talk otherwise,” says Arthur, instead of admitting that this is the admittedly batshit culmination of one of his longest-held and most cherished dreams. Twenty-year-old Arthur would be losing his fucking mind at the idea of having dinner in one of his apartment with Eames, regardless of context.

#6 is actually titled the way you see me is not really which i'd forgotten, and explores why arthur would give up so much of his life for cobb when he doesn't seem to like him very much at the point that we meet them in the film.

It’s eleven in the morning, and Arthur’s forking over the last $40 he has to be allowed to check in early. He thinks about the flat, scrubby land they’d passed in the last few days that his mind had dragged a name for out of the annals of sixth grade ecology vocab: chaparral.

He counts out the fives onto the counter, his attention half on the paper-soft wrinkle of the bills in his hand, more than half on Dom slouched and dead-eyed, draped in the corduroy jacket Arthur had bought him for his and Mal’s March anniversary. He’s needed 110% of every part of himself except his libido for the last six days.

Jesus, he thinks like a reflex. How has it only been six days?

He’d bought Mal a perfume that spring as a joke, and he’d seen the delicate bottle left open on the hotel desk when he’d showed up in Los Angeles for Dom, gleaming amber in the afternoon light. They hadn’t waited for the authorities to threaten them. Arthur had grabbed Dom’s hand like he had the right to, and ran.

Later, they'd get off the bus at the kind of highway-side motel that people fall asleep in when they want to be forgotten.

“Have you ever read Neruda, Dom,” says Arthur of five years ago, on the bold threshold of drunk, still a PhD student halfway in love with the young psychology professor whose class his friend is TA-ing for. His wine glass drips condensation onto the skin at the juncture between his thumb and forefinger; he shivers, involuntary. The clamor of the department party is so distant. 

“Without knowing how, or when, or from where,” Dom quotes gravely, swirling his wine in its glass. The part of Arthur’s mind that had wanted to be an English major jumps to wonder why Dom chose to begin there, to forgo the preceding I love you. 

Perhaps he meant it as a hint — lead the audience to fill in the gaps and thus focus on the absent piece themselves. Perhaps, Arthur self-corrects, the curtains were blue because the author’s own curtains were blue. Familiarity. So it goes: one turns to comfort and stability in moments of uncertainty.

[joe-england]

The Anti-Muse.

That's what I call it.  It comes in various forms, whatever takes me away from my work.  Negative feelings, obsessive-compulsive distractions, or just mundane obligations.

You ever have one of those Summers when everything needs to be fixed?  The stove exploded, we had to sell a car, we're babysitting dogs, the deck needs painting, the gutters had to be repaired, the garage has to be emptied, and the backyard....

We have a pool.  And a spa.  Which makes it sound like we're rich or something, but we're not.  So when a huge branch fell on the pool cover during a winter storm and tore it all up, it was a headache.  But then we have to OPEN the pool when the weather turns, because otherwise the whole thing goes to Hell, and it's a chore.  Then it springs a leak that lowers the water level by several feet, which is a problem.  So then we have to order a water truck after getting someone to repair the lining, which is going to have to be entirely replaced next year, which is a bother.  Then the motor dies, so the algae grows, and we have to get a replacement, which is a nuisance.  Then the computer which controls the motor has to be replaced, which is a twist of the knife.  Then the water level stays low and I gotta fill it intermittently with a hose, which is a hassle.  Then I accidentally leave the hose on for too long at a stretch and our well gets drained so we have to avoid flushing the toilets for half a week, which is nasty.  Also, the spa somehow sprung a leak too and will also need to be repaired, which is a joke.  And we still haven't fixed the pool cover, because the pool company changed management and the people who work there got terrible, terrible illnesses, which is honestly tragic.  So now I'm struggling to talk with the pool cover company directly, but of course the thing is so old that no one can figure out when it was ordered and they won't return my messages and it'll be at LEAST another month before we can close this damn water hole for the winter, which is daunting.  And then the bills start coming, and that's some brutal money on top of NY State taxes.

I don't even LIKE having a pool.  I haven't set foot in it this whole year, but I have to go out and rescue bugs and animals that fall into it constantly.  I can flick the spiders and ants and beetles back onto the grass, but salamanders and frogs need to be relocated, so I gotta trudge through the backwoods all the way to a stream to deposit them in a better place, which is awkward since a big damn tree fell on the forest path and I gotta brave the tick-infested marsh to get around it.  Yeah, we need to take care of that tree, too.  Add it to the list.

Woof.

Hey, don't mind me.  I just feel awful about not giving you more content so I'm waving my arms in the air a little, but I'm hyping myself up to start the new comic before the year ends.  It still seems kind of impossible, but interim projects are helping me feel capable again.  Actually, I already started a comic, but I'm not sure you would approve.  It's fan art, which is something I really never do.  I hope it's alright with you, I'll show it off when it's closer to done.

I've also been writing the last footnotes of the Omnibus (believe it or not), and I've got a particular passion project for the Halloween season, which I hope you'll enjoy.  See, I'm working!  I'm not always posting, but I'm working!  On one thing or another!  You'll see the fruits of my labor soon.  If I can just beat the Anti-Muse.

That said, today is a heavy day for a lot of us for far more significant reasons than anything I listed above.  I can gripe about housework and art and distractions, but this is the anniversary of something that still affects many people very deeply.  If that's you, then I send my best wishes.

As usual, I'll provide a few links if you have the inclination and means to help make things a little better for someone, somewhere.

Thanks for listening.

Everytown for Gun Safety

Top-Rated Charities for Ukraine

The Trevor Project

National Abortion Funds

- Joe

[thecameronchronicles]

I posted 1,204 times in 2022

That's 1,204 more posts than 2021!

1,167 posts created (97%)

37 posts reblogged (3%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sweetestdesire

@outerbankspov

@paradisehamilton

@obx-pogue4life

@heartofwalls

I tagged 575 of my posts in 2022

#outer banks - 471 posts

#obx - 425 posts

#outerbanks - 383 posts

#outer banks smut - 310 posts

#obx fanfiction - 286 posts

#obxsmut - 229 posts

#rafe cameron - 208 posts

#drew starkey - 190 posts

#rafecameron - 166 posts

#rafe cameron smut - 155 posts

Longest Tag: 33 characters

#cameron chronicles christmas 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

A Deal With the Devil

TW: Violence, language, smut, drug use, blood due to virginity loss. PURE FILTH ;) 

SUMMARY: Every Kook party was the same. Trust fund kids taking out their ‘frustrations’ via drugs too strong and alcohol too sweet, all while comparing their latest purchases, golf scores, and recent fucks. But this had been the first time you arrived with a purpose...And that ‘purpose’ stood a few feet over six inches with his expected polo and daddy’s money rolled into a tube to use as a vestibule for consumption. 

Rafe Cameron...

WORD COUNT: 4,000

The Deal With the Devil

“Two fifty a line...” He spoke to you, not even bothering to look up at you for even a second as he fingered the string of cash given to him as payment. Meanwhile, your eyes came to the collection of white powder that seemed so innocuous in comparison to the warnings around it-much like its host. You knew its effect, you knew it was reckless, irresponsible, and plain stupid. But you came here tonight to indulge. 

Bowing forward, rolled Grant between your petite yet perfectly polished pinch, you followed suit to the same kooks who were always present at these parties. Inhaling the bitter burn of the stimulant, a rush of adrenaline from the regret of what was to come left you temporarily breathless as you corrected yourself. Yet any side effect expected of what you had consumed paled in comparison to the blue eyes having now fixated on you. 

“Well THAT was about three...” He explained, holding out his palm. The display of his long fingers forced your neglected satisfaction to conjure the most illicit of visions by his hand alone. 

“I...I only have a fifty...” You confessed sheepishly, removing the bill from your pocket as everyone around the table suddenly drew quiet. It was almost as if you had insulted him, which you would have believed, if not for the way a smile crept over his full lips. Yet his lack of response left you desperate for an apology he didn’t exactly deserve. 

“Maybe we can do an I-owe-you?” You offered, your tone peaking in hope as he scoffed before lifting his right arm. Set along his forearm, offering an unintentional flex that was purely natural from his toned physique, showcased a burn mark extending on his otherwise sun-kissed skin. 

“Nah...I don’t DO favors anymore...” He began to shake his head, leaving you fearful of what it meant to be on the receiving end of his disapproval. But the way your confidence became grated into silent fear; the furrow of your brows draining your features into worry as your bottom lip became captive between your teeth, his focus would lift to you. You were unaware that the way you appeared, needy and desperate, had been enough to quell something eager within him. 

“Maybe there IS another way you could offer payment...” He intrigued you as your eyes illuminated with wonder before feeling his eyes suddenly lower the extent of your curves. It had been the first time tonight that his attention came to the efforts put into your appearance. But you didn’t know if you should revel in this newfound focus from the kook prince himself or be terrified in it. 

“I don’t have...” You moved to object, unaware of what he was in reference to exactly, before he was suddenly close enough to you to ensure nobody else could hear the words he spoke dominantly to you. 

“You have a choice here, sweetheart. Either you get me the rest of my money by the end of the night...Or you give the rest of your night to me.” You knew it was immoral, cheap even. And yet, a part of you didn’t care. You adored the way his eyes seemed to devour you, lips parting in anticipation that curved into a smirk when he realized he held your attention. It was only then that you managed to regain some sense of confidence as you leaned slightly into him. 

“You want to...collect your payment out here?” He was amused by your bold reaction as he motioned to Topper, a blonde pretty boy half high and a quarter drunk. 

“Sort the rest of this out, yeah?” Before you could object, your wrist was pulled to follow his quick steps, each time your soles collided with the smooth wood supporting you, your nerves inflated with uncertainty. You knew the rumors of the eldest Cameron were intense, a reputation of a good but swift fuck that left those he took to his bed with souvenirs of his dominance and possessiveness. But you couldn’t lie to yourself how it excited you to be on the receiving end of this. 

“What are you doing?” He questioned as he closed the door to the bedroom, turning to find you playing with the zipper of your dress. 

“You want me to keep it on?” You questioned, confused and slightly curious about such a question. Most guys would already be halfway to their release to see any girl willing to get naked. But not Rafe. Not with you. You immediately worried he wasn’t attracted to you before finding those usually light irises darkening to you and leaving your insecurities silenced. 

“I want to savor this debt. Two fifty is more than just a quick fuck.” You fought the smirk from spreading your content lips into development as he began to run his forefinger across his bottom lip while cementing his feet in front of you. 

“But I want to know...How many other people have you been with?” Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Once again, you knew most guys wouldn’t care as long as they got the same release that you would have given others. Because of this and the slight irritation of your arousal fading from the interrogation and hesitancy, your response came out almost in a scoff. 

“You want to talk?” He answered in objection, stepping forward to you as if willing to swipe across your cheek for speaking against him. Yet he didn’t do anything but use those intimidating eyes to silence you and make you regret questioning him. 

“I want to know if I’m dealing with a slut or a goodie-two-shoes-” Your eyes narrowed to his choice of words. 

“I’m not a slut.” The usual insult would have enraged you if it had come from the lips of anyone else. But there was something about the way he spoke it that exhilarated you. And yet, you didn’t want him to know that. At least not yet.

“I know I’M clean...I just want to know-”

“Two.” You lied, wanting to stop the conversation and get to the distraction of his touch as this was becoming too intense to stomach. His close proximity and abundance of his cologne leaving you dizzy, you wanted his touch. You needed it. It’s why you were here...

“Well baby girl...” His fingers began to pull the edges of his shirt upwards until revealing his torso to your gluttonous view. You were shameless in appreciating the way his body was well sculpted in details that made him defined but not too bulked-perfect and even better than you had imagined. 

“Those two other dicks will pale in comparison to what I’m going to do to you...” You repressed the moan from leaving your lips as he returned closer to you, well aware of how just him moving in your direction had you dripping for him. 

“But...I’m going to take my sweet time...making you work for every cent...Can’t forget about interest...” He teased, that arrogant smirk occupying his clean shaven bone structure, as he moved to a chair set across the space that was suddenly too small. 

“Knees.” The simple direction spoke with the tone somehow both sweet and sultry, had you moving to obey. Dropping to the level of his waist, you were drowning in your own arousal to the way he looked at you with such darkness behind such pretty features. The mischievous smile spread across his face only fueled your ambition as you pulled apart his ensemble while he prepared your hair into a makeshift ponytail. In a way that was almost painful, his grip tightened, teetering that line between dominant and dangerous. 

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633 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

#4

A Hole in One

A Hole in One

TW: Smut, as always. Slight potential exhibitionism. Daddy kink. Derogatory language. Rough sex.

Summary: Bored as you are dragged to one of Rafe's golf days, you decide to make things a bit more interesting...

Kook girlfriend x kook prince

"Baby, why are you pouting?" Rafe sighed, half amused as he usually preferred your lips puckered for him. But in this instance, with your arms crossed over your full breasts concealed beneath your tight crop, his interest came in the way your body tightened. He always made it obvious how he craved to devour you, even more so when you had an attitude against him. This was because he knew how easily your mood would change just by his touch alone and he basked in the power behind it.

"We were supposed to go shopping..." You detested everything about the consolation activity. It was too quiet, too hot, and you were always berated for asking questions whenever you did try to act as if you cared to please your boyfriend.

"Just one hour...and then after that, I'll buy you something real pretty..." He leaned across the console of the car separating you. When you first started dating, these small moments would force you to aquiesce as you didn't want to upset him. But now, you learned that rivaling him only enticed him more. So by the response of only your eyes pulling backwards into a roll, you pushed the door open and made your way onto the exterior of the golf course.

Sitting in the golf cart for the majority of the first half, fanning yourself, you realized how futile this was. Of course they would pick the hottest day of the summer to hit balls into holes-you just couldn't understsnd it. There were a million other things you'd rather do. A root canal. The DMV. But the most enticing thing had been Rafe, who was mouthwatering in his backwards cap, tight shorts, and gray top buttoned at the top with the exception of those exposing hints of his toned chest to you. But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of you eye fucking him across the green.

Carrying your soles to the small cart used for servicing members of the club, you ordered a water and an ice cream cone before returing to your seat. Peeling the package and licking your lips in anticipation to the vanilla sweet, you nearly seduced the cone, even relasing an unintentional moan, until your eyes found all three boys now looking up at you. But where Topper and Kelce were somewhere between aroused and humored, Rafe was pissed.

Rafe was the type of boyfriend who wanted to parade you around at every party, his hands never leaving your body for too long. But when it came to moans he believed only he deserved to know the sound of or even the sight of your skin he knew had been touched solely by him, he wanted all of that for himself. Which was why when you pulled your thumb to your bottom lip to withdraw the rebellious ice cream from staining your chin in its sticky makeup, an epiphany entertained your boredom.

You offered a smile so the boys would return to their game, allowing a moment to pass, before optioning for a way to gain your boyfriend's attention. Usually, you never had to fight for it, but when it came to golf, Rate was precise. You usually didn't mind because you got to treasure him prior to his games, the cute ensembles crumpled between your fingers as he gave insights to how your patience would be rewarded just before he left you to fantasize of the ways you would return your fervor for his return. But now, having been lured here under false pretenses, well over the hour agreed upon, you wanted to ensure he knew his mistake. After all, how did he expect you to entertain yourself with nothing more than a golfcart and the heat?

Pulling your crop top down just enough, you used the condensation of the water bottle to cool your temperate skin. Feigning closing your eyes, you allowed your head to rest in the expected padding of the chair behind you before notcing the three pairs of eyes on you again.

"Top!" Rafe ordered through clenched teeth as you ked the water between your thighs. From the outside glance, it seemed as though you were simply cooling yourself off. But to Rafe, he knew you too well to know this was anything but an instigation.

With the shock of ice cold water to your skin, the sudden heat of his grip sent you stumbling off of the cart and onto his feet by the main dependency of his hold.

"Are you not going to be happy until I fuck you in front of them?" His jaw tense but his eyes desperate for your rebellion, you only chuckled.

"You wouldn't dare leave a game-".

"Fuck the game-" He retorted, moving closer to you as you took this as a chance to fondle the buttons keeping his loose shirt away from the muscles contracting beneath. You had left claw marks every interaction upon the skin concealed beneath this chosen button up, and yet craved it each time as if it had been the first sight.

"Wouldn't you rather fuck me?" You questioned, eyeing him beneath your long lashes, batting them just as you would if in preparation of a blow job, the way you knew he loved to be adorned.

"Will that make you behave?" He asked through a continued clench of his teeth, although reveling in the games you two played.

"Probaably not...But you could try..." His eyes sharpened into an amused narrow as he cocked his jaw.

"So I make you cum and you you'll let me make par?" The illumination behind your eyes electrified his own steely gaze as you felt his forefinger bend beneath your chin to draw your attention exclusively to him.

Another idea suddenly crossed your mind, this one far more alluring then making yourself cold against the art of seduction.

"You think too highly of your skills..." You slipped from before him, traveling the remaining meters to his friends while hearing him mutter 'brat' in the final moments you remained in earshot.

"Can I try?" You asked, hands pulled in unison behind your back and chest pushed forward to achieve their undivided attention as Rafe remained at the golf cart, hat removed in his hands and folding its bill as if purposely trying to reshape it.

"Just one swing?" You pleaded, your tone rising in the particular way he knew well just at the cusp of your orgasm. The way your usual boisterous confidence fell to dependency in that whimper of a release, one you knew effected him well, was now spoken to someone who was not him.

"Here..." Topper offered, any excuse to make the moment end as quickly as possible having pushed him to volunteer.

The cold metal of the club was heavy between your fingers as you purposely fumbled your stance as you knew the only thing to drive Rafe into annoyance beyond repair would be the delay of how you acted brainless. This usually got you a reward when you were behind closed doors as if the only brain cells you had existed to pleasure him. But this was something you knew you would pay for later. The skin of your nearly exposed ass twitching in a premature ache of what was to come.

"You want to follow through on your swing. Carry your hips towards the hole-the flag-" He quickly fumbled as you giggled, Rafe now standing beside Kelce, who was enjoying the rivalry to who usually remained from getting such a rise out if Rafe. You knew him well to know if you were anyone else, you'd be abandoned or ridiculed. But this was how you operated. Games and tension all for reward and benefit coming imminently. You acted the brat and he corrected you in the only way he knew how-cuming.

"Can you show me?" You batted your lashes to Topper, who quickly looked to Rafe for permission. When only finding a hard line and white knuckles wrapped around his club, he nervously agreed as lining you up to swing.

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732 notes - Posted August 24, 2022

#3

Best Friend's Girl

Best Friend's Girl

TW: Smut, cheating, language. Fluffy also intense first time sex with vulgarity of quelling and praise kink ;)

Word Count: 2100

You had been dating Topper this last summer. In contrast to your past, he was everything a good girl like you deserved. He pulled open car doors and convinced your parents he adored you, which he did, all while making you question if they preferred him over you. He even brought you a flower every week to commemorate those you were together as boyfriend and girlfriend. 

But being entangled in the handsome Thornton also meant you were subjected to those within his life. Among them was his mother, who was perpetually over eager to correct you. And then there were his friends. Kelce was easygoing, if not a bit of a negligent guy who followed more behind his friends than leading any life of his own. But then there was Rafe…

The eldest Cameron sibling was six foot two, blue eyed, and got under your skin like nobody else could or ever would again. This was because he tormented you with silence.

It began the night you met with scoffs and comments to others in regards to how you were too 'pure' and ‘boring’ for Topper. But just as you knew Rafe's reputation for being gluttonous in everything from drugs to girls, he knew yours for your chastity, grace, and polite quietude unless spoken to or otherwise provoked.

Which he did.

Constantly.

But the moments became more direct towards the end of the summer. This came in the form of his eyes following you shamelessly around as you dressed scantily in a bikini, hung over your boyfriend with the intent to annoy him, to even something as innocuous as reaching popcorn on the top shelf, only to turn and see his eyes raise, which exposed him for having been shamelessly staring at your ass. And the most aggravating detail was brazen in his smirk in knowing he had been caught.

"I've been thinking-"

You quickly gasped, raising your hand to your chest as if simulating a heart attack.

"Must be a strange feeling for you..." You teased, carrying your bare feet across the cold tile before coming to the cabinet harboring the bowls. Pulling one down, you felt a collision in the form of his frame.

"Rafe-" You spoke in frustration before watching him pin one arm on either side of you until you were at his will.

"You think you're cute, don't you? Think you can say whatever you want and get away with it?" He slowly shook his head in disapproval.

"Top needs to keep you in check. MY girl wouldn't get away with the shit you do-"

You scoffed at his misogynistic and anti-feministic response as he continued.

"If you walked around in front of MY friends with your poor excuse of a swimsuit, I'd rip it off of you with my teeth, bend you over the closest surface, and make you cum  over it so you thought of what I'd do the next time you tried to dress like that-" Your lips parted to object, but his words emerged swifter than anything you could accumulate.

"Or...I'd leave handprints on your ass so everyone knew you could be looked at..." His hand collected your chin, surprising you with his kindness, as he leaned closer.

"But only I could touch you-" You became lost in his eyes for a moment, your body betraying you against the way their cool blue irises left a false sense of security compared to his words. You knew if you allowed his words to be made a reality, even for a minute, that you would loathe yourself beyond what you could handle. 

But that was the final reason you hated Rafe....because of just how badly you actually desired him.

"Trouble finding it babe?" Topper called from the living room as this prompted enough of a reality check to push Rafe off of you. But you fumbled to pour the contents of the pre popped kennels into the bowl, clearly affected by his words, as he chuckled at you.

"No-I-I've got it-" You offered an answer back, pushing beyond your flustered body while feeling him watch you in amusement.

"Shit...He REALLY needs to do right by you-" Your eyes rose to him in a glare.

"He is!" You spoke in annoyance, mostly originating from his effect on you.

"No, sweetheart...because if he was REALLY taking care of you..." He moved back towards you, eyes sharpening, smirk widening, and breath temporarily stilled before speaking. "Then you wouldn't be so damn tense. He'd have you so damn satisfied, you'd feel high..."

"I'm-" Before you could iterate how Topper was everything Rafe wasn't, the reasons waiting on a list at the tip of your tongue, his hand was on your hip.

"Please." Your plea was weak, defining the detail behind it to act as consent as you did precious little to convince him otherwise.

"One finger-" The rush of his bare finger to your equally naked pussy sent your expression to lift in disbelief. Not only had Topper never touched you, nobody had-at least not like Rafe was now.

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803 notes - Posted August 27, 2022

#2

The Dare

TW: Masturbation, smut, language, angst.

SUMMARY: A dare during a sleepover leads you to learn just how badly Rafe wants you…

WORD COUNT:

The Dare

“You can’t be serious…” The words left your lips behind a heavy scoff that led Sarah and Kiara’s eyes to connect in silent confirmation before looking back to you with shared agreement. 

“It’s only fair with the picture you made me send to Topper-” Sarah explained. 

“AND the text you had me send to John B-” Kiara added, “I’m just glad he didn’t answer…” She muttered, half relieved and half disappointed. 

“This is different! You’re dating Top! And Kie and John B just have to get a bit of a push-Technically I did you favors-” You tried to convince your supposed friends to alter their minds, but found the expressions of pride and amusement spread across their faces to inform you that this would be futile. 

“Consider this karma…” Kie lifted her drink as if to cheers to her own words before finishing the contents of her makeshift cocktail, courtesy of stolen liquor from Tannyhill’s kitchen under the allowance of a lack of parental supervision. 

“Besides…I remember a time when you LIKED Rafe-” Kie’s eyes flashed in surprise as this was a detail she couldn’t have possibly have known as her and Sarah had only been friends for a few months but appeared as close as sisters, a friendship recently sweetened by the reconnection you made with the middle Cameron after drifting apart following Junior year. 

“I did not!” You lied, your cheeks betraying your attempts to convince them otherwise. In truth, Rafe Cameron always had your thighs pressing together with the way his voice said your name and his full lips pulled to a grin when he noticed your eyes making note of him. 

“It’s only fair…” Kie teased as you now shot up to your feet in objection. 

“I don’t want to play anymore-”

“Oh come on…” Sarah whined, “You don’t get to get out of it so easily…Not after we followed through on OUR dares…”

“Then I change mine to truth-” You spoke quickly, not caring to hide the pout from your lips. 

“Didn’t realize we were playing with Wheezie-” Sarah taunted in reference to a version of ‘truth or dare’ with her sister where the latter was excluded. 

“If you don’t do this, I am ABSOLUTELY telling Rafe that you used to have a thing for him.” Kie interjected as you scowled at her. 

“Is it REALLY worth him holding that over your head over just stealing his phone?” Sarah added, the peer pressure making you anxious. 

“Why do you even want it? I mean…what if he’s using it or something…” You continued to try and convince them of an alternative torment, but they were too convinced of their aforementioned decision. 

“The fact he hasn’t been down her ‘perving’ on you or Kie in the last hour tells me he’s definitely asleep. And I have my own reasons for wanting it…so…” Sarah and Kie stared at you with growing excitement to see you squirm behind a series of grunts and groans. 

“Five minutes and an impromptu 007 mission or a lifetime of Rafe knowing you used to have a thing for him…Every time you come over having to hear him tell Topper and Kelce how you missed your chance with him…Every dinner him finding an excuse to remind you-” Your mind darted at the thought of him teasing you with this, a detail you couldn’t fathom having to live through as you could barely handle the touchless banter you shared now. 

“Okay!” But this is blackmail-'' You glared before reluctantly crossing into the corridor responsible for holding the ascension of the staircase leading to the bedrooms. The second your hand wrapped around the railing, you considered returning to them to say you couldn’t find it or he was awake. But an even larger portion of you was desperate to have an excuse to be close to him. He made this a necessity by the way he greeted you with his usual teasing and his eyes kept on you until he climbed those very stairs a few hours prior. It was maddening-but also enough to commit to this action. 

By the time you reached the top of the steps, having turned back when hearing Kie and Sarah chuckle at your expense, you were now a mess of tremors and anxiety. It would only take approximately ten steps before you’d reach his door and you were horrified on how you would go about it. 

What if he wasn’t asleep? What would you say that would make your presence believable at two in the morning?

“Three minutes-” Sarah called as if to remind you of your mission as you turned back to shush her, ultimately deciding that the lesser of two evils would have to work as being appealing enough to convince you forward. Pressing your ear to his door, you weren’t able to hear anything close to a conscious Rafe, who was usually in motion one way or another. Validated enough for your entry, you twisted the knob slowly before finding a dark room set before you, relief relaxing your nerves for a time as you realized he had been asleep. 

You were thankful for the darkness for many reasons, but mostly for it making it impossible to appreciate his figure which had beckoned you since he had begun to take care of himself in the last few years. But the thought of this gratefulness left you to think of the muscles in question; specifically how they would collect you in passion and pull you around as he saw fit. But with this existing only as a fantasy, you were able to return your focus rather quickly to your task. 

A deep groan stilled you as the springs from the bed gave away the adjustment as you lowered behind the rival side of the bed as you began to conjure a thousand varied explanations from throwing Sarah under the bus or claiming you simply walked into the wrong room. But before you could begin either or, you heard it again. Only this time, it was spoken in the accompaniment of a deep breath. 

“Fuck…” He groaned, your eyes widening as you deduced quickly that he certainly wasn’t asleep. Instead, he had been portraying the most decadent moans, keeping your gaze locked onto him as you were able to make out the motions of self pleasure embedded in the darkness before you. 

“Walking around in those shorts…thinkin’ you can get away with that shit…” He moaned, the sound of self pleasure breaking the silence of your deafening heartbeat as you kept yourself concealed at the side of the bed, remaining magnetized to the way his body moved to his ecstasy, you were further rooted by his words.

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911 notes - Posted September 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

No Nut November

TW: Masturbation references. Smut. Semi-public sex. Language.

SUMMARY: Partaking in ‘No Nut November’ would prove difficult when you become a bit too needy for him to stay true to his ambition. 

WORD COUNT: 1500

REQUESTED:

Anonymous asked:

Reader x one of the obx guys and him and his friends (so either the other kooks or other pogues) are challenging each other who can go the longest for no nut November and it’s been a few days and you’re being needy so you do everything to tease him until he finally gives in and fucks you

*I WANTED TO CHANGE THIS A BIT TO MAKE IT A BIT MORE INTERESTING…

No Nut November

The odds were stacked against him from the second he agreed to this display of self control; one thing he already wasn’t known for possessing. But by the two week mark, having lasted longer than anyone thought he would, JJ was busting at the proverbial and literal seam of his pants as you only made this worse. Purposely wearing only his shirts and tracing him such ways that if you’d only move slightly north, he’d certainly stain his shorts after denying himself that release for so long. But if there was one thing JJ Maybank was above all else, it was stubborn. Especially when money was on the line. And this was the deal he made with the other pogues. Two hundred dollars for who could last. But you had an ambition all your own. 

“JJ?” You asked as he relaxed in the hammock, trying to think of anything but how his cock throbbed at even just the sound of your voice. He was desperate, but too stubborn to let anyone else have that two hundred dollars. 

“I’m bored…”

“I think Sarah and Kie are-”

“I want to play with you…” You watched his jaw clench and his chest rise in a deep breath. 

“Sweetheart-”

“Please J…I miss you…” He sat on the edge of the hammock, tapping his knee as you knew the invitation well as it was all you had for the last two weeks. But no matter how skilled he was with his fingers or his tongue, you wanted HIM. Because there was nothing like the sensation of his fullness-the closeness. And for that, you were willing to risk appearing desperate or even feral. 

“I want YOU, JJ…”

“Baby, I can’t-” For this, you dropped to your knees, running your hands up his thighs and to his belt as he contracted against you. 

“Is THIS worth more than two hundred dollars? Shit, J, I’ll pay you myself, just fuck me!” 

“Ahem!” John B cleared his voice at your back as you turned to find Pope and Kiara smirking at your desperation. 

“You’re so screwed, J…” Kie commented as he was able to distance himself from you long enough to ignore the temptation you forced on him. 

A few hours later, you were all set around the inner heart of The Chateau. Some conversation of a recent movie spoken between Kiara and John B with passionate standpoints on either end as you could only focus on the fringe of the blanket at the ends of your fingers, unable to meet anyone’s gaze as you were too embarrassed. All because of a stupid deal that made you completely unhinged. And in the attempts he made to warrant a response from you, you would only ignore him, until he tried to pull your legs over him, to which, you’d just pull yourself into his room, slamming the door closed without a care of how this could embarrass him or yourself. 

He waited only a short while before following behind you, finding you in one of his shirts yet again, only now, without a care to use it as a means of seduction. But the second that you would find him wrapping his arms around you, no matter how tempting his embrace had been, you pulled away from him. Or at least tried to before feeling him pull his grip to between your thighs. As you tried to fight him, but found the expert circles and perfect pressure to draw you into more of an agreeable state than what you would have preferred. 

“JJ-”

He silenced you by a hand around your mouth, “You’re gonna want to keep this there…I’m not stopping until you know how sorry I am…And I know how much of a screamer my girl is,especially when I make her squirt…” You groaned into his palm as he was quick to take you to that precipice of that orgasm, only to edge you. 

“JJ, Please…”

“I know what you need…And I know exactly how to give it to you…but you need to give it to me when I’m ready…”

“Please, J…Nobody has to know…Just the tip…Just let me see it-fuck…please…” 

“You really love it that much?” He smirked against your ear as his hand had lowered so you could talk. 

“I need it, J…Please…” You began to rock your ass against him, rubbing and circling him, before his hands stationed at your waist. 

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1,000 notes - Posted November 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

1K on "No Nut November' :O THANK YOU!

[classicintp]

Just in case some of you are skeptical about the predatory lending practices of student loans in the United States. This post is long.

Referring to the picture above this is just one account of about $70k in my student loans all broken up into ~15 or so different segments of $3k to $5k like this across multiple lenders, including multiple "accounts" with the federal government, all managed by one company (that I didn't get to choose). Every one of those accounts are like this. I've never been in deferment, I've never missed one payment. For more than half of these accounts I've paid more into a lot of these loans than the principle balance and still owe a total ~$70,000 from an initial principle of ~$61,000. Consolidating them into one loan won't change much of anything in terms of cost, payment, or interest (and last time I did the math, the little that would change wasn't in my favor) and hidden in the fine print of all of those consolidation loan offers is the disqualification of any future debt relief by the federal government.

The reason centrist-Democrats and all Republicans have brainwashed centrists and conservative US taxpayers into thinking their tax bill will go up if student loans were more significantly forgiven, and why any Democratic president hesitates to provide actual, substantial relief to anyone who wasn't very specifically defrauded by scam institutions, is because it isn't just some network of central banks that provided these loans that can just take the hit and demand a tax write-off and government subsidy for the charity: the loans are securitized; they're asset-backed by multimillion and multibillion dollar investors. These types of investment securities are called SLABS, and if you live in the U.S., especially if you vote but absolutely even if you don't, you should resolve to look up more than just that one link to educate yourself on how they came about and how they've imprisoned this country into over a trillion dollars in debt that will never get paid.

So many of these obscenely wealthy investors donate substantial amounts to our plutocratic political campaigns that if either party were responsible for cancelling a substantial amount of these loans the investors that donated to those campaigns will move their donations to the other party in retaliation for making their profitable SLABS unprofitable. It's absolutely not because our tax bills will go up, that's just what center-right Democrats and Republicans have ALWAYS used to scare conservatives into regressive fiscal decisions under the deceptive euphamism of "fiscal responsibility." If you've ever felt like it was unfair or wrong for a borrower to have the loans they willingly took out be forgiven, I promise you that it is an opinion you've been conditioned into believing that intentionally removes nuance and context from the actual issue specifically so that you'll continue to vote for politicians that they themselves then vote (on your behalf!) to give billion-dollar corporations the money you claim you're against giving away in the first place. Many of our politicians, red and blue, have had federal loans forgiven. You don't even have to look that far back as the federal government forgave PPP loans just last year and so many politicians that have been hootin and hollerin and angry that a small fraction of our loans were forgiven this week had HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS, sometimes even MILLIONS of dollars forgiven less than a year ago.

$10,000 isn't going to help me very much. I'm not going to feel the relief (or much of it at least), and that's okay to an extent. The only reason I'm not against this loan forgiveness decision is because for the people who will have their debt cut in half or forgiven entirely, this is huge. But higher education is still unnecessarily and criminally expensive and loan interest rates need to be dropped to lower than 1%. That's what we needed to solve the crisis. Otherwise, and even if it was total forgiveness that was announced instead of $10k, this is just going to cycle back into the exact same problem with the exact same debt owed.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal:  Something Good Survived

Wednesday, I promised to take a couple of millennials swimming.  The heat and air quality have been terrible, but the air is generally a bit better at the lake and the run off fed lake is refreshing on a too hot for the local ecosystem and me kind of day.

It drizzled in the morning and was very overcast in the afternoon, but really, to me it had simply cut the air contaminants in halfish and lowered the temperature to reasonable summer day in this micro-climate from unnatural and wrong levels.

I had a doctor's appointment for the afternoon, and had scheduled with the millennials to pick them up downtown after.  I had a massive number of downtown errands, but the timing looked reasonable.  The poverty clinic was way behind, as is often the case, especially with the under-staffing thanks to the pandemic, and I knew my appointment would be longish.  There is skin cancer in my family.  I have been periodically on medicines that increase the chances of it.  I'm also an Elder Goth, which is protective.  If you've been avoiding the sun whenever possible since the mid-'80's your skin ages much more gently and it drops your skin cancer risk.  Still I'm in my fifties, and I've had assorted lumps, moles and skin tags since my early thirties. I also have a serious autoimmune condition.  Once I went on Medicare, i made a habit of going in once a year or so for a skin check/tag removal because it's free and a really good idea preventative medicine wise.  (It infuriates me that we got ACA instead of Universal single payer or at minimum medicare for all.  EVERY BODY should get basic preventative medicine.)  Anyway, I skipped two years for the pandemic and a bunch of things had grown or appeared or changed and this takes a while.  (I'm fine by the way.  The new weird thing may end up getting removed if it grows or gets more annoying, but otherwise is a nuisance not a danger.  We're also keeping an eye on yet another cyst, but the other random stuff was the usual).

I also needed bloodwork, and to pick up meds at the attached Pharmacy, change stuff at the library, go to the post office, pay a small bill I pay every month in person, and drop off my sandals for repair as they broke last week.

I did all but the last three in time to pick up millennials for swimming.  I collected them.  We did the post office run as the thing needing mailing was time sensitive.  I blew off the small bill until next week, which is fine.  I flaked the shoe repair, which is extra stupid as it was literally a place I passed after collecting techie millennial on the way to get head millennial.  D'oh!  I went to my favorite post office where there was no line.  (Most people don't know it is there.  it's mostly a sorting depot, and the line is short or non-existence except in November and December.  Plus it's an historic building and really pretty inside).  It took less than ten minutes even with the hobbling to and from parking.

We stopped so millennials could pick up snacks, and went up to the lake.  The over cast day had scared most people away, so the parking was great.  There were a ton of ducks and a murder of crows and a lone seagull.  Techie Millennial i went in and it was fine.  Head millennial drank coffee and fed birds.  We came out when it got choppy and hung out for a while, enjoying bird politics and chatting.  It looked like a storm was coming in around five thirty, so we took techie millennial home.  Head Millennial prepped the kitchen for Stove exchange and made us pancakes to eat while watching what we do in the shadows.

It was a good day.  The storm missed us alas, so I still had trouble with my sinuses today, and the sky was cloudless and starting to turn the wrong colour when I took my sandals downtown.  It was a massive relief to see a mid-thirties millennial with a nose ring running the counter while the Elderly gentlemen who's run the place since long before I moved here was working in the back.  I worried about him during the pandemic and very much hoped he was okay.  I also worried there would be no one to take over the trade when the Boomer era shoe repair guy retired.  We have lost so much in this town in the last three years.  The fish store that was a local institution burned down the Autumn before the plague.  A ton of small businesses died in the last two years.  This summer, the elderly couple that ran the open air produce store retired and another institution is gone, but there is the tiny shoe repair place and the handmade sweet shop run by an equally ancient couple next door to it was open, though there was no point in me doing more than gaze longingly at it, since I can't chew anything.  They survived!  Something good survived!

Poor Squirrel is still sleeping on the sofa and occasionally napping in my room in the evening when I'm not using it.  The Cats find this deeply disturbing.  Tavy keeps Gargoyling on the sofa back to stare at Squirrel while he sleeps and both he and the Empress keeping checking squirrel's room in disbelief off and on all day because he's supposed to be there.  Livia has decided to pretend Squirrel is not sleeping in weird places so she ignores him and subtly avoids him when he is in the wrong place.

I am just having a ton of trouble with my body.  It is all chronic illness stuff made so much worse by heat and air quality every time I need to leave the safe, filtered bubble of the cat asylum and all the stress and drama around food and my teeth.  I keep having to go to bed very early without much warning.  I am falling drastically behind again sigh.

My Gothy heart longs for Autumn for all the usual reasons, but also because of all the ways climate change has complettely borked the local weather patterns.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Monday 10 June 1839

7 ½

12 ½

fine morning – at my desk – looking over bills etc. till breakfast at 9 10/.. A- wrote note to Thomas Ramsden Esquire in answer to his received last night (very civil) enclosing £5 being 5 years quit rent due from Manns’ farm (Miss Atkinsons’) to Heath school up to 24 June inclusive – much obliged to Mr. Ramsden for her believing her not aware of the demand against her tho’ frequently mentioned to Mr. SW. – hoped it would not occur again Mr. Adam the solicitor being now her steward – sent George off to Heath with this to ‘Thomas Ramsden Esquire’ and then breakfast (at 9 10/..) in about ½ hour – then out – some time talking to Robert Mann – they had not meant to tell me for fear of the expense but they had thought of a plan for loosing my coal without loosing any other persons – but it would cost at least £550 – I would have it explained, whether I ever did it or not – 2 yards of level lost in Pearsons’ holme in the Long goit – would fetch that up – the level lost about where the sharp turn in the brook near to Walshs’ land used to be – or lower down the brook, where the 3 or 4 trees stand clumpwise together that used to stand on each side the brook before its course was altered – he would turn in here at the level of the upper bed, and spend that level (from upper bed down to Low bed = say 24 yards – from top of upper bed to lower bed commonly reckoned 25 yards)  24 yards which taking the plumb rise at 1 yard in 17 yards = 24x16= 384 yards to drive at 20/. = £384 then 7 vent pits averaging 20 yards to be sunk at 15/. per yard = £105 then say sundries stuff trenching in etc. = £100 and call the job £600 but this would lay dry the whole of my coal as far as the water level at the place we had driven up to and would prevent all necessity for my leaving any barrier against the dead water – besides should the Dumbmill

SH:7/ML/E/23/0063

loose be brought up, my engine there would only have ½ the water to lift it would otherwise have the meer (being dried of the spiggs water) would be supplied by the rag water from water pit a stream as thick as a man’s arm – to drive up from Slip-in-pit (lay the stuff in the flat gin-stead and pit hill place there) to WP. 400 yards at 6/. a vent pit to be sunk in the glen just where the great rag-covered drain ends, above the bridge – this drift to be done for £100 – told Robert I would take this plan into consideration – went to Listerwick – Joseph Mann busy – stopt my cart from bringing away all the coal for fear of disappointing customers – and returned and stood talking to Robert till near 12 – then back to Listerwick at 12, and stood talking matters over with Joseph – shewed him where I would have the vent pit in Charles Howarths’ brow, to vent the new planned west board gates to the top of my land towards Mr. Rawson – Robert came to say Miss Walker wanted me – Riley the tailor come about shortening my new pelisse – returned home – ordered the pelisse matter – sat with A- at her luncheon – then took her out with me – to Robert Mann – stood talking to him – he and Joseph had talked over the new vent pit and what people would say at sinking another pit – they were now, in spite of their former opinion of the danger of this plan, for driving forwards to Airgate pit – this startled me – resolved to talk it over with Robert more fully – came in with A- saw her ride off to Cliff hill at 3 20/.. then back to Robert – and had him in the stables or about talking over colliery matters till after 5 – rain came on about (after) 4 and stopped all the men – my carts and William Lord and Jack Green and had had Sam Booth helping them at the Laundry court road levelling – talked of a hard bed pit – the new vent pit would be better RM. thought than Airgate pit – he ended by being all for the new pit to be called wind pit – told him to see and explain all to Joseph before he came for his book this evening – with Robert Norton ordering about the drawing room window – decided that there should only be one large window – the lights to be glazed with 3 pans of plate glass – ordered this afternoon B- to get the hay barn painted red by way of priming tomorrow – would cost 20/. – A- came back very wet about 5 ½ - had Joseph M- before 7 about his accounts etc. till 7 ¾ - all against the new pit sinking – would rather drive forwards to A.P. – startled again – but said very little – merely that he must know better than I did I should do which he thought hest, and he must be responsible for it – and with this it ended and I came to dinner saying – very well – go on to A.P. – he thought of saving expense by driving the heads less, lower – to which I then assented – but I shall now order to go on as at 1st intended and as ordered by Holt – I merely observed I felt as if I could never know my own mind – all this changing about terrible – it is time to have Holt or someone who is knowing enough to be master – Cookson of Elland? or Holt back again? or what? – Mrs. AW. had asked A- to write to York for her Mrs. AW.’s will – would not let A- write in her own name for the document to be sent here to her A- no! better go to Cliff hill early, write in her aunts’ name with her aunt’s signature – A- and I both pothered with our concerns respectively – dinner at 7 ¾ - I asleep towards – coffee at 10 – came upstairs at 10 ¾ - Had A- talking till 11 20/.. then till 11 50/.. wrote all but the first 18 lines of today – fine day till near 4pm then rain which continued till after dinner F61° inside and 58° outside now at 11 55/.. pm and fair but damp – Joseph says Robert does not quite understands – the vent pits for the £600 job could not be done at 15/. per yard and £600 would be little enough for the job – it would be even wetter and worse to do than Long goit – should this job ever be done call the drift the Long level

[queervegancryptid]

I never thought I'd be back to substituting food with diet soda. Intentionally, not as a side effect of my ADHD meds or because I'm not hungry, or because I couldn't afford food.

My cat is not doing well. Financially, my partner and I are dead in the water. His mom fell the other day, and she's doing relatively well, but it's still been tough. She helps us sometimes with money, but she has new medical bills, and those are likely to increase over time. Even if she wants to help, she can't do a lot, and right now, we have to come up with money for imaging, because she likely has a mass in her lower abdomen. And she's losing weight, and we might have to put her to sleep, if it's cancer. And the vet seems to think that's a strong possibility.

And then last night my partner and I were watching the Daily Show, and Jon Stewart did a very moving segment on his dog who recently crossed the rainbow bridge. He had tears in his eyes, and I just couldn't hold it together. And the turmoil and anguish in me is like, crescendoing, becoming impossible to suppress. I cried for over an hour this morning. It hurts so much that I find myself holding my breath at times, because I almost can't bear to keep living another single fucking moment. And then I take a breath, and another, and another, and somehow, I survive, even if I don't particularly want to in the moment.

I'm not going to unalive myself or anything. But I have reached a point where I need to find a way to make things better in order to go on living, because there's so much that's so unfair. And it just stays unfair. And it could not be more obvious to me why it stays unfair, and watching it continue and get even worse is more than I can stand. And I know where things are going, if certain people get their way. I don't have the spoons to explain right now, but look up Project 2025. They literally put it in writing, and they aren't even remotely trying to hide their intentions. None of us are safe.

I'm not the kind of person who inflicts violence on others; I'm very unhappy with the flagrant bullshit I see, and I have no idea how to cope with it. I do understand how a person could be pushed to the point where their despair is so great that they decide to take themselves out and take the people they see as responsible with them. Intellectually, I understand how that could seem tempting to a certain kind of person, but it wouldn't result in an outcome that includes actual, lasting change. As angry as I might feel, as demoralizing as things can be, I want things to get better, and I might be crazy, but I'm not that kind of crazy.

Still, it feels worse to watch all of it go down, knowing what I know, if I don't even try to do anything about it. Maybe I can't do anything to change things directly, and I'm not doing a phone bank thing. I live in Florida, and as a visibly queer person, I don't feel safe in a lot of places; otherwise, I might volunteer at a polling place or something. I was actually thinking about it during the 2020 election cycle, before January 6, but that was then.

I don't know if I can have an impact or even what that would look like. But I have to try. Somehow, it hurts more to be a passive observer.

[oblitum]

                                 Grey-blue  hues  flicker  across  his  face  as  she  slides  into  the  seat  next  him,  completely  disregarding  her  own  rules  as  she  does  so.  Her  gaze  flicks  away  just  as  quickly,  barely  sparing  him  a  glance  as  she  smiles  at  the  bartender  "  Scotch,  Neat  ".  She  slips  a  bill  over  the  counter,  pushing  it  towards  him  before  turning  back  to  the  vampire,  using  the  momentary  interruption  to  gather  her  thoughts.  She  had  planned  to  remain  entirely  unknown,  hiding  from  her  siblings  until  she  had  more  intel  into  their  appearance  until  she  could  make  an  informed  decision  as  to  whether  she  wanted  to  get  involved  in  whatever  game  they  were  playing,  and  with  Niklaus  here.  .  .  it  was  sure  to  be  some  kind  of  game.  but  there  was  no  hiding  from  the  raven-haired  vampire  who  sat  at  her  side.  She'd  seen  him  watching  her,  as  though  trying  to  piece  together  if  she  was  real  or  some  kind  of  hallucination.  Funny,  she'd  done  the  same  when  she'd  first  seen  him.  It  turned  out  her  remaining  low-key  was  much  less  undercover  than  she'd  first  thought. 

    "  Damon.  "  she  regards  him  carefully,  memories  swirling  in  the  forefront  of  her  mind,  memories  she's  all  too  keen  to  ignore,  to  lock  in  a  little  box  and  forget  they  ever  existed,  as  though  the  very  same  memories  don't  haunt  her  dreams.  She  allows  a  small  chuckle,  but  her  voice  is  perfectly  calm,  perfectly  collected.  She  allows  herself  a  subtle  glance  around  the  room,  ensuring  her  low  profile  is  otherwise  intact.  "  Can  I  assume  my  presence  otherwise  remains  a  secret?  "  she  queries,  voice  low,  an  almost  threatening  tone  wavering  at  the  edges.  Trying  to  figure  out  if  he'd  told  anybody  about  whom  he'd  seen. 

  Scotch  is  pushed  over  the  bar  towards  her  and  she  reaches  for  it,  hands  closing  around  the  glass  and  holding  it  towards  Damon  with  an  ironic  smile,  a  brow  raised  as  she  speaks.

  "  To  old  friends  "

  and  with  that,  she  downs  the  scotch  in  one,  the  only  sign  she's  as  shaken  as  him.  Liquid  courage.  Lowering  the  glass,  she  slides  it  across  the  bar,  nodding  in  a  gesture  to  give  her  another.  "  This  was.  .  .  unexpected,  "  she  admits  cautiously,  faux  humour  lacing  her  tone  as  she  speaks  again.  "  It  would  seem  mystic  falls  holds  all  my  problems.  "  a  beat  later,  a  smirk  tugging  at  pink  lips.  "  You  look  good  not  half  dead.  "

@mysticfallsresidents gets a semi-plotted starter.